That desperately he hurried through the street,
With him his bondman, all as mad he,
Doing displeasure to the citizens,

By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take order for the wrongs, I went,
Which here and there his fury had committed.
Anon (I wot not by what strong escape)

He broke from those, who had the guard of him,
And, with his mad attendant, with drawn swords,
Met us again, and madly bent on us,

Chas'd us away; till, raising of more aid,
We came again to bind them—then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them;
But here the abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,

Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence.
Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command,
Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help.
Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my

wars,

And I to thee engag'd a prince's word,

When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
To do him all the good and grace I could.
Go, some of ye, knock at the abbey gate,
And bid the lady abbess come to me.

I will determine this, before I stir.

Enter a MESSENGER.

Mess. Oh, mistress, mistress! haste and save yourself!

My master and his man are both broke loose!

Adr. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here,

And that is false thou dost report to us.

Mess. Mistress, upon my life I tell you true,

I have not breath'd, almost, since I did see them. Hark! hark! I hear them, mistress-fly! begone! [Exit.

Duke. Fear nothing; I'll protect you.

Adr. Ah, me! it is my husband! Witness all,
That he is borne about invisible !

Ev'n now we housed him in the abbey there,
And now he's here, past thought of human reason.

Enter ANTIPHOLIS OF EPHESUS, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS.

Ant. of Eph. Justice, most gracious duke! Oh, grant me justice!

Ev'n for the service, that, long since, I did thee,
When I bestrode thee in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life; ev'n for the blood,
Which then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
Egeon. Unless the fear of death doth make me
dote,

I see my son Antipholis, and Dromio.

Ant. of Eph. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there,

She, whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife,
She hath abused and dishonoured me,

Ev'n in the strength and height of injury.

Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. Ant. of Eph. This day, great duke, she shut the

doors upon me,

While she within was feasting with her minions.

Duke. A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou

so?

Adr. No, my good lord; myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together-so befall my soul, As that is false, he burdens me withal.

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she doth tell your highness simple truth!

Angelo. O perjur'd woman! they are both for

sworn;

In this the madman justly chargeth them.
My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
I think you all have drank of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been.
You say he din'd at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying-Sirrah, what say you?

Dro. of Eph. Sir, he din'd with her there, at the
Porcupine.

Lesbia. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

Ant. of Eph. "Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Lesbia. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. This is most strange! go, call the abbess hither. [Exit one to the ABBESS. Egeon. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a

word!

Haply I see a friend, will save my life,

And pay the

sum, that may

deliver me.

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. Egeon. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholis ?

And is not that your bondman, Dromio?

Ant. of Eph. True, reverend hapless man, we are so call'd.

Egeon. I am sure, both of ye remember me.
Ant. of Eph. Remember you!

Egeon. Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

Ant. of Eph. I never saw you in my life, till now. Egeon. Oh, grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last!

And careful hours, with time's deforming hand,

Have written strange defeatures in
my face.
But tell me yet-dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. of Eph. Neither.

Egeon. Not know my voice? O, time's extremity!
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue,
In seven short years, that here, my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hid,
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamp, some fading glimmer left,
All these old witnesses-1 cannot err-
Tell me, thou art my son, Antipholis.

Ant. of Eph. I never saw my father in my life. Egeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted-but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st t' acknowledge me in misery?

Ant. of Eph. The duke, and all that know me in the city,

Can witness with me that it is not so.

I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years,
Have I been patron to Antipholis,
During which time, he ne'er saw Syracusa.
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLIS OF SYRACUSE, and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, from the Priory.

Abbess. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd!

Adr. I see two husbands, or my eyes deceive me. Duke. One of these men is genius to the other! But of the two, which is the natural man, And which the spirit? who decyphers them? Ant. of Syr. Egeon art thou not!

O, my dear father! who hath bound him thus?

Abbess. Whoever bound him, I will loose his

bonds,

And gain a husband by his liberty.

Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man,
That hadst a wife once call'd Æmilia,
Who bore thee, at a burden, two fair sons;
Oh! if thou be'st the same Ægeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Æmilia. !

Egeon. Emilia! Oh, support thyself, my soul!
Till I, once more, have caught within my arms,
Their long-lost happiness!

Emilia. Thou art Ægeon, then? I do not dream— My husband! take, take the reviving heart, Spotless and pure as when it first was thine, Which, from the cloister of religious solitude, No voice but thine, could ever have recall'd.

Ant. of Syr. If I not interrupt such sacred feelings,

Thus let me bend, and mingle tears of rapture.
Oh raise, my father, raise your reverend hands,
And bless your truant son!

Egeon. My dearest boy!

This is too much-Oh, curb thy joys a moment,
And have compassion on thy father's weakness!
But, if my feeble brain deceives me not,
One anxious question yet remains to ask;
Heart of my heart, resolve me; where's that son,
Who floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Emilia. By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
And the twin, Dromio, all were taken up,
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth,
By force, took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
What then became of them, I cannot tell;
1, to this fortune which you see me in.

Ant. of Eph. And he, reserv'd to share the happier
hours

Of his dear parents; whom, till now, unknown,