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Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn

he were. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. Adr.

And what said he? Luc. That love I begg’d for you, he begg‘d of me. Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might

move.

First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech.

Adr. Did'st speak him fair?
Luc.

Have patience, I beseech.
Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I

say, And yet would herein others'

eyes we

worse: Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do

curse.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse; 'sweet

now, make haste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? Dro. S.

By running fast.

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell: A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun

termands The passages of allies, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot

well; One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls

to hell. Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? Dro. S. I do not know the matter; he is 'rested

on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose

suit. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested,

well; But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that

can I tell: Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money

in the desk? Adr. Go fetch it, sister.—This I wonder at,

[Exit Luciana. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt:Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring?

Adr. What, the chain?

Dro. S. No, no, the bell: 'tis time, that I were

gone. It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes

one. Adr. The hours come back! that did I never

hear. Dro. S. O yes, If any hour meet a sergeant, a'turns

back for very fear. Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost

thou reason? Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more

than he's worth, to season. Nay, he's a thief too: Have you not heard men say, That time comes stealing on by night and day? If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the

way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

Enter Luciana.

Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it

straight;
And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit;
Conceit, my comfort, and my injury.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

THE SAME.

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth sa

lute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend; And every one doth call me by my name. Some tender money to me, some invite me; So'ne other give me thanks for kindnesses; Some offer me commodities to buy: Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, And, therewithal, took measure of my body. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here,

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for: What, have you got the picture of old Adam new appareld? Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou

mean? Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, but that Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes in the calf's-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake

your liberty. Ant. S. I understand thee not.

Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives 'em suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike.

Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer?

Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he, that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, God give you good rest!

Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy, Delay: Here are the angels that you sent for, to deliver you. .

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I;
And here we wander in illusions;
Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

Enter a Courtezan. Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day? Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee tempt me

not! Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan? Ant. S. It is the devil.

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