The Complete Works of Shakespeare. William Shakespeare
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venom clamors of a jealous woman
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hind’red by thy railing,
And thereof comes it that his head is light.
Thou say’st his meat was sauc’d with thy upbraidings:
Unquiet meals make ill digestions,
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred,
And what’s a fever but a fit of madness?
Thou say’st his sports were hind’red by thy brawls:
Sweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb’d, would mad or man or beast:
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits
Hath scar’d thy husband from the use of wits.
Luc.
She never reprehended him but mildly,
When he demean’d himself rough, rude, and wildly.
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not?
Adr.
She did betray me to my own reproof.
Good people, enter and lay hold on him.
Abb.
No, not a creature enters in my house.
Adr.
Then let your servants bring my husband forth.
Abb.
Neither. He took this place for sanctuary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands
Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labor in assaying it.
Adr.
I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
And will have no attorney but myself,
And therefore let me have him home with me.
Abb.
Be patient, for I will not let him stir
Till I have us’d the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,
To make of him a formal man again:
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order,
Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.
Adr.
I will not hence, and leave my husband here;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness
To separate the husband and the wife.
Abb.
Be quiet and depart, thou shalt not have him.
[Exit.]
Luc.
Complain unto the Duke of this indignity.
Adr.
Come go: I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And never rise until my tears and prayers
Have won his Grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the Abbess.
[2. E.] Mer.
By this I think the dial points at five.
Anon I’m sure the Duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
The place of [death] and sorry execution,
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Ang.
Upon what cause?
[2. E.] Mer.
To see a reverent Syracusian merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publicly for his offense.
Ang.
See where they come, we will behold his death.
Luc.
Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.
Enter the Duke of Ephesus [attended] and [Egeon] the merchant of Syracuse, bare-head, with the Headsman and other Officers.
Duke.
Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
If any friend will pay the sum for him,
He shall not die, so much we tender him.
Adr.
Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess!
Duke.
She is a virtuous and a reverend lady,
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
Adr.
May it please your Grace, Antipholus my husband,
Who I made lord of me and all I had,
At your important letters—this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
That desp’rately he hurried through the street—
With him his bondman, all as mad as he—
Doing displeasure to the citizens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
That here and there his fury had committed.
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
He broke from those that had the guard of him,
And with his mad attendant and himself,
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
Met us again, and madly bent on us
Chas’d us away; till raising of more aid,
We came again to bind them. Then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursu’d them,
And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Nor send him