Comedy Of Errors

Second Merchant


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.
ANTIPHOLUS
 
OF EPHESUS


I never came within these abbey-walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
And this is false you burden me withal.
 
DUKE SOLINUS


Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
If here you housed 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?
 
DROMIO OF EPHESUS


Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.
 
Courtezan


He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
ANTIPHOLUS
 
OF EPHESUS


'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.
 
DUKE SOLINUS


Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?
 
DUKE SOLINUS


Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.
I think you are all mated or stark mad.

Exit one to Abbess
 
AEGEON


Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
Haply I see a friend will save my life
And pay the sum that may deliver me.
 
DUKE SOLINUS


Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
 
AEGEON


Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
And is not that your bondman, Dromio?
 
DROMIO OF EPHESUS


Within this hour I was his bondman sir,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords:
Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.
 
DROMIO OF EPHESUS


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?
 
AEGEON


O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours with time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
ANTIPHOLUS
 
DROMIO OF EPHESUS


Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a
man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
 
AEGEON


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 untuned 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 lamps 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.
ANTIPHOLUS
 
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