The Bodleian First Folio

Nay, hee's at too hands with mee, and that my

two eares can witnesse.

Say, didst thou speake with him? knowst thou

his minde?

Spake hee so doubtfully, thou couldst not feele

his meaning.

Nay, hee strooke so plainly, I could too well

feele his blowes; and withall so doubtfully, that I could

scarce vnderstand them.

Sconce call you it? so you would leaue batte­

ring, I had rather haue it a head, and you vse these blows

long, I must get a sconce for my head, and Insconce it

to, or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders, but I pray

sir, why am I beaten?

Dost thou not know?

Nothing sir, but that I am beaten.

Shall I tell you why?

I sir, and wherefore; for they say, euery why

hath a wherefore.

Why first for flowting me, and then wherefore,

for vrging it the second time to me.

Was there euer anie man thus beaten out of

season, when in the why and the wherefore, is neither

rime nor reason. Well sir, I thanke you.

Thanke me sir, for what?

Marry sir, for this something that you gaue me

for nothing.

Ile make you amends next, to giue you nothing

for something. But say sir, is it dinner time?

No sir, I thinke the meat wants that I'haue.

In good time sir: what's that?

Basting.

Well sir, then 'twill be drie.

If it be sir, I pray you eat none of it.

Your reason?

Lest it make you chollericke, and purchase me

another drie basting.

Well sir, learne to iest in good time, there's a

time for all things.

I durst haue denied that before you were so

chollericke.

By what rule sir?

Marry sir, by a rule as plaine as the plaine bald

pate of Father time himselfe.

Let's heare it.

There's no time for a man to recouer his haire

that growes bald by nature.

May he not doe it by fine and recouerie?

Yes, to pay a fine for a perewig, and recouer

the lost haire of another man.

Why, is Time such a niggard of haire, being (as

it is) so plentifull an excrement?

Because it is a blessing that hee bestowes on

beasts, and what he hath scanted them in haire, hee hath

giuen them in wit.

Why, but theres manie a man hath more haire

then wit.

Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose

his haire.

Why thou didst conclude hairy men plain dea‑

lers without wit.

The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; yet he loo‑

seth it in a kinde of iollitie.

For what reason.

For two, and sound ones to.

Nay not sound I pray you.

Sure ones then.

Nay, not sure in a thing falsing.

Certaine ones then.

Name them.

The one to saue the money that he spends in

trying: the other, that at dinner they should not drop in

his porrage.

You would all this time haue prou'd, there is no

time for all things.

Marry and did sir: namely, in no time to re‑

couer haire lost by Nature.

But your reason was not substantiall, why there

is no time to recouer.

Thus I mend it: Time himselfe is bald, and

therefore to the worlds end, will haue bald followers.

I knew'twould be a bald conclusion: but soft,

who wafts vs yonder.

Why how now Dromio, where run'st thou so

fast?

Doe you know me sir? Am I Dromio? Am I

your man? Am I my selfe?

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art

thy selfe.

I am an asse, I am a womans man, and besides

my selfe.

What womans man? and how besides thy

selfe?

Marrie sir, besides my selfe, I am due to a woman:

One that claimes me, one that haunts me, one that will

haue me.

What claime laies she to thee?

Marry sir, such claime as you would lay to your

horse, and she would haue me as a beast, not that I bee­ing

a beast she would haue me, but that she being a ve­rie

beastly creature layes claime to me.

What is she?

A very reuerent body: I such a one, as a man

may not speake of, without he say sir reuerence, I haue

but leane lucke in the match, and yet is she a wondrous

fat marriage.

How dost thou meane a fat marriage?

Dro. Marry sir, she's the Kitchin wench, & al grease,

and I know not what vse to put her too, but to make a

Lampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. I

warrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burne

a Poland Winter: If she liues till doomesday, she'l burne

a weeke longer then the whole World.

What complexion is she of?

Swart like my shoo, but her face nothing like

so cleane kept: for why? she sweats a man may goe o­uer­shooes

in the grime of it.

That's a fault that water will mend.

No sir, 'tis in graine, Noahs flood could not

do it.

What's her name?

Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters, that's

an Ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip

to hip.

Then she beares some bredth?

No longer from head to foot, then from hippe

to hippe: she is sphericall, like a globe: I could find out

Countries in her.

In what part of her body stands Ireland?

Marry sir in her buttockes, I found it out by

the bogges.

Where Scotland?

I found it by the barrennesse, hard in the palme

of the hand.

Where France?

In her forhead, arm'd and reuerted, making

warre against her heire.

Where England?

I look'd for the chalkle Cliffes, but I could find

no whitenesse in them. But I guesse, it stood in her chin

by the salt rheume that ranne betweene France, and it.

Where Spaine?

Faith I saw it not: but I felt it hot in her breth.

Where America, the Indies?

Oh sir, vpon her nose, all ore embellished with

Rubies, Carbuncles, Saphires, declining their rich As­pect

to the hot breath of Spaine, who sent whole Ar­madoes

of Carrects to be ballast at her nose.

Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

Oh sir, I did not looke so low. To conclude,

this drudge or Diuiner layd claime to mee, call'd mee

Dromio, swore I was assur'd to her, told me what priuie

markes I had about mee, as the marke of my shoulder,

the Mole in my necke, the great Wart on my left arme,

that I amaz'd ranne from her as a witch. And I thinke, if

my brest had not beene made of faith, and my heart of

steele, she had transform'd me to a Curtull dog, & made

me turne i'th wheele.

I know not at whose suite he is arested well;

but is in a suite of buffe which rested him, that can I tell,

will you send him Mistris redemption, the monie in

his deske.

Master, here's the gold you sent me for: what

haue you got the picture of old Adam new apparel'd?

What gold is this? What Adam do'st thou

meane?

Not that Adam that kept the Paradise: but

that Adam that keepes the prison; hee that goes in the

calues­skin, that was kil'd for the Prodigall: hee that

came behinde you sir, like an euill angel, and bid you for­sake

your libertie.

I vnderstand thee not.

No? why 'tis a plaine case: he that went like

a Base­Viole in a case of leather; the man sir, that when

gentlemen are tired giues them a sob, and rests them:

he sir, that takes pittie on decaied men, and giues them

suites of durance: he that sets vp his rest to doe more ex­ploits

with his Mace, then a Moris Pike.

What thou mean'st an officer?

I sir, the Serieant of the Band: he that brings

any man to answer it that breakes his Band: one that

thinkes a man alwaies going to bed, and saies, God giue

you good rest.

Why sir, I brought you word an houre since,

that the Barke Expedition put forth to night, and then

were you hindred by the Serieant to tarry for the Hoy

Delay: Here are the angels that you sent for to deliuer

you.

Sathan auoide, I charge thee tempt me not.

Master, is this Mistris Sathan?

It is the diuell.

Nay, she is worse, she is the diuels dam:

And here she comes in the habit of a light wench, and

thereof comes, that the wenches say God dam me, That's

as much to say, God make me a light wench: It is writ­ten,

they appeare to men like angels of light, light is an

effect of fire, and fire will burne: ergo, light wenches will

burne, come not neere her.

Master, if do expect spoon­meate, or bespeake

a long spoone.

Why Dromio?

Marrie he must haue a long spoone that must

eate with the diuell.

Some diuels aske but the parings of ones naile, a The Comedie of Errors. a rush, a haire, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherrie­stone:but

she more couetous, wold haue a chaine: Ma­ster

be wise, and if you giue it her, the diuell will shake

her Chaine, and fright vs with it.

Here's that I warrant you will pay them all.

But where's the Money?

Why sir, I gaue the Monie for the Rope.

Fiue hundred Duckets villaine for a rope?

Ile serue you sir fiue hundred at the rate.

To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

To a ropes end sir, and to that end am I re­turn'd.

And to that end sir, I will welcome you.

Good sir be patient.

Nay 'tis for me to be patient, I am in aduer­sitie.

Good now hold thy tongue.

Nay, rather perswade him to hold his hands.

Thou whoreson senselesse Villaine.

I would I were senselesse sir, that I might

not feele your blowes.

Thou art sensible in nothing but blowes, and

so is an Asse.

I am an Asse indeede, you may prooue it by

my long eares. I haue serued him from the houre of my

Natiuitie to this instant, and haue nothing at his hands

for my seruice but blowes. When I am cold, he heates

me with beating: when I am warme, he cooles me with

beating: I am wak'd with it when I sleepe, rais'd with

it when I sit, driuen out of doores with it when I goe

from home, welcom'd home with it when I returne, nay

I beare it on my shoulders, as a begger woont her brat:

and I thinke when he hath lam'd me, I shall begge with

it from doore to doore.

Come goe along, my wife is comming yon­der.

Mistris respice finem, respect your end, or ra­ther

the prophesie like the Parrat, beware the ropes end.

Wilt thou still talke?

How say you now? Is not your husband mad?

Faith stay heere this night, they will surely do

vs no harme: you saw they speake vs faire, giue vs gold:

me thinkes they are such a gentle Nation, that but for

the Mountaine of mad flesh that claimes mariage of me,

I could finde in my heart to stay heere still, and turne

Witch.

I neuer saw you in my life till now.

Oh! griefe hath chang'd me since you saw me last,

And carefull houres with times deformed hand,

Haue written strange defeatures in my face:

But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Neither.

Dromio, nor thou?

No trust me sir, nor I.

I am sure thou dost?

I sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatso‑

euer a man denies, you are now bound to beleeue him.

Not know my voice, oh times extremity

Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poore tongue

In seuen short yeares, that heere my onely sonne

Knowes not my feeble key of vntun'd cares?

Though now this grained face of mine be hid

In sap‑consuming Winters drizled snow,

And all the Conduits of my blood froze vp:

Yet hath my night of life some memorie:

My wasting lampes some fading glimmer left;

My dull deafe eares a little vse to heare:

All these old witnesses, I cannot erre.

Tell me, thou art my sonne Antipholus.

I neuer saw my Father in my life.

Most mightie Duke, behold a man much

wrong'd.