#ship hath sailed

[beggars-opera]

Shrieking at this buzzfeed quiz that claims Boston brown bread was originally made in coffee cans in the 17th century.

"Alas, Goodwife! Our coffee supply be depleted. Fetch the row boat and I shall set sail for Nantucket. The packet ship bringeth talk of a Goodman Folger there who hath sealed his beans in tin to stay fresh. 'Tis Quaker witchcraft, I hear"

[talonabraxas]

Sun in Aries II – (30 March – 9 April 2024)

The Sun enters Aries II The Crown on March 30 at 1:25 am EDT. The Crown contains the degree of exaltation of the Sun; Austin Coppock certainly noted this association when he gave this decan this name, and T. Susan Chang called it Kingdom of Gold when comparing it with Tarot’s three of wands — the man staking his claim to the high ground as he watches ships travel on a sun-touched sea toward the destinations he commanded. The descending Chaldean order gives this decan to the Sun to administer under Mars’ overall dominion — and there’s indeed something golden about the weather of early April, at least where I live, as the trees of New England burst into leaf and the understory of bushes and wild perennials erupts again.

The Chaldean order gives this decan to the Sun, appropriately enough. The astrological year begins and ends under the administration of Mars, cutting away the last deck lines of Pisces and hoisting the sails for a favorable breeze at the start of Aries — but the middle ten degrees of Aries belong to the Sun. While it starts a little early this year, on March 30 instead of the 31st or even April 1 — it’s still usually the season when the spring’s promise starts to make itself felt in quotidian experience: the sun on the arms in short sleeves, the sudden redness of your cheeks after a day in the garden, the signs of greenery in the woods. This is the young Sun, coming into his power, at least in my neck of the woods. No less than Geoffrey Chaucer cited this in the first few lines of the Canterbury Tales,

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, […] and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye, So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages, Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages… --Canterbury Tales, General Prologue

That bolded line, the “yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne” means “when the sun is at the half-way mark of Aries,” five days from now. If you feel an urge to get up and go to Canterbury — whether England, New Hampshire, Connecticut or elsewhere — you’ll know that it’s in part an honest reaction to the arrival of April’s sweet showers, and the end of March’s dryness. The green ones are returning. --Wanderings in the Labyrinth

[radley-writes]

THE LIESMYTH SHIP HATH SAILED

burning, with a body on the funeral pyre.

:translation: it's off to MLA (My Lovely Agent), my mother, and hopefully, on to subs!:

Voxalion Ilsair is with MLA for a first read!

This means... it's time to uhhhh work on updating my blog and website, building an Insta presence (wtf is that about??) and to get cracking on two new projects:

Somnus Sancti: The Sandman's School for Sleepless Youth

and

Toxicity

watch this space for more!

[brabblesblog]

Art by @dafna-winchester

The second installment in the "If I Ascend" series, continuing Astarion and Ban's journey through life eternal.

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

1. The Rose and Its Thorns

2. Yet each man kills the thing he loves; the coward does it with a kiss.

3. An Empty Throne

4. My throne for her heart

5. What hath night to do with sleep?

6. My youth is a scab: under it is a wound that leaks blood

7. He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none

8. A ship does not sail with yesterday's wind

9. No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

10. Yes.

11. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth

12. I hold myself supremely blest - blest beyond what language can express

13. …because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine.

14. He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

[aipilosse]

Was Tuor granted immortality when he went to Valinor? I thought it was just some of Luthien’s descendants who got to choose. Yet they say Tuor was counted amongst the Noldor in Valinor? Was that just a way of saying that he was so close to them that they thought of him as one of them? Not really granted immortality? Sorry for the lore type question but I’m genuinely undecided as to what happened to him in canon.

Don't apologize! this finally gave me the impetus to crack open Arda Reconstructed which I'd checked out from the library.

Anyway, my interpretation of the Silm had always been that Tuor was granted immortality. Which I didn't think made sense when I was 11 and still doesn't make sense now, but that's what it sounds like to me:

But in after days it was sung that Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved; and his fate is sundered from the fate of Men.

That last part, "his fate is sundered from the fate of Men," is what makes it sound like he was given immortality, and was not merely sort of adopted into the Noldor.

Arda Reconstructed pointed me towards The Quenta II in the Shaping of Middle-Earth for where this comes from. And, yeah, it's pretty similar:

But Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and joined with the Noldoli whom he loved, and in after time dwelt still, or so it hath been said, ever upon his ship voyaging the seas of the Elven-lands, or resting a while in the harbours of the Gnomes of Tol Eressëa; and his fate is sundered from the fate of Men.

I think the gist here is the same, and the 'sundered from the fate of Men' also still implies he's become immortal.

What's different here is it seems that Tuor cannot actually set foot in Valinor, maybe not even on Tol Eressëa. He's in a fairy-tale like situation of perpetually sailing the enchanted seas of Aman.

As the end of legend, it's good. Very mythic, he's forever sailing with Idril, suitable for the forefather of Númenoreans. But considered in the light of Tolkien's more metaphysical musings, especially about the sundered fates of Elves and Men, it doesn't fit imo. I really go back and forth and whether I like for things to fit the mythic sweep or the metaphysical details, but in this case, I tend to go with Tuor dying, having never set foot on Valinor, which isn't explictly in any version (in the BoLT era story, I think he's lost forever, but that's a bit different).

Anyway, I'll leave you with a very short rec (600-ish words) that explains exactly why I, a lover of Tuor, prefer him to have died at sea:

[desertdollranch]

In one week's time, I will become the lady of this house. This news has come quite suddenly, and I be as surprised as anyone else. But Mother gathered us all around her this morning, to tell us of her dream, or rather a vision, in which she boarded a ship that crossed unknown waters to an unknown land. Upon disembarking, she set her foot on land and did behold the dead and barren vegetation, laid waste by mold and rot, that seemed to crumble to ash under her feet as she walked in the direction of a mighty mountain, far in the distance. But as she turned to gaze behind where she had trod, indeed her footsteps did leave a trail of vibrant and resplendent greenery, that did grow more rapidly than a garden in spring. She may have dismissed this vision as merely a dream, if she had not been awoken, hours before dawn, by the sound of a vigorous knock on the front door. It was her friend, Mercy Jarrett, who had to tell Mother about the dream she had dreamt, in which she sailed to a strange land overrun by dead vines, which had sprung to new life at her touch. 'Twas a dream entirely like Mother's. Mother takes this to mean that God hath called her and Mistress Jarrett to be Public Friends. That is, to travel together as itinerant preachers, as many other women like them have done, and share the Quaker faith to those whose hearts would hear it and be moved by it. In seven days shall they depart, and I will, as I said, take Mother's responsibilities as my own. She did reassure me that it will only be a little time, maybe less than a year. Until then, she trusts that I will care for the home in her absence, not only in the the household duties but as a loving caretaker for Saul, Amos, and Henry, who are too little to understand why Mother has left. I know not if this will be an easy task for me, or if I shall find it frustrating. But if Mother be so brave as to heed a God-given vision, then surely I can shoulder this much less difficult burden.

I'm pleased to remember that only the day before yesterday did I complete a piece of fancy stitchery, which Mother praised for its beauty in its simplicity. I think she might like to bring it with her, for it will be a small consolation to me, knowing that Mother hath received a memento of my stitchery. Just as she hears the whisper of God's voice when she looks upon her heart, she will hear the whisper of my love and admiration when she sees my gift.

[ltwilliammowett]

The wreck of the London

The London was a second rate ship of the line with 74-guns. She was launched at Chatham Dockyard in 1656 and became famous when she passed bloodlessly into Royalist hands during the restoration of the English monarchy in 1660. The ship was part of the fleet commanded by Stayner to bring King Charles II back to England from his exile on the Continent. The royal convoy left Scheveningen on 23 May and landed at Dover on 26 May. While the King sailed on the flagship Royal Charles, on board London as chief passenger was his younger brother James, Duke of York, later King James II.

Drawing, c 1660, of the London by Willem Van de Velde (x)

The nominal command was held by Captain and later Vice-Admiral John Lawson from 1660 to 1664. Thereafter, the London was Admiral Edward Montagu's flagship.

Now, however, she was lost on 7 March 1665. She had been briefly put back under the command of John Lawson to take her from Chatham to the Thames to fight the Dutch. It was long suspected that for some unknown reason her powder magazine exploded, taking the ship and 300 souls with it. Only 24 survived, including one woman. Lawson was not on board at the time and survived, but many relatives died because they were on board. Even Samuel Pepys wrote the following on 8 March 1665 when he heard of it.

“This morning is brought me to the office the sad news of the London, in which Sir J(ohn) Lawson's men were all bringing her from Chatham to the Hope, and thence he was to go to sea in her; but a little a'this side the buoy of the Nower, she suddenly blew up. About 24 [men] and a woman that were in the round-house and coach saved; the rest, being above 300, drowned: the ship breaking all in pieces, with 80 pieces of brass ordnance. She lies sunk, with her round-house above water. Sir J(ohn) Lawson hath a great loss in this of so many good chosen men, and many relations among them. I went to the 'Change, where the news taken very much to heart." The diary of Samuel Pepys, by Samuel Pepys 1633-1703 (x)

The wreck - explore her here

The wreck was finally found in 2005 and when an old German mine was removed from it in 2019, the investigation could continue. It turned out that the ship had exploded in a loading accident.

An almost complet gun carriage (x)

They found several guns that were already loaded and secured, only one was half loaded when the explosion occurred. Whether it happened directly in the Powder Magazine or shortly before cannot be said, but that was the cause of the sinking.

[vaguelyhumanshapedbeing]

Fun fact! There is nothing stopping you from posting the entirety of Shakespeare plays on Tumblr.com!

Exhibit 1 — The Comedy of Errors:

ACT 1

Scene 1

Enter ⌜Solinus⌝ the Duke of Ephesus, with ⌜Egeon⌝ the Merchant of Syracuse, Jailer, and other Attendants.

EGEON   Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,  And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE   Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more.  I am not partial to infringe our laws. 5 The enmity 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 sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods, 10 Excludes all pity from our threat’ning 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, 15 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.  Nay, more, if any born at Ephesus  Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs;  Again, if any Syracusian born  Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20 His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose,

p. 9

 Unless a thousand marks be levièd  To quit the penalty and to ransom him.  Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,  Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 25 Therefore by law thou art condemned to die. EGEON   Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,  My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE   Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause  Why thou departedst from thy native home 30 And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus. EGEON   A heavier task could not have been imposed  Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable;  Yet, that the world may witness that my end  Was wrought by nature, not by vile offense, 35 I’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.  In Syracusa was I born, and wed  Unto a woman happy but for me,  And by me, had not our hap been bad.  With her I lived in joy. Our wealth increased 40 By prosperous voyages I often made  To Epidamium, till my factor’s death  And ⌜the⌝ great care of goods at random left  Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse;  From whom my absence was not six months old 45 Before herself—almost at fainting under  The pleasing punishment that women bear—  Had made provision for her following me  And soon and safe arrivèd where I was.  There had she not been long but she became 50 A joyful mother of two goodly sons,  And, which was strange, the one so like the other  As could not be distinguished but by names.

p. 11

 That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,  A mean woman was deliverèd 55 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, not meanly proud of two such boys,  Made daily motions for our home return. 60 Unwilling, I agreed. Alas, too soon  We came aboard.  A league from Epidamium had we sailed  Before the always-wind-obeying deep  Gave any tragic instance of our harm; 65 But longer did we not retain much hope,  For what obscurèd light the heavens did grant  Did but convey unto our fearful minds  A doubtful warrant of immediate death,  Which though myself would gladly have embraced, 70 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,  Weeping before for what she saw must come,  And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,  That mourned for fashion, ignorant what to fear,  Forced me to seek delays for them and me. 75 And this it was, for other means was none:  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 fastened him unto a small spare mast, 80 Such as seafaring men provide for storms.  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 fixed, 85 Fastened ourselves at either end the mast  And, floating straight, obedient to the stream,  Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

p. 13

 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,  Dispersed those vapors that offended us, 90 And by the benefit of his wished light  The seas waxed calm, and we discoverèd  Two ships from far, making amain to us,  Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.  But ere they came—O, let me say no more! 95 Gather the sequel by that went before. DUKE   Nay, forward, old man. Do not break off so,  For we may pity though not pardon thee. EGEON   O, had the gods done so, I had not now  Worthily termed them merciless to us. 100 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,  We were encountered 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, 105 Fortune had left to both of us alike  What to delight in, what to sorrow for.  Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdenèd  With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,  Was carried with more speed before the wind, 110 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, knowing whom it was their hap to save,  Gave healthful welcome to their shipwracked guests, 115 And would have reft the fishers of their prey  Had not their ⌜bark⌝ been very slow of sail;  And therefore homeward did they bend their course.  Thus have you heard me severed from my bliss,  That by misfortunes was my life prolonged 120 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

p. 15

DUKE   And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,  Do me the favor to dilate at full  What have befall’n of them and ⌜thee⌝ till now. EGEON   My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 125 At eighteen years became inquisitive  After his brother, and importuned me  That his attendant—so his case was like,  Reft of his brother, but retained his name—  Might bear him company in the quest of him, 130 Whom whilst I labored of a love to see,  I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.  Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,  Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,  And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, 135 Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought  Or that or any place that harbors 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  140 Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have marked  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, 145 My soul should sue as advocate for thee.  But though thou art adjudgèd to the death,  And passèd sentence may not be recalled  But to our honor’s great disparagement,  Yet will I favor thee in what I can. 150 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,

p. 17

 And live. If no, then thou art doomed to die.— 155 Jailer, take him to thy custody. JAILER  I will, my lord. EGEON   Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,  But to procrastinate his lifeless end. They exit.

⌜Scene 2⌝

Enter Antipholus ⌜of Syracuse, First⌝ Merchant, and Dromio ⌜of Syracuse.⌝

⌜FIRST⌝ MERCHANT   Therefore give out you are of Epidamium,  Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.  This very day a Syracusian merchant  Is apprehended for arrival here 5 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. ⌜He gives money.⌝ ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE, handing money to Dromio⌝   Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 10 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.  Within this hour it will be dinnertime.  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, 15 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. Dromio ⌜of Syracuse⌝ exits.

p. 19

ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 20 When I am dull with care and melancholy,  Lightens my humor 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, 25 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 bedtime.  My present business calls me from you now. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  30 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.⌜He exits.⌝ ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   He that commends me to mine own content  Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 35 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, 40 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 returned so soon? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Returned so soon? Rather approached too late!  The capon burns; the pig falls from the spit; 45 The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;  My mistress made it one upon my cheek.

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 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; 50 You have no stomach, having broke your fast.  But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray  Are penitent for your default today. 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  55 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 humor now.  Tell me, and dally not: where is the money? 60 We being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust  So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner.  I from my mistress come to you in post;  If I return, I shall be post indeed, 65 For she will scour 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. 70 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.

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DROMIO OF EPHESUS  75 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⌝   Now, as I am a Christian, answer me  In what safe place you have bestowed my money, 80 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, 85 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  90 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, beating Dromio⌝   What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,  Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  95 What mean you, sir? For God’s sake, hold your  hands.  Nay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels. Dromio ⌜of⌝ Ephesus exits. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Upon my life, by some device or other  The villain is ⌜o’erraught⌝ of all my money. 100 They say this town is full of cozenage,  As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,

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 Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,  Soul-killing witches that deform the body,  Disguisèd cheaters, prating mountebanks, 105 And many suchlike 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. He exits.

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ACT 2

⌜Scene 1⌝

Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus ⌜of Ephesus,⌝ with Luciana, her sister.

ADRIANA   Neither my husband nor the slave returned  That in such haste I sent to seek his master?  Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock. LUCIANA   Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, 5 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  10 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  15 Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

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 There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye  But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.  The beasts, the fishes, and the wingèd fowls  Are their males’ subjects and at their controls. 20 Man, more divine, the master of all these,  Lord of the wide world and wild wat’ry seas,  Endued with intellectual sense and souls,  Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,  Are masters to their females, and their lords. 25 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 practice to obey. ADRIANA  30 How if your husband start some otherwhere? 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 35 We bid be quiet when we hear it cry,  But were we burdened with like weight of pain,  As much or more we should ourselves complain.  So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,  With urging helpless patience would relieve me; 40 But if thou live to see like right bereft,  This fool-begged 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.

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Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Ephesus.

ADRIANA   Say, is your tardy master now at hand? DROMIO OF EPHESUS  45Nay, 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. 50 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 55 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  60 I mean not cuckold mad,  But sure he is stark mad.  When I desired him to come home to dinner,  He asked me for a ⌜thousand⌝ marks in gold.  “’Tis dinnertime,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. 65 “Your meat doth burn,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth  he.  “Will you come?” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.  “Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?”  “The pig,” quoth I, “is burned.” “My gold,” quoth 70 he.

p. 35

 “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. 75 “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  80 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. 85 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. 90 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. ⌜He exits.⌝ 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 th’ alluring beauty took 95 From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it.  Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?  If voluble and sharp discourse be marred,

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 Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard.  Do their gay vestments his affections bait? 100 That’s not my fault; he’s master of my state.  What ruins are in me that can be found  By him not ruined? Then is he the ground  Of my defeatures. My decayèd fair  A sunny look of his would soon repair. 105 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, 110 Or else what lets it but he would be here?  Sister, you know he promised me a chain.  Would that alone o’ love he would detain,  So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.  I see the jewel best enamelèd 115 Will lose his beauty. Yet the gold bides still  That others touch, and often touching will  ⌜Wear⌝ gold; ⌜yet⌝ no man that hath a name  By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.  Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 120 I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die. LUCIANA   How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! ⌜They⌝ exit.

⌜Scene 2⌝

Enter Antipholus ⌜of Syracuse.⌝

ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up  Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave

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 Is wandered forth in care to seek me out.  By computation and mine host’s report, 5 I could not speak with Dromio since at first  I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse.

 How now, sir? Is your merry humor altered?  As you love strokes, so jest with me again.  You know no Centaur? You received no gold? 10 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?  My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,  That thus so madly thou didst answer me? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   What answer, sir? When spake I such a word? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Even now, even here, not half an hour since. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  15 I did not see you since you sent me hence,  Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt  And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner,  For which I hope thou felt’st I was displeased. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  20 I am glad to see you in this merry vein.  What means this jest, I pray you, master, tell me? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?  Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that and that. Beats Dromio. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Hold, sir, for God’s sake! Now your jest is earnest. 25 Upon what bargain do you give it me? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Because that I familiarly sometimes  Do use you for my fool and chat with you,

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 Your sauciness will jest upon my love  And make a common of my serious hours. 30 When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport,  But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.  If you will jest with me, know my aspect,  And fashion your demeanor to my looks,  Or I will beat this method in your sconce. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  35“Sconce” call you it? So you  would leave battering, I had rather have it a  “head.” An you use these blows long, I must get a  sconce for my head and ensconce it too, or else I  shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I pray, sir, 40 why am I beaten? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Dost thou not know? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Nothing, sir, but that I am  beaten. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Shall I tell you why? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  45Ay, sir, and wherefore, for they  say every why hath a wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  “Why” first: for flouting  me; and then “wherefore”: for urging it the second  time to me. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  50 Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,  When in the “why” and the “wherefore” is neither  rhyme nor reason?  Well, sir, I thank you. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Thank me, sir, for what? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  55Marry, sir, for this something  that you gave me for nothing. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  I’ll make you amends next,  to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it  dinnertime? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  60No, sir, I think the meat wants  that I have.

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ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  In good time, sir, what’s  that? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Basting. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  65Well, sir, then ’twill be dry. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of  it. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Your reason? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Lest it make you choleric and 70 purchase me another dry basting. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Well, sir, learn to jest in  good time. There’s a time for all things. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  I durst have denied that before  you were so choleric. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  75By what rule, sir? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as  the plain bald pate of Father Time himself. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Let’s hear it. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  There’s no time for a man to 80 recover his hair that grows bald by nature. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  May he not do it by fine and  recovery? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig,  and recover the lost hair of another man. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  85Why is Time such a niggard  of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Because it is a blessing that he  bestows on beasts, and what he hath scanted ⌜men⌝  in hair, he hath given them in wit. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  90Why, but there’s many a  man hath more hair than wit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Not a man of those but he hath  the wit to lose his hair. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Why, thou didst conclude 95 hairy men plain dealers without wit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  The plainer dealer, the sooner  lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

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ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  For what reason? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  For two, and sound ones too. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  100Nay, not sound, I pray you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Sure ones, then. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  Nay, not sure, in a thing  falsing. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Certain ones, then. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  105Name them. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  The one, to save the money that  he spends in ⌜tiring;⌝ the other, that at dinner they  should not drop in his porridge. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  You would all this time 110 have proved there is no time for all things. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, and did, sir: namely, e’en  no time to recover hair lost by nature. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  But your reason was not  substantial why there is no time to recover. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  115Thus I mend it: Time himself is  bald and therefore, to the world’s end, will have  bald followers. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  I knew ’twould be a bald  conclusion. But soft, who wafts us yonder?

Enter Adriana, ⌜beckoning them,⌝ and Luciana.

ADRIANA  120 Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.  Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects.  I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.  The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow  That never words were music to thine ear, 125 That never object pleasing in thine eye,  That never touch well welcome to thy hand,  That never meat sweet-savored in thy taste,  Unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved to  thee. 130 How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it

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 That thou art then estrangèd from thyself?  “Thyself” I call it, being strange to me,  That, undividable, incorporate,  Am better than thy dear self’s better part. 135 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!  For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall  A drop of water in the breaking gulf,  And take unmingled thence that drop again  Without addition or diminishing, 140 As take from me thyself and not me too.  How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,  Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious  And that this body, consecrate to thee,  By ruffian lust should be contaminate! 145 Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,  And hurl the name of husband in my face,  And tear the stained skin off my harlot brow,  And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,  And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? 150 I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it.  I am possessed with an adulterate blot;  My blood is mingled with the crime of lust;  For if we two be one, and thou play false,  I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 155 Being strumpeted by thy contagion.  Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed,  I live distained, thou undishonorèd. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not.  In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 160 As strange unto your town as to your talk,  Who, every word by all my wit being scanned,  Wants wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA   Fie, brother, how the world is changed with you!

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 When were you wont to use my sister thus? 165 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  By Dromio? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  By me? ADRIANA   By thee; and this thou didst return from him:  That he did buffet thee and, in his blows, 170 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?  What is the course and drift of your compact? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   I, sir? I never saw her till this time. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Villain, thou liest, for even her very words 175 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   I never spake with her in all my life. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   How can she thus then call us by our names—  Unless it be by inspiration? ADRIANA   How ill agrees it with your gravity 180 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,  Abetting him to thwart me in my mood.  Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,  But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.  Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine. ⌜She takes his arm.⌝ 185 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,  Whose weakness, married to thy ⌜stronger⌝ state,  Makes me with thy strength to communicate.  If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,  Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss, 190 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion  Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

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ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE, aside⌝   To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme.  What, was I married to her in my dream?  Or sleep I now and think I hear all this? 195 What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?  Until I know this sure uncertainty  I’ll entertain the ⌜offered⌝ fallacy. LUCIANA   Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. ⌜He crosses himself.⌝ 200 This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!  We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites.  If we obey them not, this will ensue:  They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. LUCIANA   Why prat’st thou to thyself and answer’st not? 205 Dromio—thou, Dromio—thou snail, thou slug,  thou sot. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   I am transformèd, master, am I not? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   I think thou art in mind, and so am I. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  210 Thou hast thine own form. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   No, I am an ape. LUCIANA   If thou art changed to aught, ’tis to an ass. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   ’Tis true. She rides me, and I long for grass.  ’Tis so. I am an ass; else it could never be 215 But I should know her as well as she knows me.

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ADRIANA   Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,  To put the finger in the eye and weep  Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.  Come, sir, to dinner.—Dromio, keep the gate.— 220 Husband, I’ll dine above with you today,  And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.  ⌜To Dromio.⌝ Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,  Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.—  Come, sister.—Dromio, play the porter well. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE, aside⌝  225 Am I in Earth, in heaven, or in hell?  Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised?  Known unto these, and to myself disguised!  I’ll say as they say, and persever so,  And in this mist at all adventures go. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  230 Master, shall I be porter at the gate? ADRIANA   Ay, and let none enter, lest I break your pate. LUCIANA   Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. ⌜They exit.⌝

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ACT 3

Scene 1

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, his man Dromio, Angelo the goldsmith, and Balthasar the merchant.

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;  My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours.  Say that I lingered with you at your shop  To see the making of her carcanet, 5 And that tomorrow you will bring it home.  But here’s a villain that would face me down  He met me on the mart, and that I beat him  And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,  And that I did deny my wife and house.— 10 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know.  That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to  show;  If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave 15 were ink,  Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I think thou art an ass. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Marry, so it doth appear  By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.

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20 I should kick being kicked and, being at that pass,  You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   You’re sad, Signior Balthasar. Pray God our cheer  May answer my goodwill and your good welcome  here. BALTHASAR  25 I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome  dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   O Signior Balthasar, either at flesh or fish  A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty  dish. BALTHASAR  30 Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   And welcome more common, for that’s nothing but  words. BALTHASAR   Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry  feast. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  35 Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest.  But though my cates be mean, take them in good  part.  Better cheer may you have, but not with better  heart.⌜He attempts to open the door.⌝ 40 But soft! My door is locked. ⌜To Dromio.⌝ Go, bid  them let us in. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Maud, Bridget, Marian, Ciceley, Gillian, Ginn! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!  Either get thee from the door or sit down at the 45 hatch.

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 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call’st for  such store  When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the  door. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  50 What patch is made our porter? My master stays in  the street. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch  cold on ’s feet. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Who talks within there? Ho, open the door. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝  55 Right, sir, I’ll tell you when an you’ll tell me  wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Wherefore? For my dinner. I have not dined today. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   Nor today here you must not. Come again when you  may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  60 What art thou that keep’st me out from the house I  owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   The porter for this time, sir, and my name is  Dromio. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my 65 name!  The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle  blame.  If thou hadst been Dromio today in my place,  Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or 70 thy name for an ass.

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Enter Luce ⌜above, unseen by Antipholus of Ephesus and his company.⌝

LUCE   What a coil is there, Dromio! Who are those at the  gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Let my master in, Luce. LUCE   Faith, no, he comes too late, 75 And so tell your master. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   O Lord, I must laugh.  Have at you with a proverb: shall I set in my staff? LUCE   Have at you with another: that’s—When, can you  tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝  80 If thy name be called “Luce,” Luce, thou hast  answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Luce⌝   Do you hear, you minion? You’ll let us in, I hope? LUCE   I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝    And you said no. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  85 So, come help. Well struck! There was blow for  blow. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Luce⌝   Thou baggage, let me in. LUCE   Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Master, knock the door hard. LUCE  90 Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   You’ll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. ⌜He beats on the door.⌝

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LUCE   What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the  town?

Enter Adriana, ⌜above, unseen by Antipholus of Ephesus and his company.⌝

ADRIANA   Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝  95 By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly  boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Are you there, wife? You might have come before. ADRIANA   Your wife, sir knave? Go, get you from the door. ⌜Adriana and Luce exit.⌝ DROMIO OF EPHESUS   If you went in pain, master, this knave would go 100 sore. ANGELO, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome. We would  fain have either. BALTHASAR   In debating which was best, we shall part with  neither. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  105 They stand at the door, master. Bid them welcome  hither. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   There is something in the wind, that we cannot get  in. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   You would say so, master, if your garments were 110 thin.  Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in  the cold.

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 It would make a man mad as a buck to be so  bought and sold. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  115 Go, fetch me something. I’ll break ope the gate. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s  pate. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   A man may break a word with ⌜you,⌝ sir, and words  are but wind, 120 Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not  behind. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝   It seems thou want’st breaking. Out upon thee, hind! DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Here’s too much “Out upon thee!” I pray thee, let  me in. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜within⌝  125 Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no  fin. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Dromio of Ephesus⌝   Well, I’ll break in. Go, borrow me a crow. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?  For a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a 130 feather.—  If a crow help us in, sirrah, we’ll pluck a crow  together. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Go, get thee gone. Fetch me an iron crow. BALTHASAR   Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so. 135 Herein you war against your reputation,  And draw within the compass of suspect  Th’ unviolated honor of your wife.  Once this: your long experience of ⌜her⌝ wisdom,

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 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty 140 Plead on ⌜her⌝ part some cause to you unknown.  And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse  Why at this time the doors are made against you.  Be ruled by me; depart in patience,  And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, 145 And about evening come yourself alone  To know the reason of this strange restraint.  If by strong hand you offer to break in  Now in the stirring passage of the day,  A vulgar comment will be made of it; 150 And that supposèd by the common rout  Against your yet ungallèd estimation  That may with foul intrusion enter in  And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;  For slander lives upon succession, 155 Forever housèd where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   You have prevailed. I will depart in quiet  And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.  I know a wench of excellent discourse,  Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle. 160 There will we dine. This woman that I mean,  My wife—but, I protest, without desert—  Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;  To her will we to dinner. ⌜To Angelo.⌝ Get you home  And fetch the chain; by this, I know, ’tis made. 165 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine,  For there’s the house. That chain will I bestow—  Be it for nothing but to spite my wife—  Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste.  Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 170 I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me. ANGELO   I’ll meet you at that place some hour hence.

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ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense. They exit.

⌜Scene 2⌝

Enter ⌜Luciana⌝ with Antipholus of Syracuse.

⌜LUCIANA⌝   And may it be that you have quite forgot   A husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus,  Even in the spring of love thy love-springs rot?   Shall love, in ⌜building,⌝ grow so ⌜ruinous?⌝ 5 If you did wed my sister for her wealth,   Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more   kindness.  Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth —   Muffle your false love with some show of 10  blindness.  Let not my sister read it in your eye;   Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator;  Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;   Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger. 15 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted.   Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint.  Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted?   What simple thief brags of his own ⌜attaint?⌝  ’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed 20  And let her read it in thy looks at board.  Shame hath a bastard fame, well managèd;   Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word.  Alas, poor women, make us ⌜but⌝ believe,   Being compact of credit, that you love us. 25 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;   We in your motion turn, and you may move us.

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 Then, gentle brother, get you in again.   Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her ⌜wife.⌝  ’Tis holy sport to be a little vain 30  When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Sweet mistress—what your name is else I know not,   Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine—  Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not   Than our Earth’s wonder, more than Earth divine. 35 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak.   Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,  Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,   The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.  Against my soul’s pure truth why labor you 40  To make it wander in an unknown field?  Are you a god? Would you create me new?   Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield.  But if that I am I, then well I know   Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 45 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe.   Far more, far more, to you do I decline.  O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note   To drown me in thy ⌜sister’s⌝ flood of tears.  Sing, Siren, for thyself, and I will dote. 50  Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs,  And as a ⌜bed⌝ I’ll take ⌜them⌝ and there lie,   And in that glorious supposition think  He gains by death that hath such means to die.   Let love, being light, be drownèd if she sink. LUCIANA  55 What, are you mad that you do reason so? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Not mad, but mated—how, I do not know. LUCIANA   It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

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ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. LUCIANA   Gaze when you should, and that will clear your 60 sight. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. LUCIANA   Why call you me “love”? Call my sister so. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Thy sister’s sister. LUCIANA   That’s my sister. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  65 No,  It is thyself, mine own self’s better part,  Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart,  My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim,  My sole Earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim. LUCIANA  70 All this my sister is, or else should be. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Call thyself “sister,” sweet, for I am thee.  Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;  Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.  Give me thy hand. LUCIANA  75 O soft, sir. Hold you still.  I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill.She exits.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse, ⌜running.⌝

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Why, how now, Dromio.  Where runn’st thou so fast? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Do you know me, sir? Am I 80 Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Thou art Dromio, thou art  my man, thou art thyself. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  I am an ass, I am a woman’s  man, and besides myself.

p. 77

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  85What woman’s man? And  how besides thyself? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, sir, besides myself I am  due to a woman, one that claims me, one that  haunts me, one that will have me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  90What claim lays she to thee? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, sir, such claim as you  would lay to your horse, and she would have me as  a beast; not that I being a beast she would have me,  but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays 95 claim to me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  What is she? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  A very reverend body, ay, such a  one as a man may not speak of without he say  “sir-reverence.” I have but lean luck in the match, 100 and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  How dost thou mean a “fat  marriage”? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen  wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to 105 put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from  her by her own light. I warrant her rags and the  tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If she lives  till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the  whole world. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  110What complexion is she of? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Swart like my shoe, but her face  nothing like so clean kept. For why? She sweats. A  man may go overshoes in the grime of it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  That’s a fault that water will 115 mend. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood  could not do it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  What’s her name? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Nell, sir, but her name ⌜and⌝

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120 three quarters—that’s an ell and three quarters—  will not measure her from hip to hip. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Then she bears some  breadth? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  No longer from head to foot than 125 from hip to hip. She is spherical, like a globe. I  could find out countries in her. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  In what part of her body  stands Ireland? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Marry, sir, in her buttocks. I 130 found it out by the bogs. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Where Scotland? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  I found it by the barrenness,  hard in the palm of the hand. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Where France? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  135In her forehead, armed and  reverted, making war against her heir. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Where England? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  I looked for the chalky cliffs, but  I could find no whiteness in them. But I guess it 140 stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran  between France and it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Where Spain? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot  in her breath. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  145Where America, the Indies? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  O, sir, upon her nose, all o’erembellished  with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,  declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of  Spain, who sent whole armadas of carracks to be 150 ballast at her nose. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Where stood Belgia, the  Netherlands? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  O, sir, I did not look so low. To  conclude: this drudge or diviner laid claim to me,

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155 called me Dromio, swore I was assured 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, amazed, ran from her as a  witch. 160 And, I think, if my breast had not been made of  faith, and my heart of steel,  She had transformed me to a curtal dog and made  me turn i’ th’ wheel. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Go, hie thee presently. Post to the road. 165 An if the wind blow any way from shore,  I will not harbor in this town tonight.  If any bark put forth, come to the mart,  Where I will walk till thou return to me.  If everyone knows us, and we know none, 170 ’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   As from a bear a man would run for life,  So fly I from her that would be my wife.He exits. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   There’s none but witches do inhabit here,  And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence. 175 She that doth call me husband, even my soul  Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,  Possessed with such a gentle sovereign grace,  Of such enchanting presence and discourse,  Hath almost made me traitor to myself. 180 But lest myself be guilty to self wrong,  I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song.

Enter Angelo with the chain.

ANGELO   Master Antipholus. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Ay, that’s my name.

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ANGELO   I know it well, sir. Lo, here’s the chain. 185 I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine;  The chain unfinished made me stay thus long. ⌜He gives Antipholus a chain.⌝ ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   What is your will that I shall do with this? ANGELO   What please yourself, sir. I have made it for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. ANGELO  190 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. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 195 For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more. ANGELO   You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well.He exits. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   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 offered chain. 200 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. He exits.

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ACT 4

Scene 1

Enter a ⌜Second⌝ Merchant, ⌜Angelo the⌝ Goldsmith, and an Officer.

⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT, ⌜to Angelo⌝   You know since Pentecost the sum is due,  And since I have not much importuned you,  Nor now I had not, but that I am bound  To Persia and want guilders for my voyage. 5 Therefore make present satisfaction,  Or I’ll attach you by this officer. ANGELO   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, 10 He had of me a chain. At five o’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 ⌜and⌝ Dromio ⌜of Ephesus⌝ from the Courtesan’s.

OFFICER   That labor may you save. See where he comes. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Dromio of Ephesus⌝  15 While I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou

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 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. 20 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. DROMIO ⌜OF EPHESUS⌝   I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! Dromio exits. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Angelo⌝   A man is well holp up that trusts to you!  I promisèd your presence and the chain,  But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. 25 Belike you thought our love would last too long  If it were chained together, and therefore came not. ANGELO, ⌜handing a paper to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Saving your merry humor, here’s the note  How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,  The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, 30 Which doth amount to three-odd ducats more  Than I stand debted to this gentleman.  I pray you, see him presently discharged,  For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I am not furnished with the present money. 35 Besides, I have some business in the town.  Good signior, take the stranger to my house,  And with you take the chain, and bid my wife  Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof.  Perchance I will be there as soon as you. ANGELO  40 Then you will bring the chain to her yourself. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   No, bear it with you lest I come not time enough. ANGELO   Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

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ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   An if I have not, sir, I hope you have,  Or else you may return without your money. ANGELO  45 Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain.  Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,  And I, to blame, have held him here too long. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Good Lord! You use this dalliance to excuse  Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. 50 I should have chid you for not bringing it,  But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT, ⌜to Angelo⌝   The hour steals on. I pray you, sir, dispatch. ANGELO, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   You hear how he importunes me. The chain! ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. ANGELO  55 Come, come. You know I gave it you even now.  Either send the chain, or send ⌜by me⌝ some token. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Fie, now you run this humor out of breath.  Come, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   My business cannot brook this dalliance. 60 Good sir, say whe’er you’ll answer me or no.  If not, I’ll leave him to the Officer. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I answer you? What should I answer you? ANGELO   The money that you owe me for the chain. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I owe you none till I receive the chain. ANGELO  65 You know I gave it you half an hour since.

p. 93

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   You gave me none. You wrong me much to say so. ANGELO   You wrong me more, sir, in denying it.  Consider how it stands upon my credit. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. OFFICER, ⌜to Angelo⌝  70 I do, and charge you in the Duke’s name to obey  me. ANGELO, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   This touches me in reputation.  Either consent to pay this sum for me,  Or I attach you by this officer. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  75 Consent to pay thee that I never had?—  Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar’st. ANGELO, ⌜to Officer⌝   Here is thy fee. Arrest him, officer.⌜Giving money.⌝  I would not spare my brother in this case  If he should scorn me so apparently. OFFICER, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝  80 I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I do obey thee till I give thee bail.  ⌜To Angelo.⌝ But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as  dear  As all the metal in your shop will answer. ANGELO  85 Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,  To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse from the bay.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Master, there’s a bark of Epidamium  That stays but till her owner comes aboard,

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 And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, 90 I have conveyed aboard, and I have bought  The oil, the balsamum, and aqua vitae.  The ship is in her trim; the merry wind  Blows fair from land. They stay for naught at all  But for their owner, master, and yourself. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  95 How now? A madman? Why, thou peevish sheep,  What ship of Epidamium stays for me? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope  And told thee to what purpose and what end. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  100 You sent me for a rope’s end as soon.  You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I will debate this matter at more leisure  And teach your ears to list me with more heed.  To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight. ⌜He gives a key.⌝ 105 Give her this key, and tell her in the desk  That’s covered o’er with Turkish tapestry  There is a purse of ducats. Let her send it.  Tell her I am arrested in the street,  And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave. Begone.— 110 On, officer, to prison till it come. ⌜All but Dromio of Syracuse⌝ exit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   To Adriana. That is where we dined,  Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband.  She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.  Thither I must, although against my will, 115 For servants must their masters’ minds fulfill. He exits.

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⌜Scene 2⌝

Enter Adriana and Luciana.

ADRIANA   Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?   Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye  That he did plead in earnest, yea or no?   Looked he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? 5 What observation mad’st thou in this case  ⌜Of⌝ his heart’s meteors tilting in his face? LUCIANA   First he denied you had in him no right. ADRIANA   He meant he did me none; the more my spite. LUCIANA   Then swore he that he was a stranger here. ADRIANA  10 And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. LUCIANA   Then pleaded I for you. ADRIANA   And what said he? LUCIANA   That love I begged for you he begged of me. ADRIANA   With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? LUCIANA  15 With words that in an honest suit might move.  First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. ADRIANA   Did’st speak him fair? LUCIANA   Have patience, I beseech. ADRIANA   I cannot, nor I will not hold me still. 20 My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.  He is deformèd, crooked, old, and sere,  Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless everywhere,

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 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,  Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. LUCIANA  25 Who would be jealous, then, of such a one?  No evil lost is wailed when it is gone. ADRIANA   Ah, but I think him better than I say,   And yet would herein others’ eyes were worse.  Far from her nest the lapwing cries away. 30  My heart prays for him, though my tongue do   curse.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse ⌜with the key.⌝

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Here, go—the desk, the purse! Sweet, now make  haste. LUCIANA   How hast thou lost thy breath? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  35 By running fast. ADRIANA   Where is thy master, Dromio? Is he well? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   No, he’s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.  A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,  One whose hard heart is buttoned up with steel; 40 A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;  A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;  A backfriend, a shoulder clapper, one that  countermands  The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; 45 A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot  well,  One that before the judgment carries poor souls to  hell. ADRIANA  Why, man, what is the matter?

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DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  50 I do not know the matter. He is ’rested on the case. ADRIANA   What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   I know not at whose suit he is arrested well,  But is in a suit of buff which ’rested him; that can I  tell. 55 Will you send him, mistress, redemption—the  money in his desk? ADRIANA   Go fetch it, sister. (Luciana exits.) This I wonder at,  ⌜That⌝ he, unknown to me, should be in debt.  Tell me, was he arrested on a band? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  60 Not on a band, but on a stronger thing:  A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring? ADRIANA  What, the chain? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   No, no, the bell. ’Tis time that I were gone.  It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes 65 one. ADRIANA   The hours come back. That did I never hear. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, he turns back  for very fear. ADRIANA   As if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou 70 reason! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Time is a very bankrout and owes more than he’s  worth to season.  Nay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say  That time comes stealing on by night and day?

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75 If ⌜he⌝ be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the  way,  Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

Enter Luciana, ⌜with the purse.⌝

ADRIANA   Go, Dromio. There’s the money. Bear it straight,  And bring thy master home immediately. ⌜Dromio exits.⌝ 80 Come, sister, I am pressed down with conceit:  Conceit, my comfort and my injury. ⌜They⌝ exit.

⌜Scene 3⌝

Enter Antipholus ⌜of⌝ Syracuse, ⌜wearing the chain.⌝

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me  As if I were their well-acquainted friend,  And everyone doth call me by my name.  Some tender money to me; some invite me; 5 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;  Some offer me commodities to buy.  Even now a tailor called me in his shop  And showed me silks that he had bought for me,  And therewithal took measure of my body. 10 Sure these are but imaginary wiles,  And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse ⌜with the purse.⌝

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Master, here’s the gold you sent  me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam  new-appareled? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  15 What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?

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DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Not that Adam that kept the  Paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison; he  that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the  Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil 20 angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  I understand thee not. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he  that went like a bass viol in a case of leather; the  man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives 25 them a sob and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity  on decayed men and gives them suits of durance; he  that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his  mace than a morris-pike. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  What, thou mean’st an 30 officer? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band;  he that brings any man to answer it that breaks his  band; one that thinks a man always going to bed  and says “God give you good rest.” ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  35Well, sir, there rest in your  foolery. Is there any ships puts forth tonight? May  we be gone? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Why, sir, I brought you word an  hour since that the bark Expedition put forth tonight, 40 and then were you hindered by the sergeant  to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that  you sent for to deliver you.⌜He gives the purse.⌝ ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   The fellow is distract, and so am I,  And here we wander in illusions. 45 Some blessèd power deliver us from hence!

Enter a Courtesan.

COURTESAN   Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.

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 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now.  Is that the chain you promised me today? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  50 Master, is this Mistress Satan? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   It is the devil. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Nay, she is worse; she is the  devil’s dam, and here she comes in the habit of a  light wench. And thereof comes that the wenches 55 say “God damn me”; that’s as much to say “God  make me a light wench.” It is written they appear  to men like angels of light. Light is an effect of fire,  and fire will burn: ergo, light wenches will burn.  Come not near her. COURTESAN  60 Your man and you are marvelous merry, sir.  Will you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Master, if ⌜you⌝ do, expect spoon  meat, or bespeak a long spoon. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  Why, Dromio? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  65Marry, he must have a long  spoon that must eat with the devil. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, ⌜to the Courtesan⌝   Avoid then, fiend! What tell’st thou me of supping?  Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress.  I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. COURTESAN  70 Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner  Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,  And I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Some devils ask but the parings  of one’s nail, a rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a 75 nut, a cherrystone; but she, more covetous, would  have a chain. Master, be wise. An if you give it her,  the devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.

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COURTESAN   I pray you, sir, my ring or else the chain.  I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  80 Avaunt, thou witch!—Come, Dromio, let us go. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  “Fly pride,” says the peacock.  Mistress, that you know. ⌜Antipholus and Dromio⌝ exit. COURTESAN   Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad;  Else would he never so demean himself. 85 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,  And for the same he promised me a chain.  Both one and other he denies me now.  The reason that I gather he is mad,  Besides this present instance of his rage, 90 Is a mad tale he told today at dinner  Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.  Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,  On purpose shut the doors against his way.  My way is now to hie home to his house 95 And tell his wife that, being lunatic,  He rushed into my house and took perforce  My ring away. This course I fittest choose,  For forty ducats is too much to lose. ⌜She exits.⌝

⌜Scene 4⌝

Enter Antipholus ⌜of⌝ Ephesus with a Jailer, ⌜the Officer.⌝

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Fear me not, man. I will not break away.  I’ll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,  To warrant thee, as I am ’rested for.  My wife is in a wayward mood today

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5 And will not lightly trust the messenger  That I should be attached in Ephesus.  I tell you, ’twill sound harshly in her ears.

Enter Dromio ⌜of⌝ Ephesus with a rope’s end.

 Here comes my man. I think he brings the  money. 10 How now, sir? Have you that I sent you for? DROMIO OF EPHESUS, ⌜handing over the rope’s end⌝   Here’s that, I warrant you, will pay them all. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  But where’s the money? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? DROMIO OF EPHESUS  15 I’ll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? DROMIO OF EPHESUS  To a rope’s end, sir, and to that  end am I returned. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜beating Dromio⌝   And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. OFFICER  20Good sir, be patient. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  Nay, ’tis for me to be patient. I am  in adversity. OFFICER  Good now, hold thy tongue. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  Nay, rather persuade him to hold 25 his hands. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  Thou whoreson, senseless  villain. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  I would I were senseless, sir, that  I might not feel your blows. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  30Thou art sensible in nothing  but blows, and so is an ass.

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DROMIO OF EPHESUS  I am an ass, indeed; you may  prove it by my long ears.—I have served him from  the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have 35 nothing at his hands for my service but blows.  When I am cold, he heats me with beating; when I  am warm, he cools me with beating. I am waked  with it when I sleep, raised with it when I sit,  driven out of doors with it when I go from home, 40 welcomed home with it when I return. Nay, I bear it  on my shoulders as a beggar wont her brat, and I  think when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it  from door to door.

Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan, and a Schoolmaster called Pinch.

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Come, go along. My wife is coming yonder. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  45Mistress, respice finem, respect  your end, or rather, the prophecy like the parrot,  “Beware the rope’s end.” ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  Wilt thou still talk? Beats Dromio. COURTESAN, ⌜to Adriana⌝   How say you now? Is not your husband mad? ADRIANA  50 His incivility confirms no less.—  Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;  Establish him in his true sense again,  And I will please you what you will demand. LUCIANA   Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! COURTESAN  55 Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy. PINCH, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.

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ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜striking Pinch⌝   There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. PINCH   I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,  To yield possession to my holy prayers, 60 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.  I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Peace, doting wizard, peace. I am not mad. ADRIANA   O, that thou wert not, poor distressèd soul! ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   You minion, you, are these your customers? 65 Did this companion with the saffron face  Revel and feast it at my house today  Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut  And I denied to enter in my house? ADRIANA   O husband, God doth know you dined at home, 70 Where would you had remained until this time,  Free from these slanders and this open shame. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   “Dined at home”? ⌜To Dromio.⌝ Thou villain, what  sayest thou? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  75 Were not my doors locked up and I shut out? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Perdie, your doors were locked, and you shut out. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   And did not she herself revile me there? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Sans fable, she herself reviled you there. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Did not her kitchen maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

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DROMIO OF EPHESUS  80 Certes, she did; the kitchen vestal scorned you. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   And did not I in rage depart from thence? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   In verity you did.—My bones bears witness,  That since have felt the vigor of his rage. ADRIANA, ⌜to Pinch⌝   Is ’t good to soothe him in these contraries? PINCH  85 It is no shame. The fellow finds his vein  And, yielding to him, humors well his frenzy. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Adriana⌝   Thou hast suborned the goldsmith to arrest me. ADRIANA   Alas, I sent you money to redeem you  By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  90 Money by me? Heart and goodwill you might,  But surely, master, not a rag of money. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Went’st not thou to her for a purse of ducats? ADRIANA   He came to me, and I delivered it. LUCIANA   And I am witness with her that she did. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  95 God and the rope-maker bear me witness  That I was sent for nothing but a rope. PINCH   Mistress, both man and master is possessed.  I know it by their pale and deadly looks.  They must be bound and laid in some dark room. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Adriana⌝  100 Say wherefore didst thou lock me forth today.

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 ⌜To Dromio of Ephesus.⌝ And why dost thou deny the  bag of gold? ADRIANA   I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   And, gentle master, I received no gold. 105 But I confess, sir, that we were locked out. ADRIANA   Dissembling villain, thou speak’st false in both. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,  And art confederate with a damnèd pack  To make a loathsome abject scorn of me. 110 But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes  That would behold in me this shameful sport. ADRIANA   O bind him, bind him! Let him not come near me.

Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives.

PINCH   More company! The fiend is strong within him. LUCIANA   Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  115 What, will you murder me?—Thou jailer, thou,  I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them  To make a rescue? OFFICER   Masters, let him go.  He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. PINCH  120 Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. ⌜Dromio is bound.⌝ ADRIANA, ⌜to Officer⌝   What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?  Hast thou delight to see a wretched man  Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

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OFFICER   He is my prisoner. If I let him go, 125 The debt he owes will be required of me. ADRIANA   I will discharge thee ere I go from thee.  Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,  And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.—  Good Master Doctor, see him safe conveyed 130 Home to my house. O most unhappy day! ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  O most unhappy strumpet! DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Master, I am here entered in bond for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Out on thee, villain! Wherefore dost thou mad me? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Will you be bound for nothing? Be mad, good 135 master.  Cry “The devil!” LUCIANA   God help poor souls! How idly do they talk! ADRIANA, ⌜to Pinch⌝   Go bear him hence. ⌜Pinch and his men⌝ exit ⌜with Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus.⌝ Officer, Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan remain.  Sister, go you with me. 140 ⌜To Officer.⌝ Say now whose suit is he arrested at. OFFICER   One Angelo, a goldsmith. Do you know him? ADRIANA   I know the man. What is the sum he owes? OFFICER   Two hundred ducats. ADRIANA   Say, how grows it due? OFFICER  145 Due for a chain your husband had of him.

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ADRIANA   He did bespeak a chain for me but had it not. COURTESAN   Whenas your husband all in rage today  Came to my house and took away my ring,  The ring I saw upon his finger now, 150 Straight after did I meet him with a chain. ADRIANA   It may be so, but I did never see it.—  Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is.  I long to know the truth hereof at large.

Enter Antipholus ⌜of⌝ Syracuse with his rapier drawn, and Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse.

LUCIANA   God for Thy mercy, they are loose again! ADRIANA  155 And come with naked swords. Let’s call more help  To have them bound again. OFFICER   Away! They’ll kill us. Run all out as fast as may be, frighted. ⌜Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse remain.⌝ ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   I see these witches are afraid of swords. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   She that would be your wife now ran from you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE  160 Come to the Centaur. Fetch our stuff from thence.  I long that we were safe and sound aboard. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Faith, stay here this night. They  will surely do us no harm. You saw they speak us  fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle 165 nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that  claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to  stay here still, and turn witch.

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ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   I will not stay tonight for all the town.  Therefore, away, to get our stuff aboard. They exit.

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ACT 5

Scene 1

Enter the ⌜Second⌝ Merchant and ⌜Angelo⌝ the Goldsmith.

ANGELO   I am sorry, sir, that I have hindered you,  But I protest he had the chain of me,  Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   How is the man esteemed here in the city? ANGELO  5 Of very reverend reputation, sir,  Of credit infinite, highly beloved,  Second to none that lives here in the city.  His word might bear my wealth at any time. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   Speak softly. Yonder, as I think, he walks.

Enter Antipholus and Dromio ⌜of Syracuse⌝ again, ⌜Antipholus wearing the chain.⌝

ANGELO  10 ’Tis so, and that self chain about his neck  Which he forswore most monstrously to have.  Good sir, draw near to me. I’ll speak to him.—  Signior Antipholus, I wonder much  That you would put me to this shame and trouble, 15 And not without some scandal to yourself,

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 With circumstance and oaths so to deny  This chain, which now you wear so openly.  Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment,  You have done wrong to this my honest friend, 20 Who, but for staying on our controversy,  Had hoisted sail and put to sea today.  This chain you had of me. Can you deny it? ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   I think I had. I never did deny it. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝  25 Who heard me to deny it or forswear it? ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   These ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee.  Fie on thee, wretch. ’Tis pity that thou liv’st  To walk where any honest men resort. ANTIPHOLUS ⌜OF SYRACUSE⌝   Thou art a villain to impeach me thus. 30 I’ll prove mine honor and mine honesty  Against thee presently if thou dar’st stand. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.They draw.

Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan, and others.

ADRIANA   Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake. He is mad.—  Some get within him; take his sword away. 35 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Run, master, run. For God’s sake, take a house.  This is some priory. In, or we are spoiled. ⌜Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse⌝ exit to the Priory.

Enter Lady Abbess.

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ABBESS   Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither? ADRIANA   To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. 40 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast  And bear him home for his recovery. ANGELO   I knew he was not in his perfect wits. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   I am sorry now that I did draw on him. ABBESS   How long hath this possession held the man? ADRIANA  45 This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,  And much different from the man he was.  But till this afternoon his passion  Ne’er brake into extremity of rage. ABBESS   Hath he not lost much wealth by wrack of sea? 50 Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye  Strayed his affection in unlawful love,  A sin prevailing much in youthful men  Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing?  Which of these sorrows is he subject to? ADRIANA  55 To none of these, except it be the last,  Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. ABBESS   You should for that have reprehended him. ADRIANA   Why, so I did. ABBESS   Ay, but not rough enough. ADRIANA  60 As roughly as my modesty would let me. ABBESS   Haply in private.

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ADRIANA   And in assemblies too. ABBESS  Ay, but not enough. ADRIANA   It was the copy of our conference. 65 In bed he slept not for my urging it;  At board he fed not for my urging it.  Alone, it was the subject of my theme;  In company I often glancèd it.  Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. ABBESS  70 And thereof came it that the man was mad.  The venom clamors of a jealous woman  Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.  It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing,  And thereof comes it that his head is light. 75 Thou sayst his meat was sauced 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? 80 Thou sayest his sports were hindered by thy brawls.  Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue  But moody and dull melancholy,  Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,  And at her heels a huge infectious troop 85 Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?  In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest  To be disturbed would mad or man or beast.  The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits  Hath scared thy husband from the use of wits. LUCIANA  90 She never reprehended him but mildly  When he demeaned himself rough, rude, and  wildly.—  Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?

p. 137

ADRIANA   She did betray me to my own reproof.— 95 Good people, enter and lay hold on him. ABBESS   No, not a creature enters in my house. ADRIANA   Then let your servants bring my husband forth. ABBESS   Neither. He took this place for sanctuary,  And it shall privilege him from your hands 100 Till I have brought him to his wits again  Or lose my labor in assaying it. ADRIANA   I will attend my husband, be his nurse,  Diet his sickness, for it is my office  And will have no attorney but myself; 105 And therefore let me have him home with me. ABBESS   Be patient, for I will not let him stir  Till I have used the approvèd means I have,  With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,  To make of him a formal man again. 110 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,  A charitable duty of my order.  Therefore depart and leave him here with me. ADRIANA   I will not hence and leave my husband here;  And ill it doth beseem your holiness 115 To separate the husband and the wife. ABBESS   Be quiet and depart. Thou shalt not have him. ⌜She exits.⌝ LUCIANA, ⌜to Adriana⌝   Complain unto the Duke of this indignity. ADRIANA   Come, go. I will fall prostrate at his feet  And never rise until my tears and prayers

p. 139

120 Have won his grace to come in person hither  And take perforce my husband from the Abbess. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   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, 125 The place of ⌜death⌝ and sorry execution  Behind the ditches of the abbey here. ANGELO  Upon what cause? ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT   To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,  Who put unluckily into this bay 130 Against the laws and statutes of this town,  Beheaded publicly for his offense. ANGELO   See where they come. We will behold his death. LUCIANA, ⌜to Adriana⌝   Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.

Enter the Duke of Ephesus, and ⌜Egeon⌝ the Merchant of Syracuse, bare head, with the Headsman and other Officers.

DUKE   Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 135 If any friend will pay the sum for him,  He shall not die; so much we tender him. ADRIANA, ⌜kneeling⌝   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. ADRIANA  140 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,

p. 141

 That desp’rately he hurried through the street, 145 With him his bondman, all as mad as he,  Doing displeasure to the citizens  By rushing in their houses, bearing thence  Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like.  Once did I get him bound and sent him home 150 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, 155 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,  Met us again and, madly bent on us,  Chased us away, till raising of more aid,  We came again to bind them. Then they fled  Into this abbey, whither we pursued them, 160 And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us  And will not suffer us to fetch him out,  Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.  Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command  Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help. DUKE  165 Long since, thy husband served me in my wars,  And I to thee engaged a prince’s word,  When thou didst make him master of thy bed,  To do him all the grace and good I could.  Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, 170 And bid the Lady Abbess come to me.  I will determine this before I stir.⌜Adriana rises.⌝

Enter a Messenger.

⌜MESSENGER⌝   O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself.  My master and his man are both broke loose,  Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,

p. 143

175 Whose beard they have singed off with brands of  fire,  And ever as it blazed they threw on him  Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair.  My master preaches patience to him, and the while 180 His man with scissors nicks him like a fool;  And sure, unless you send some present help,  Between them they will kill the conjurer. ADRIANA   Peace, fool. Thy master and his man are here,  And that is false thou dost report to us. MESSENGER  185 Mistress, upon my life I tell you true.  I have not breathed almost since I did see it.  He cries for you and vows, if he can take you,  To scorch your face and to disfigure you.Cry within.  Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress. Fly, begone! DUKE  190 Come, stand by me. Fear nothing.—Guard with  halberds.

Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus.

ADRIANA   Ay me, it is my husband. Witness you  That he is borne about invisible.  Even now we housed him in the abbey here, 195 And now he’s there, past thought of human reason. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Justice, most gracious duke. O, grant me justice,  Even for the service that long since I did thee  When I bestrid thee in the wars and took  Deep scars to save thy life. Even for the blood 200 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. EGEON, ⌜aside⌝   Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,  I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.

p. 145

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there,  She whom thou gav’st to me to be my wife, 205 That hath abusèd and dishonored me  Even in the strength and height of injury.  Beyond imagination is the wrong  That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. DUKE   Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  210 This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me  While she with harlots feasted in my house. DUKE   A grievous fault.—Say, woman, didst thou so? ADRIANA   No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister  Today did dine together. So befall my soul 215 As this is false he burdens me withal. LUCIANA   Ne’er may I look on day nor sleep on night  But she tells to your Highness simple truth. ANGELO   O perjured woman!—They are both forsworn.  In this the madman justly chargeth them. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  220 My liege, I am advisèd what I say,  Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,  Nor heady-rash provoked with raging ire,  Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.  This woman locked me out this day from dinner. 225 That goldsmith there, were he not packed 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 Porpentine,  Where Balthasar and I did dine together. 230 Our dinner done and he not coming thither,

p. 147

 I went to seek him. In the street I met him,  And in his company that gentleman. ⌜He points to Second Merchant.⌝  There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down  That I this day of him received the chain, 235 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 returned.  Then fairly I bespoke the officer 240 To go in person with me to my house.  By th’ way we met  My wife, her sister, and a rabble more  Of vile confederates. Along with them  They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-faced 245 villain,  A mere anatomy, a mountebank,  A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,  A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,  A living dead man. This pernicious slave, 250 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,  And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,  And with no face (as ’twere) outfacing me,  Cries out I was possessed. Then all together  They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, 255 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 gained my freedom and immediately  Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech 260 To give me ample satisfaction  For these deep shames and great indignities. ANGELO   My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him:  That he dined not at home, but was locked out.

p. 149

DUKE   But had he such a chain of thee or no? ANGELO  265 He had, my lord, and when he ran in here,  These people saw the chain about his neck. ⌜SECOND⌝ MERCHANT, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   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, 270 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. 275 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 drunk of Circe’s cup.  If here you housed him, here he would have been. 280 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly.  ⌜To Adriana.⌝ You say he dined at home; the  goldsmith here  Denies that saying. ⌜To Dromio of Ephesus.⌝ Sirrah,  what say you? DROMIO OF EPHESUS, ⌜pointing to the Courtesan⌝  285 Sir, he dined with her there at the Porpentine. COURTESAN   He did, and from my finger snatched that ring. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜showing a ring⌝   ’Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. DUKE, ⌜to Courtesan⌝   Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here? COURTESAN   As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace.

p. 151

DUKE  290 Why, this is strange.—Go call the Abbess hither. Exit one to the Abbess.  I think you are all mated or stark mad. EGEON   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  295 Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. EGEON, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus?  And is not that your bondman Dromio? DROMIO OF EPHESUS   Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,  But he, I thank him, gnawed in two my cords. 300 Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. EGEON   I am sure you both of you remember me. 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? EGEON, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝  305 Why look you strange on me? You know me well. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I never saw you in my life till now. EGEON   O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,  And careful hours with time’s deformèd hand  Have written strange defeatures in my face. 310 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  Neither. EGEON  Dromio, nor thou? DROMIO OF EPHESUS  No, trust me, sir, nor I.

p. 153

EGEON  I am sure thou dost. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  315Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not, and  whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to  believe him. EGEON   Not know my voice! O time’s extremity,  Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue 320 In seven short years that here my only son  Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares?  Though now this grainèd face of mine be hid  In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow,  And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 325 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 OF EPHESUS  330 I never saw my father in my life. EGEON   But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,  Thou know’st we parted. But perhaps, my son,  Thou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   The Duke and all that know me in the city 335 Can witness with me that it is not so.  I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life. DUKE   I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years  Have I been patron to Antipholus,  During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa. 340 I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter ⌜Emilia⌝ the Abbess, with Antipholus ⌜of⌝ Syracuse and Dromio ⌜of⌝ Syracuse.

p. 155

ABBESS   Most mighty duke, behold a man much wronged. All gather to see them. ADRIANA   I see 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 345 And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   I, sir, am Dromio. Command him away. DROMIO OF EPHESUS   I, sir, am Dromio. Pray, let me stay. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   Egeon art thou not, or else his ghost? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   O, my old master.—Who hath bound him here? ABBESS  350 Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds  And gain a husband by his liberty.—  Speak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man  That hadst a wife once called Emilia,  That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. 355 O, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak,  And speak unto the same Emilia. DUKE   Why, here begins his morning story right:  These two Antipholus’, these two so like,  And these two Dromios, one in semblance— 360 Besides her urging of her wrack at sea—  These are the parents to these children,  Which accidentally are met together. EGEON   If I dream not, thou art Emilia.  If thou art she, tell me, where is that son 365 That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

p. 157

ABBESS   By men of Epidamium 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, 370 And me they left with those of Epidamium.  What then became of them I cannot tell;  I to this fortune that you see me in. DUKE, ⌜to Antipholus of Syracuse⌝   Antipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   No, sir, not I. I came from Syracuse. DUKE  375 Stay, stand apart. I know not which is which. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  And I with him. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Brought to this town by that most famous warrior  Duke Menaphon, your most renownèd uncle. ADRIANA  380 Which of you two did dine with me today? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   I, gentle mistress. ADRIANA   And are not you my husband? ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  No, I say nay to that. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   And so do I, yet did she call me so, 385 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,  Did call me brother. ⌜To Luciana.⌝ What I told you  then  I hope I shall have leisure to make good,  If this be not a dream I see and hear. ANGELO, ⌜turning to Antipholus of Syracuse⌝  390 That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.

p. 159

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE   I think it be, sir. I deny it not. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to Angelo⌝   And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. ANGELO   I think I did, sir. I deny it not. ADRIANA, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   I sent you money, sir, to be your bail 395 By Dromio, but I think he brought it not. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  No, none by me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, ⌜to Adriana⌝   This purse of ducats I received from you,  And Dromio my man did bring them me.  I see we still did meet each other’s man, 400 And I was ta’en for him, and he for me,  And thereupon these errors are arose. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, ⌜to the Duke⌝   These ducats pawn I for my father here. DUKE   It shall not need. Thy father hath his life. COURTESAN, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Sir, I must have that diamond from you. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS  405 There, take it, and much thanks for my good cheer. ABBESS   Renownèd duke, vouchsafe to take the pains  To go with us into the abbey here  And hear at large discoursèd all our fortunes,  And all that are assembled in this place 410 That by this sympathizèd one day’s error  Have suffered wrong. Go, keep us company,  And we shall make full satisfaction.—  Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail  Of you, my sons, and till this present hour 415 My heavy burden ⌜ne’er⌝ deliverèd.—  The Duke, my husband, and my children both,

p. 161

 And you, the calendars of their nativity,  Go to a gossips’ feast, and go with me.  After so long grief, such nativity! DUKE  420 With all my heart I’ll gossip at this feast. All exit except the two Dromios and ⌜the⌝ two brothers ⌜Antipholus.⌝ DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS   Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embarked? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, ⌜to Antipholus of Ephesus⌝   He speaks to me.—I am your master, Dromio. 425 Come, go with us. We’ll look to that anon.  Embrace thy brother there. Rejoice with him. ⌜The brothers Antipholus⌝ exit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE   There is a fat friend at your master’s house  That kitchened me for you today at dinner.  She now shall be my sister, not my wife. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  430 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? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  Not I, sir. You are my elder. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  That’s a question. How shall we 435 try it? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE  We’ll draw cuts for the signior.  Till then, lead thou first. DROMIO OF EPHESUS  Nay, then, thus:  We came into the world like brother and brother, 440 And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before  another. They exit.

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

A Lament for Tyre

1 The word of the Lord came again unto me, saying,

2 Now, thou son of man, take up a lamentation for Tyrus;

3 And say unto Tyrus, O thou that art situate at the entry of the sea, which art a merchant of the people for many isles, Thus saith the Lord God; O Tyrus, thou hast said, I am of perfect beauty.

4 Thy borders are in the midst of the seas, thy builders have perfected thy beauty.

5 They have made all thy ship boards of fir trees of Senir: they have taken cedars from Lebanon to make masts for thee.

6 Of the oaks of Bashan have they made thine oars; the company of the Ashurites have made thy benches of ivory, brought out of the isles of Chittim.

7 Fine linen with broidered work from Egypt was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy sail; blue and purple from the isles of Elishah was that which covered thee.

8 The inhabitants of Zidon and Arvad were thy mariners: thy wise men, O Tyrus, that were in thee, were thy pilots.

9 The ancients of Gebal and the wise men thereof were in thee thy calkers: all the ships of the sea with their mariners were in thee to occupy thy merchandise.

10 They of Persia and of Lud and of Phut were in thine army, thy men of war: they hanged the shield and helmet in thee; they set forth thy comeliness.

11 The men of Arvad with thine army were upon thy walls round about, and the Gammadims were in thy towers: they hanged their shields upon thy walls round about; they have made thy beauty perfect.

12 Tarshish was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of all kind of riches; with silver, iron, tin, and lead, they traded in thy fairs.

13 Javan, Tubal, and Meshech, they were thy merchants: they traded the persons of men and vessels of brass in thy market.

14 They of the house of Togarmah traded in thy fairs with horses and horsemen and mules.

15 The men of Dedan were thy merchants; many isles were the merchandise of thine hand: they brought thee for a present horns of ivory and ebony.

16 Syria was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of the wares of thy making: they occupied in thy fairs with emeralds, purple, and broidered work, and fine linen, and coral, and agate.

17 Judah, and the land of Israel, they were thy merchants: they traded in thy market wheat of Minnith, and Pannag, and honey, and oil, and balm.

18 Damascus was thy merchant in the multitude of the wares of thy making, for the multitude of all riches; in the wine of Helbon, and white wool.

19 Dan also and Javan going to and fro occupied in thy fairs: bright iron, cassia, and calamus, were in thy market.

20 Dedan was thy merchant in precious clothes for chariots.

21 Arabia, and all the princes of Kedar, they occupied with thee in lambs, and rams, and goats: in these were they thy merchants.

22 The merchants of Sheba and Raamah, they were thy merchants: they occupied in thy fairs with chief of all spices, and with all precious stones, and gold.

23 Haran, and Canneh, and Eden, the merchants of Sheba, Asshur, and Chilmad, were thy merchants.

24 These were thy merchants in all sorts of things, in blue clothes, and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel, bound with cords, and made of cedar, among thy merchandise.

25 The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee in thy market: and thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of the seas.

26 Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters: the east wind hath broken thee in the midst of the seas.

27 Thy riches, and thy fairs, thy merchandise, thy mariners, and thy pilots, thy calkers, and the occupiers of thy merchandise, and all thy men of war, that are in thee, and in all thy company which is in the midst of thee, shall fall into the midst of the seas in the day of thy ruin.

28 The suburbs shall shake at the sound of the cry of thy pilots.

29 And all that handle the oar, the mariners, and all the pilots of the sea, shall come down from their ships, they shall stand upon the land;

30 And shall cause their voice to be heard against thee, and shall cry bitterly, and shall cast up dust upon their heads, they shall wallow themselves in the ashes:

31 And they shall make themselves utterly bald for thee, and gird them with sackcloth, and they shall weep for thee with bitterness of heart and bitter wailing.

32 And in their wailing they shall take up a lamentation for thee, and lament over thee, saying, What city is like Tyrus, like the destroyed in the midst of the sea?

33 When thy wares went forth out of the seas, thou filledst many people; thou didst enrich the kings of the earth with the multitude of thy riches and of thy merchandise.

34 In the time when thou shalt be broken by the seas in the depths of the waters thy merchandise and all thy company in the midst of thee shall fall.

35 All the inhabitants of the isles shall be astonished at thee, and their kings shall be sore afraid, they shall be troubled in their countenance.

36 The merchants among the people shall hiss at thee; thou shalt be a terror, and never shalt be any more. — Ezekiel 27 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain. Cross References: Genesis 10:2,3 and 4; Genesis 10:7; Genesis 10:18; Genesis 14:15; Genesis 25:3; Genesis 43:11; Exodus 25:4; Deuteronomy 3:9; Judges 10:6; 2 Kings 19:12; Psalm 37:10; Psalm 48:7; Psalm 83:7; Psalm 120:5; Song of Solomon 4:4; Isaiah 3:24; Jeremiah 9:10; Ezekiel 26:12; Ezekiel 26:17; Ezekiel 26:21; Ezekiel 28:4-5; Ezekiel 28:15; Ezekiel 32:9; Zechariah 9:3-4; Acts 12:20; Acts 27:14; Revelation 18:3; Revelation 18:9; Revelation 18:11,12 and 13; Revelation 18:17,18 and 19

[imakemywings]

10 fics 10 lines

I got tagged by both @illusivesoul and @lordoftherazzles for this one

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

The ground had grown terribly uneven; the carriage jounced about as its wheels careened through ruts scored deep into the dirt path from generations of use and absence of care. (Fruit of the Family Tree)

The Noldor had a saying, that a craft object remembered the hand of its builder. (Miriel Hath My Love)

It had seemed like such a brilliant idea when he’d first had it. (Penumbra)

Elrond lay limp and placid in Elwing’s arms as she sang, gently rocking side to side in the quiet of the boys’ bedroom. (Let Me Lie on Grass so Green)

Not much is remembered of the famed Elven stronghold of Gondolin, but of a few things we are relatively certain: It was ruled over by King Turgon, son of high king Fingolfin; it kept itself hidden from the forces of the so-called “dark lord” Morgoth for centuries through a policy of careful isolationism; and it was eventually betrayed by Turgon’s nephew, his sister-son Maeglin Lómion. (Uncovering The Hidden City: Depictions of the Siege of Gondolin in Popular Culture)

One of the most famous love stories in the history of Middle-earth, the quasi-mythical tale of Lady Elwing of the Havens at Sirion, last queen of Doriath, and her husband, Lord Eärendil of Gondolin has captivated popular imagination for centuries. (The Hope of Love: Eärendil and Elwing as Symbols of Romance in Popular Culture)

The ships sailed towards Losgar, but the wrath of Ulmo, Uinen, and Ossë was on them. (A Damnable Spot)

When her secretary told her which number was calling, Thingol allowed it to be patched through, but she took her time answering and lifting the phone up to her ear. (Maedhros' Good Report Card)

It had been such a brilliant stroke of luck for Thuringwethil. (A Taste of Royal Blood)

Go upstairs and wait, she’d said, so Maglor was kneeling on the freshly waxed floor of the upstairs bedroom, having been there long enough to be shifting his weight as much from discomfort as excitement. (Third Place Prize)

[yieldfruit]

Children of God do not always find it smooth sailing to heaven. Even in the good bark of Christ-crucified there are storms. Christ may be in the vessel, but he may be asleep, and the ship may be tossed with the tempest. I shall describe with great brevity what I believe to be with some Christians a frequent experience:

The light of God’s countenance is taken away from us. We were sitting yesterday at the banquet of wine with Christ, with his banner of love waving over us, and now to-day we cry, "He hath brought me into darkness, not into light! He hath turned against me his fierce anger! Oh, that I knew where I might find him that I might come even to his feet, for, truly, he is turned against me and he smites me with a heavy hand!" [Ref. Lamentations 3 & Job 23] At such seasons it will happen that our graces will refuse to act. Like some flowers that shut up their cups when the sun is gone, so will our love and our faith shut themselves up. They are reflectors, when there is no light without they cannot reflect any within. I have known what it is to search my heart through and through...ay, and to bring my soul to the closest investigation, with diligent enquiry asking, “Is this faith, or is it presumption? Is it really trusting in Christ, or is it all a fond persuasion of my own, an unwarranted confidence, a false security?”

At such times you may rest assured that the devil will cast in suggestions to torment us. He is an old coward: he always strikes the saints when they are down. I only wish he would meet me on some sunny day when my faith is strong and Christ is with me, I would give him a wound or two for himself! But, alas, he comes on us in the dark, when we have been slipping and tumbling down about in that Valley of Humiliation, where we are afraid of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and there he stands right in the way and swears that he will spill our soul’s blood, but farther on the road to heaven we shall never go; and then, if Satan comes, and his tyrannical voice is heard, the dogs that erst did lay quiet within our soul begin to howl, and the corruptions that we almost thought dead and buried suddenly lift their heads. Seems it not as though the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and a very Noah’s flood, a mighty deluge breaks forth to inundate even the mountains of our last hope, till we seem to have no chance of escape and the soul is ready to die. Perhaps at this moment we turn to the word of God: and it seems all a blank. The very promises that used to cheer us refuse to speak to us. We go where the saints of God go to hear the gospel, but we find no comfort there. The word appears to condemn rather than console us.

At that very minute we are assailed with some temporal trouble, and when spiritual trouble and temporal trouble come together and two seas meet — ah, it is hard for the poor bark to keep above the water at all. Yet have we known it so. A wild deliriousness has seized us. At the same time there has been this horrible thought, “After all may I not have been deluded?” and Satan howls out, “Why, of course you were! You are no child of God” and the flesh prevails awhile over the spirit, and conscience itself becomes a tormentor, upbraids and accuses us; then alas! for our poor vessel— it seems as if all hope that we should be saved were utterly taken away.

Well, but cannot we turn to prayer at such times as that? Yes, brethren, and that is the only thing we can do; and perhaps the only prayer we can get at then is a groan or a sigh, and it is a thousand mercies that if we cannot pray we can groan, or, if we cannot get to a groan, we can breathe, and our very breath of desire is accepted of God. When we are so down in the dust, so crushed, and broken, and bruised, that we could not put half-a-dozen sentences together, and would not dare to utter even one as children of God, we may still come as sinners and say, “Lord receive a poor worm of the dust, and if I never was thy child yet, make me one now. Take me just as I am! I come to thee just as I thought I did before, and, sink or swim, I rest my guilty soul on Christ.”

Now, why I have introduced this at all is just this. There are many young believers who get into such a squall, and do not know what to make of it. They say, “Why, had I been a child of God I could not have drifted into this frightful tempest.” How sayest thou so? Did not David go through it? He said, “All thy waves and thy billows have gone over me.” You must be very little acquainted with the history of the people of God if you think that they are strangers to these conflicts. There are some old mariners here that I could call up into the pulpit, if it were needed, to tell you that they have done business on great waters many years, and they have encountered many storms. You cannot expect to be upon these seas and not have tossings to and fro sometimes. The strongest faith that ever was in this world has sometimes faltered. Even Abraham had times when his faith was exceeding weak, though, indeed, at other times it staggered not at the promise through unbelief. David was a great man in battle, but he waxed faint, and had like to have been slain. So you will and the bravest of God's servants have their times when it is hard to hold their own; when they would be glad to creep into a mouse-hole, if they could there find themselves a shelter.

But this is the point, dear brothers and sisters— no soul that rests in Jesus will ever be wrecked. You may have the tempests and tossings, but you will come to land; be sure of that. Now, Christ is in the same boat with all his people. If one of his members can perish, he must perish too. “Strong language!” say you. Well, it is all in that verse— “Because I live ye shall live also.” You know, if you have got a man and you put him in the water, as long as his head is above the water you cannot drown him. There are his feet down in the mud; they will not drown, and he cannot drown. There are his hands in the cold stream; the hands are not drowned, cannot be, because his head is all safe. Now, look at our glorious Head. See where he is exalted in the highest heavens, at the right hand of the Father. The devil cannot drown me, and cannot drown you if you are a member of Christ’s body, because your Head is safe. Your Head is safe, and you are safe too. Rest you in this; that your faith may be shaken, but it cannot be destroyed.

Charles Spurgeon

[tolkien-feels]

I have a new conspiracy theory about the duel of Sauron and Finrod, published Silm version and I don't want to be proven wrong because it's a very neat and fun conspiracy theory

He chanted a song of wizardry, / Of piercing, opening, of treachery, / Revealing, uncovering, betraying.

Let's assume this bit stands for the capture of Beren and his companions. Sauron is twisting the truth of what will happen - he is treacherous, as Finrod points out in the poetic version, but his captives don't betray one another

Then sudden Felagund there swaying, / Sang in a song of staying, / Resisting, battling against power, / Of secrets kept, strength like a tower, / And trust unbroken, freedom, escape; / Of changing and shifting shape, / Of snares eluded, broken traps, / The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

Not only is Finrod correct, he's not even metaphorically correct, he's literally correct beyond what he can possibly imagine. Not only do Sauron's traps fail to have the result he's hoping for, but Luthien also keeps faith and shows up to open Sauron's prison. And of course, Finrod snapping his chains is a pretty significant thing that he does, which leads directly to my next point...

The chanting swelled, Felagund fought, / And all the magic and might he brought / Of Elvenesse into his words. / Softly in the gloom they heard the birds / Singing afar in Nargothrond, / The sighting of the Sea beyond, / Beyond the western world, on sand, / On sand of pearls on Elvenland.

About which I have only to quote Finrod himself "I now must go to my long rest / in Aman, there beyond the shore / of Eldamar for ever more / in memory to dwell." So, another point for Finrod.

And then we have Sauron's final bit

In Valinor, the red blood flowing / Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew / The Foamriders, and stealing drew / Their white ships with their white sails / From lamplit havens. The wind wails, / The wolf howls. The ravens flee. / The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea. / The captives sad in Angband mourn. / Thunder rumbles, the fires burn

Which I have to admit always upsets me when I read it so I never put too much thought into it, and I still don't quite have an answer to the memories he evokes (but then, neither do I have an answer to Finrod bringing up Nargothrond) but when do we see wolves howling and Angband? Oh, right, when Beren and Luthien's quest is successful. So even Sauron's triumph is in itself misleading

And I would call this reading too much into it, but it fits the pattern of how songs work in Tolkien? I mean, when Sam sings that he won't bid the stars farewell, the very next chapter he learns that no Shadow can touch the stars, and after that his hope is rekindled to a point where he never again gives up and becomes Hope Unquenchable. When Fingon sings a song "that Noldor made of old, before strife was born among the sons of Finwë" the next plot point is that the Noldor are reunited. It would be actually quite sensible if this duel of songs of power actually did shape the near future, but, as we know from LotR, Sauron picks and chooses what he reveals so that even good things can drive people to hopelessness and despair

This all, of course, ultimately links back to Eru's "No theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined." Finrod predicts Hope, and he's proven right. When Sauron tries to predict Despair, he can create despair-inducing scenarios but he ultimately can't seem to thwart Beren and Luthien's Doom, which is probably Eru's will at play. The darker things get, the greater the eucatastrophe, etc

[you-should-take-her-to-big-sur]

Since Taylor's releasing a variant called "The Albatross"

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

(text of 1834)

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Argument

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.

PART I

It is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin;

The guests are met, the feast is set:

May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,

'There was a ship,' quoth he.

'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'

Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—

The Wedding-Guest stood still,

And listens like a three years' child:

The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:

He cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner.

'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he!

And he shone bright, and on the right

Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,

Till over the mast at noon—'

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,

For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,

Red as a rose is she;

Nodding their heads before her goes

The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,

Yet he cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner.

And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong:

He struck with his o'ertaking wings,

And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,

As who pursued with yell and blow

Still treads the shadow of his foe,

And forward bends his head,

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,

And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold:

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts

Did send a dismal sheen:

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—

The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around:

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came;

As if it had been a Christian soul,

We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;

The Albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,

Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,

It perched for vespers nine;

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,

Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

'God save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow

I shot the ALBATROSS.

PART II

The Sun now rose upon the right:

Out of the sea came he,

Still hid in mist, and on the left

Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,

But no sweet bird did follow,

Nor any day for food or play

Came to the mariner's hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,

And it would work 'em woe:

For all averred, I had killed the bird

That made the breeze to blow.

Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,

That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,

The glorious Sun uprist:

Then all averred, I had killed the bird

That brought the fog and mist.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,

That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,

'Twas sad as sad could be;

And we did speak only to break

The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody Sun, at noon,

Right up above the mast did stand,

No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!

That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout

The death-fires danced at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,

Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assurèd were

Of the Spirit that plagued us so;

Nine fathom deep he had followed us

From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,

Was withered at the root;

We could not speak, no more than if

We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.

PART III

There passed a weary time. Each throat

Was parched, and glazed each eye.

A weary time! a weary time!

How glazed each weary eye,

When looking westward, I beheld

A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,

And then it seemed a mist;

It moved and moved, and took at last

A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

And still it neared and neared:

As if it dodged a water-sprite,

It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,

We could nor laugh nor wail;

Through utter drought all dumb we stood!

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,

And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,

Agape they heard me call:

Gramercy! they for joy did grin,

And all at once their breath drew in.

As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!

Hither to work us weal;

Without a breeze, without a tide,

She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame.

The day was well nigh done!

Almost upon the western wave

Rested the broad bright Sun;

When that strange shape drove suddenly

Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,

(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered

With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)

How fast she nears and nears!

Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,

Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the Sun

Did peer, as through a grate?

And is that Woman all her crew?

Is that a DEATH? and are there two?

Is DEATH that woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,

Her locks were yellow as gold:

Her skin was as white as leprosy,

The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,

Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,

And the twain were casting dice;

'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'

Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;

At one stride comes the dark;

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,

Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!

Fear at my heart, as at a cup,

My life-blood seemed to sip!

The stars were dim, and thick the night,

The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;

From the sails the dew did drip—

Till clomb above the eastern bar

The hornèd Moon, with one bright star

Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,

Too quick for groan or sigh,

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,

And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,

(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)

With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,

They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,—

They fled to bliss or woe!

And every soul, it passed me by,

Like the whizz of my cross-bow!

PART IV

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,

As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,

And thy skinny hand, so brown.'—

Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!

This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,

Alone on a wide wide sea!

And never a saint took pity on

My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!

And they all dead did lie:

And a thousand thousand slimy things

Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,

And drew my eyes away;

I looked upon the rotting deck,

And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made

My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,

And the balls like pulses beat;

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky

Lay dead like a load on my weary eye,

And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,

Nor rot nor reek did they:

The look with which they looked on me

Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell

A spirit from on high;

But oh! more horrible than that

Is the curse in a dead man's eye!

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,

And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky,

And no where did abide:

Softly she was going up,

And a star or two beside—

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,

Like April hoar-frost spread;

But where the ship's huge shadow lay,

The charmèd water burnt alway

A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship,

I watched the water-snakes:

They moved in tracks of shining white,

And when they reared, the elfish light

Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship

I watched their rich attire:

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,

They coiled and swam; and every track

Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue

Their beauty might declare:

A spring of love gushed from my heart,

And I blessed them unaware:

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I blessed them unaware.

The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.

PART V

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Beloved from pole to pole!

To Mary Queen the praise be given!

She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,

That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,

That had so long remained,

I dreamt that they were filled with dew;

And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,

My garments all were dank;

Sure I had drunken in my dreams,

And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:

I was so light—almost

I thought that I had died in sleep,

And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:

It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails,

That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!

And a hundred fire-flags sheen,

To and fro they were hurried about!

And to and fro, and in and out,

The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,

And the sails did sigh like sedge,

And the rain poured down from one black cloud;

The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still

The Moon was at its side:

Like waters shot from some high crag,

The lightning fell with never a jag,

A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,

Yet now the ship moved on!

Beneath the lightning and the Moon

The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,

Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;

It had been strange, even in a dream,

To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;

Yet never a breeze up-blew;

The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,

Where they were wont to do;

They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—

We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son

Stood by me, knee to knee:

The body and I pulled at one rope,

But he said nought to me.

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!'

Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!

'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,

Which to their corses came again,

But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,

And clustered round the mast;

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,

And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,

Then darted to the Sun;

Slowly the sounds came back again,

Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky

I heard the sky-lark sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are,

How they seemed to fill the sea and air

With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments,

Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song,

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on

A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,

Yet never a breeze did breathe:

Slowly and smoothly went the ship,

Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,

From the land of mist and snow,

The spirit slid: and it was he

That made the ship to go.

The sails at noon left off their tune,

And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast,

Had fixed her to the ocean:

But in a minute she 'gan stir,

With a short uneasy motion—

Backwards and forwards half her length

With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,

She made a sudden bound:

It flung the blood into my head,

And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,

I have not to declare;

But ere my living life returned,

I heard and in my soul discerned

Two voices in the air.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man?

By him who died on cross,

With his cruel bow he laid full low

The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself

In the land of mist and snow,

He loved the bird that loved the man

Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice,

As soft as honey-dew:

Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done,

And penance more will do.'

PART VI

First Voice

'But tell me, tell me! speak again,

Thy soft response renewing—

What makes that ship drive on so fast?

What is the ocean doing?'

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,

The ocean hath no blast;

His great bright eye most silently

Up to the Moon is cast—

If he may know which way to go;

For she guides him smooth or grim.

See, brother, see! how graciously

She looketh down on him.'

First Voice

'But why drives on that ship so fast,

Without wave or wind?'

Second Voice

'The air is cut away before,

And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!

Or we shall be belated:

For slow and slow that ship will go,

When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

I woke, and we were sailing on

As in a gentle weather:

'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;

The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter:

All fixed on me their stony eyes,

That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,

Had never passed away:

I could not draw my eyes from theirs,

Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt: once more

I viewed the ocean green,

And looked far forth, yet little saw

Of what had else been seen—

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more his head;

Because he knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,

Nor sound nor motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea,

In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek

Like a meadow-gale of spring—

It mingled strangely with my fears,

Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?

Is this the hill? is this the kirk?

Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,

And I with sobs did pray—

O let me be awake, my God!

Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,

So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moonlight lay,

And the shadow of the Moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,

That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steeped in silentness

The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,

Till rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow

Those crimson shadows were:

I turned my eyes upon the deck—

Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,

And, by the holy rood!

A man all light, a seraph-man,

On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:

It was a heavenly sight!

They stood as signals to the land,

Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,

No voice did they impart—

No voice; but oh! the silence sank

Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,

I heard the Pilot's cheer;

My head was turned perforce away

And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,

I heard them coming fast:

Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy

The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third—I heard his voice:

It is the Hermit good!

He singeth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away

The Albatross's blood.

PART VII

This Hermit good lives in that wood

Which slopes down to the sea.

How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

He loves to talk with marineres

That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve—

He hath a cushion plump:

It is the moss that wholly hides

The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,

'Why, this is strange, I trow!

Where are those lights so many and fair,

That signal made but now?'

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said—

'And they answered not our cheer!

The planks looked warped! and see those sails,

How thin they are and sere!

I never saw aught like to them,

Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag

My forest-brook along;

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,

And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,

That eats the she-wolf's young.'

'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look—

(The Pilot made reply)

I am a-feared'—'Push on, push on!'

Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,

But I nor spake nor stirred;

The boat came close beneath the ship,

And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread:

It reached the ship, it split the bay;

The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,

Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven days drowned

My body lay afloat;

But swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,

The boat spun round and round;

And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked

And fell down in a fit;

The holy Hermit raised his eyes,

And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,

Who now doth crazy go,

Laughed loud and long, and all the while

His eyes went to and fro.

'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see,

The Devil knows how to row.'

And now, all in my own countree,

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,

And scarcely he could stand.

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'

The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say—

What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns:

And till my ghastly tale is told,

This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;

I have strange power of speech;

That moment that his face I see,

I know the man that must hear me:

To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!

The wedding-guests are there:

But in the garden-bower the bride

And bride-maids singing are:

And hark the little vesper bell,

Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been

Alone on a wide wide sea:

So lonely 'twas, that God himself

Scarce seemèd there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,

'Tis sweeter far to me,

To walk together to the kirk

With a goodly company!—

To walk together to the kirk,

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends

And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell

To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,

Whose beard with age is hoar,

Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest

Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,

And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man,

He rose the morrow morn.

[intj-greenwords]

Theological Fact Check:

Father Mapple’s Sermon (1-the narrative)

This Fact Check post compares narrative elements of Jonah’s story in Father Mapple’s sermon against the Biblical text.

BIBLICAL

These events appear in both Father Mapple’s sermon, and the biblical book of Jonah.

Jonah disobeyed God; Jonah tried to run from God; Jonah went to Joppa to seek a shop bound for Tarshish (Jonah 1:3)

Jonah paid his fare before boarding the ship; a violent storm arose that threatened to break the ship (Jonah 1:4)

Jonah went below deck and slept; the sailors threw cargo overboard to lighten the ship (Jonah 1:5)

The captain woke Jonah and asked “How can you sleep?” (Jonah 1:6)

The crew cast lots to find out who’s to blame; the lot fell on Jonah (Jonah 1:7)

They asked all the questions: “What is thine occupation? Whence comest thou? Thy country? What people?” (Jonah 1:8)

Jonah answered “I am Hebrew; I fear the Lord the God of Heaven who hath made the sea and the dry land!” (Jonah 1:9)

Jonah accepted blame and told them the only way to calm the sea was to throw him overboard (Jonah 1:11,12)

The sailors recoiled from doing this; instead they tried to change their course and head for shore, but in vain (1:13)

The sailors threw Jonah into the sea; the sea instantly became calm (Jonah 1:15)

God had provided a huge fish and Jonah ends up inside it (Jonah 1:17)

Jonah did eventually pray to his god – but not until he was inside the big fish (Jonah 2:1)

There was seaweed wrapped around Jonah’s head (Jonah 2:5)

God spoke to the fish and it vomited Jonah onto dry land (Jonah 2:10)

Then God commanded Jonah a second time to go to Nineveh (Jonah 3:1,2)

CONJECTURE

In the Biblical narrative…

Jonah isn’t “plainly a fugitive! no baggage, not a hag-box, valise or carpet-bag…”

The sailors didn’t remark his evil eye, or assume him to be a robber, bigamist, adulterer or jail-breaker…

The sailors didn’t compare his likeness with all the WANTED posters before accepting him aboard

Jonah didn’t quibble about the time of sailing

Aspersions are not cast against the captain’s character; he was not a mercenary opportunist, nor did he charge Jonah thrice the standard price

There is no checking of coins for counterfeit

There is no mention of a non-locking door (or a lantern)

OMISSIONS

Not in the sermon, but in the Biblical narrative…

The sailors each prayed to their own gods as the first strategy before throwing cargo overboard (Jonah 1:5)

The captain requested Jonah pray to his God for their salvation from the storm (Jonah 1:6)

When it was realised that Jonah was the cause of the problem (and that Jonah did not pray to his god when requested) all the sailors on the ship prayed to Jonah’s god seeking forgiveness for what they were going to do to Jonah, ie kill him (Jonah 1:14)

After throwing Jonah into the sea, the sailors then offered sacrifices to Jonah’s god (Jonah 1:16)

CONCLUSION

Father Mapple’s narrative is reliable in all matters of consequence, while also embellished with liberal servings of his personal headcanon (which is not uncommon in sermons in my experience).

[wizard-island-trading-co]

okay here goes...

what is your lore?

Yay! Lore Post Time!

(Sorry this took a while, I was typing it at work)

Long ago there was a (not)humble pirate Captain who's name has been lost to time. Seeking a life of adventure and wealth, he set to sea with his crew to find his fortune. They stole a ship and plundered wherever there was gold to be had. There was no sailor who did not fear him and his crew.

But one day, as he stowed his treasure on an island few souls knew of, his ship was attacked. Zombies, summoned by an Ancient Druidic Curse to reclaim the stolen wood that comprised his vessel. They consumed his ship and turned his crew to undeath. Having completed their mission, they returned to the waves and left the Captain to lay his crew to rest.

Stranded on that island with only his gold to keep him company, the Captain adopted a new mission. He would use his vast fortune to learn the magics of this world and destroy the curse that claimed his ship and men.

A ship found him sooner than later, and learning magic was easy enough thanks to the gold he possessed. He found the Druidic curse that had started it all, and attempted to destroy it. But this was no ordinary curse. It was one of the Great Seals, powerful and ancient magic who no one fully understood, even back then. Having failed his attempt, the punishment for tampering with a Great Seal was an eternal sentence in Time Prison.

The first few aeons passed with the Captain resigned to his fate, slowly passing the time in a half conscious state. But slowly his anger swelled.

What he had gained.

What he had lost.

What was taken from him.

What he wished to do.

What he still had to do.

What he WOULD do.

In Time Prison, all known magics are sealed away. Everything the Captain had learned, useless. Countless layers of negation, suppression, and counter magic. It completely dwarfed the combined might if the Great Seals. But Hell hath no wrath like the Captain scorned. It took centuries. Like an infant learning to walk, he twisted and warped his very soul in every way imaginable. There had to be a way out, and he would find it.

The Captain never made it out of Time Prison. It had been near a millennia of this. His soul, stretched to its limits, finally shattered. The Captain was dead. With not even a trace of his soul being found, the Time Wardens released the non-existent man from custody and returned his body to the world from whence it came.

But something new was born that day. From the corpse of the Captain rose a new being. I was the Captain no longer. I was not undead. Neither living nor dead, I had ascended to a new form of existence. Having consumed the shattered remains of what was once my soul, I left my flesh behind and returned to my mission. Without a soul, I cannot muster mana to manipulate the weave, but I have learned much about soul manipulation and the power souls contain.

I now set forth once more aboard the (legitimately aquired) Stocky Jasmine, under the flag of black, and sail with the motto, "Irrumabo Ego Solem". A promise to not let anything stand in my way as I once again gather power to destroy the Great Seal that stole my ship and crew.

I currently have no name, as I have no soul to bind it to. But those who demand one will hear my cry:

I am Fless Roicaff, Captain of the Stocky Jasmine! Not bound by law, soul, or god! Stand beside me if you dare, but all who stand before me will fall!

[fideidefenswhore]

Another jewel that may also have belonged to Henry VIII was described in Anne's inventory as 'a jewel in form of a ship of gold under sail with the words 'Amor et gratin cum verbo', & a woman at the helm.' Was this, perhaps, the jewel depicting a maiden in a storm-tossed ship which was comissioned for Henry by Anne Boleyn in order to signify her turmoil when she finally agreed to become his wife?

Bessie Blount: Mistress to Henry VIII (Norton, Elizabeth)

“For a present so beautiful that nothing could be more so (considering the whole of it), I thank you most cordially, not only on account of the fine diamond and ship in which the solitary damsel is tossed about, but chiefly for the fine interpretation and the too humble submission which your goodness hath used towards me in this case…”