Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire,
Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner :
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
Could witness it, for he was with me then;
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him: in the street I met him;

And in his company, that gentleman.

There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords;

down,

That I this day of him receiv'd the chain,
Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which,
He did arrest me with an officer.

I did obey; and sent my peasant home

For certain ducats: he with none return'd.

Then fairly I bespoke the officer,

To go in person with me to my house.

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,

Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.

Ege. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
For lately we were bound as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now.
Æge. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you

And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,

Æge. Why look you strange on me? you know

me well.

By the way we met

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more

Of vile confederates; along with them

saw me last;

They brought one Pinch; a hungry lean-fac'd vil- Have written strange deseature's in my face:

lain,

A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller;

A needy, hollow-cy'd, sharp-looking wretch,

A living dead man: this pernicious slave,

Forsooth, took on him as a conjuror;

And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd: then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence;
And in a dark and dankish vault at home

There left me and my man, both bound together;
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately

Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction

For these deep shames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with
him:

That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?
Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here,
These people saw the chain about his neck.

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of

mine

Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart,
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you;
And then, you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw the sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven!
And this is false, you burden me withal.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly :-
You say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying:-Sirrah, what say you?

Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the
Porcupine.

Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd
that ring.

Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

But tell me vet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither.

Ege.

Dromio, nor thou?

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
Æge.

I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denics, you are now bound to believe him.

Æge. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity!
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue,
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hid
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,)
Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
Æge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son,
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the

city,

Can witness with me that it is not so;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus.
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and
Dromio Syracusan.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much
wrong'd.
[All gather to see him.
Adr. Leee two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other;,
And so of these: Which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
Dro. E. 1, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.
Ant. S. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?
Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him
here ?

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,
(3) Furrowed, lined.

And gain a husband by his liberty :-
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man
That had'st a wife once call'd Æmilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair son
O, if thou be'st the same Ægeon, speak
And speak unto the same Æmilia!

Æge. If I dream not, thou art Æmili;
If thou art she, tell me, where is that sen
That floated with thee on the fatal raft î

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
But, by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum;
What then became of them, I cannot tell:
I, to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right;
These two Antipholus's, these two so like,
And these two Dromio's, one in semblance, -
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,-
These are the parents to these children.
Which accidentally are met together.

Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth f'rst.

Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart! I know not which is which.

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.

Dro. E. And I with him.

Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most famous warrior

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to day?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.
Adr.

And are not you my husband?

Ant. E. No, I say nay to that.

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so;

And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother: -What I told you then,
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good;
If this be not a dream, I see, and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,

By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

Dro. E. No, none by me.

And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.-
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor, till this present hour,
My heavy burdens are deliver'd':-
The duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me;
After so long grief, such nativity!

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, Ægeon, Courtezan, Merchant, Angelo, and attendants.

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?

Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou

embark'd?

Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the
Centaur.

Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master,
Dromio:
Come, go with us: we'll look to that anon:
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.

[Exeunt Antipholus S. and E. Adr. and Luc. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house,

That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner;
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not

my brother:

I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.
Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it?
Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till

On a careful revision of the foregoing seenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you, was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Bene

And Dromio my man did bring them me:
I see, we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,

And thereupon these Errors are arose.

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life.
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for
my good cheer.

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:-

(1) The morning story is what Ægeon tell the duke in the first scene of this plav.

dict says) 'fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake.' Thus, as we are informed by Aulus Gellius, Lib. III. Cap. 3. some plays were absolutely ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been (retractatæ et expolila) retouched and polished by him.

In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unne-. cessary scene; where the same mistakes are continued, till the rower of affording entertainment lis entirely lost. STEEVENS.

SCENE I. An open place. Thunder and Light- And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,