The Comedy of Errors Part 9

_Luc._ All this my sister is, or else should be. 65

_Ant. S._ Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.

Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.

Give me thy hand.

_Luc._ O, soft, sir! hold you still: I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [_Exit._ 70

_Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

_Ant. S._ Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'st thou so fast?

_Dro. S._ Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?

_Ant. S._ Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art 75 thyself.

_Dro. S._ I am an a.s.s, I am a woman's man, and besides myself.

_Ant. S._ What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a 80 woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

_Ant. S._ What claim lays she to thee?

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, 85 I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.

_Ant. S._ What is she?

_Dro. S._ A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say Sir-reverence. I have 90 but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

_Ant. S._ How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make 95 a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

_Ant. S._ What complexion is she of? 100

_Dro. S._ Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept: for why she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

_Ant. S._ That's a fault that water will mend.

_Dro. S._ No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not 105 do it.

_Ant. S._ What's her name?

_Dro. S._ Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. 110

_Ant. S._ Then she bears some breadth?

_Dro. S._ No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.

_Ant. S._ In what part of her body stands Ireland? 115

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, in her b.u.t.tocks: I found it out by the bogs.

_Ant. S._ Where Scotland?

_Dro. S._ I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand. 120

_Ant. S._ Where France?

_Dro. S._ In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her heir.

_Ant. S._ Where England?

_Dro. S._ I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find 125 no whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

_Ant. S._ Where Spain?

_Dro. S._ Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath. 130

_Ant. S._ Where America, the Indies?

_Dro. S._ Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose. 135

_Ant. S._ Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

_Dro. S._ Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me Dromio; swore I was a.s.sured to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the 140 mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch:

And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, She had transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn i' the wheel.

_Ant. S._ Go hie thee presently, post to the road:-- 145 An if the wind blow any way from sh.o.r.e, I will not harbour in this town to-night:-- If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk till thou return to me.

If every one knows us, and we know none, 150 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.

_Dro. S._ As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ There's none but witches do inhabit here; And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 155 She that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 160 But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

_Enter ANGELO with the chain._

_Ang._ Master Antipholus,--

_Ant. S._ Ay, that's my name.

_Ang._ I know it well, sir:--lo, here is the chain.

I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine: 165 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

_Ant. S._ What is your will that I shall do with this?

_Ang._ What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.