For lately we were bound, as you are now. Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last; And careful hours, with time's deformed' hand, Ege. Dromio, nor thou? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 8 I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. Ege. Not know my voice! O time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting 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. 5 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 6 strange defeatures] Defeatures are certainly neither. more nor less than features; as demerits are neither more nor less than merits. Time, says Ægeon, hath placed new and strange features in my face; i. e. given it quite a different appearance : no wonder therefore thou dost not know me. RITSON. 7 my feeble key of untun'd cares?] i. e. the weak and discordant tone of my voice, that is changed by grief. DOUCE. this grained face-] i. e. furrowed, like the grain of 8 wood. VOL. IV. F Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so; I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS Syracusan, and DROMIO Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. And gain a husband by his liberty:- Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia; Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, And me they left with those of Epidamnum : Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right': Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Dro. E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day? Adr. And are not you my husband? Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me. Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you, Why, here begins his morning story right:] "The morning story," is what Ægeon tells the duke in the first scene of this play. And Dromio my man did bring them me : Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:- The duke, my husband, and my children both, Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me; After so long grief, such nativity! Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ÆGEON, Courtezan, Merchant, ANGELO, and Attendants. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship board? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em bark'd? Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Cen taur. Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio: + Mr. Malone reads-" until this present hour, My heavy burthen not delivered." 1 After so long grief, such nativity!] She has just said, that to her, her sons were not born till now. STEEVENS. Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon: [Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS S. and E., ADRIANA, and LUCIANA. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; She now shall be my sister, not my wife. Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it? Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till then, lead thou first. Dro. E. Nay, then thus: We came into the world, like brother and brother; [Exeunt 2. ? On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Benedick says) "fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake." Thus, as we are informed by Aulus Gellius, Lib. III. cap. 3, some plays were absolutely ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been (retractatæ et expolita) retouched and polished by him. In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene, where the same mistakes are continued, till their power of affording entertainment is entirely lost. STEEVENS. The long doggrel verses that Shakspeare has attributed in thi play to the two Dromios are written in that kind of metre which was usually attributed, by the dramatick poets before his time, in their comick pieces, to some of their inferior characters; and this circumstance is one of many that authorizes us to place the preceding comedy, as well as Love's Labour's Lost, and The Taming |