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Dro. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge or diviner laid claim to me, call’d me Dromio, swore I was assur’d to her, told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amaz’d, 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’ th’ wheel.

       S. Ant.

      Go hie thee presently, post to the road,

      And if the wind blow any way from shore,

      I will not harbor 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,

      ’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.

       S. Dro.

      As from a bear a man would run for life,

      So fly I from her that would be my wife.

       Exit.

       S. Ant.

      There’s none but witches do inhabit here,

      And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence.

      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;

      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—

       S. Ant.

      Ay, that’s my name.

       Ang.

      I know it well, sir. Lo here’s the chain.

      I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine;

      The chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long.

       S. Ant.

      What is your will that I shall do with this?

       Ang.

      What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you.

       S. Ant.

      Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

       Ang.

      Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.

      Go home with it, and please your wife withal,

      And soon at supper-time I’ll visit you,

      And then receive my money for the chain.

       S. Ant.

      I pray you, sir, receive the money now,

      For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more.

       Ang.

      You are a merry man, sir, fare you well.

       Exit.

       S. Ant.

      What I should think of this, I cannot tell:

      But this I think, there’s no man is so vain

      That would refuse so fair an offer’d chain.

      I see a man here needs not live by shifts,

      When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.

      I’ll to the mart and there for Dromio stay:

      If any ship put out, then straight away.

       Exit.

       ¶

      ACT IV

      Scene I

       Enter a [Second] Merchant [of Ephesus, Angelo the] goldsmith, and an Officer.

       [2. E.] Mer.

      You know since Pentecost the sum is due,

      And since I have not much importun’d you,

      Nor now I had not, but that I am bound

      To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:

      Therefore make present satisfaction,

      Or I’ll attach you by this officer.

       Ang.

      Even just the sum that I do owe to you

      Is growing to me by Antipholus,

      And in the instant that I met with you

      He had of me a chain. At five a’clock

      I shall receive the money for the same:

      Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,

      I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.

       Enter Antipholus [of] Ephesus, Dromio [of Ephesus] from the Courtezan’s.

       Off.

      That labor may you save; see where he comes.

       E. Ant.

      While I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou

      And buy a rope’s end; that will I bestow

      Among my wife and [her] confederates,

      For locking me out of my doors by day.

      But soft, I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone,

      Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.

       E. Dro.

      I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope!

       Exit Dromio.

       E. Ant.

      A man is well holp up that trusts to you:

      I promised your presence and the chain,

      But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me:

      Belike you thought our love would last too long

      If it were chain’d together, and therefore came not.

       Ang.

      Saving your merry humor, here’s the note

      How much your chain weighs to the utmost charect,

      The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,

      Which doth amount to three odd ducats more

      Than I stand debted to this gentleman.

      I pray you see him presently discharg’d,

      For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.

       E. Ant.

      I

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