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But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
Luc. Self-harming jealousy!-fie, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage other-where; Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain'Would that alone alone he would detain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see, the jewel best enamelled Will lose his beauty, yet the gold ’bide still, That others touch.—And often touching will Wear gold; and so 3 a man that hath a name By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy !
[Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter AntiPHOLUS of Syracuse.
Antipholus of Syracuse.
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hoür since.
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas’d.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the
teeth? Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
[Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest
is earnest. Upan what bargain do you give it me?
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
in crannies, when he hides his beams.
Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?
Ant. S. Dost thou not know?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first, for flouting me; and then,
wherefore, For urging it the second time to me. Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out
When, in the why and the wherefore, is neither rime Well, sir, I thank you,
Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.
Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinnertime? Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I
Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; there's a time for all things.
Dro. S. 1 durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.
Ant. S. By wbat rule, sir?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.
Ant. S. Let's hear it.
Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature.
Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another man.
Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts : and what he hath scanted
men in hair, he hath given them in wit.
Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.
Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair,
Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.
Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
Ant. S. For what reason?
Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in 'tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.
Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things.
Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en no time to recover hair lost by nature.
Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.
Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.
Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion.But soft! who wafts us yonder!
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown; Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, That never touch well welcome to thy hand, That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee. How comes it now, my husband, oh! how comes it, That thou art then estranged from thyself? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not.
every word by all my wit being scann'd, Want wit in all one word to understand. Luc. Fie, brother, how the world has chang’d with
Ant. S. By Dromio?
Adr. By thee: and this thou didst return from him,