By Robert Surratt
Act 1, Scene 1
Enter Aegeon and Duke Solinus
AEGEON: Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
And by the doom of death end woes and all.
DUKE SOLINUS: Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe on our laws:
To emnity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives
Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
‘Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again: if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke’s dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
AEGEON: Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
DUKE SOLINUS: Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departed’st from thy native home
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
AEGEON: A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
In Syracusa was I born, and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; The pleasing punishment that women bear,
Had made provision for her following me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish’d but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those,–for their parents were exceeding poor,–
I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail’d,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten’d him unto a small spare mast,
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,
Fasten’d ourselves at either end the mast;
The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,–O, let me say no more!
DUKE SOLINUS: Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
AEGEON: O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term’d them merciless to us!
We were encounterd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck’d guests;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
DUKE SOLINUS: And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall’n of them and thee till now.
AEGEON: My youngest boy, at eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant–so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name–
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
DUKE SOLINUS: Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark’d
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul would sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall’d
But to our honour’s great disparagement,
Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die.
AEGEON: Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
Act 1, Scene 2
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, DROMIO of SYRACUSE, and FIRST MERCHANT (aka CIGAR SHOP OWNER)
FIRST MERCHANT: Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And not being able to buy out his life
According to the statute of the town,
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return and sleep within mine inn,
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE: Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
Exit
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn and dine with me?
FIRST MERCHANT: I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o’clock,
Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart
And afterward consort you till bed-time:
My present business calls me from you now.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Farewell till then: I will go lose myself
And wander up and down to view the city.
FIRST MERCHANT: Sir, I commend you to your own content.
Exit
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus
Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now? how chance thou art return’d so soon?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Return’d so soon! rather approach’d too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach having broke your fast;
But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray
Are penitent for your default to-day.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:
Where have you left the money that I gave you?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: O,–sixpence, that I had o’ Wednesday last
To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper?
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: I am not in a sportive humour now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: I pray you, jest, as you sit at dinner:
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
For she will scoure your fault upon my pate.
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:
My mistress and her sister stays for you.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: In what safe place you have bestow’d my money,
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders,
But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Thy mistress’ marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Your worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: What mean you, sir? for God’s sake, hold your hands!
Nay, and you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels.
Exit
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Upon my life, by some device or other
The villain is o’er-raught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage,
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such-like liberties of sin:
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I’ll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
I greatly fear my money is not safe.
Exit
Act 2, Scene 1
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA
ADRIANA: Neither my husband nor the slave return’d,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.
LUCIANA: Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty:
Time is their master, and, when they see time,
They’ll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.
ADRIANA: Why should their liberty than ours be more?
LUCIANA: Because their business still lies out o’ door.
ADRIANA: Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
LUCIANA: O, know he is the bridle of your will.
ADRIANA: There’s none but asses will be bridled so.
LUCIANA: Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe.
There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males’ subjects and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.
ADRIANA: This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
LUCIANA: Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
ADRIANA: But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.
LUCIANA: Ere I learn love, I’ll practise to obey.
ADRIANA: How if your husband start some other where?
LUCIANA: Till he come home again, I would forbear.
ADRIANA: Patience unmoved! no marvel though she pause;
They can be meek that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more would we ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me,
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg’d patience in thee will be left.
LUCIANA: Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus
ADRIANA: Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Nay, he’s at two hands with me, and that my two ears
can witness.
ADRIANA: Say, didst thou speak with him? know’st thou his mind?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
LUCIANA: Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his
blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce
understand them.
ADRIANA: But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he
hath great care to please his wife.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
ADRIANA: Horn-mad, thou villain!
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: I mean not cuckold-mad;
But, sure, he is stark mad.
When I desired him to come home to dinner,
He ask’d me for a thousand marks in gold:
”Tis dinner-time,’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he;
‘Your meat doth burn,’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he:
‘Will you come home?’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he.
‘Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?’
‘The pig,’ quoth I, ‘is burn’d;’ ‘My gold!’ quoth he:
‘My mistress, sir’ quoth I; ‘Hang up thy mistress!
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!’
LUCIANA: Quoth who?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Quoth my master:
‘I know,’ quoth he, ‘no house, no wife, no mistress.’
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
ADRIANA: Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For God’s sake, send some other messenger.
ADRIANA: Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: And he will bless that cross with other beating:
Between you I shall have a holy head.
ADRIANA: Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: Am I so round with you as you with me,
That like a football you do spurn me thus?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
Exit
LUCIANA: Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!
ADRIANA: His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard:
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That’s not my fault: he’s master of my state:
What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin’d? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.
LUCIANA: Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!
ADRIANA: Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promised me a chain;
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still,
That others touch, and often touching will
Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.
LUCIANA: How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
Exit
Source:
Shakespeare, William. “Comedy of Errors: Entire Play.” The Complete Works of William
Shakespeare. The Tech, n.d. Web. 12 May 2016.
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