The Comedy of Errors
Page: 8

Will you come, quoth I: my gold, quoth he;
Where is the thousand markes I gaue thee villaine?
The Pigge quoth I, is burn'd: my gold, quoth he:
My mistresse, sir, quoth I: hang vp thy Mistresse:
I know not thy mistresse, out on thy mistresse

Luci. Quoth who?
E.Dr. Quoth my Master, I know quoth he, no house,
no wife, no mistresse: so that my arrant due vnto my
tongue, I thanke him, I bare home vpon my shoulders:
for in conclusion, he did beat me there

Adri. Go back againe, thou slaue, & fetch him home

Dro. Goe backe againe, and be new beaten home?
For Gods sake send some other messenger

Adri. Backe slaue, or I will breake thy pate a-crosse

Dro. And he will blesse y crosse with other beating:
Betweene you, I shall haue a holy head

Adri. Hence prating pesant, fetch thy Master home

Dro. Am I so round with you, as you with me,
That like a foot-ball you doe spurne me thus:
You spurne me hence, and he will spurne me hither,
If I last in this seruice, you must case me in leather

Luci. Fie how impatience lowreth in your face

Adri. His company must do his minions grace,
Whil'st I at home starue for a merrie looke:
Hath homelie age th' alluring beauty tooke
From my poore cheeke? then he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit,
If voluble and sharpe discourse be mar'd,
Vnkindnesse blunts it more then marble hard.
Doe their gay vestments his affections baite?
That's not my fault, hee's master of my state.
What ruines are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed faire,
A sunnie looke of his, would soone repaire.
But, too vnruly Deere, he breakes the pale,
And feedes from home; poore I am but his stale

Luci. Selfe-harming Iealousie; fie beat it hence

Ad. Vnfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispence:
I know his eye doth homage other-where,
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis'd me a chaine,
Would that alone, a loue he would detaine,
So he would keepe faire quarter with his bed:
I see the Iewell best enamaled
Will loose his beautie: yet the gold bides still