The Comedy of Errors

thee. Aegeon

O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term’d them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter’d by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wreck’d guests;
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 sever’d from my bliss,
That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke

And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall’n of them and thee till now.

Aegeon

My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant⁠—so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name⁠—
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour’d of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke

Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark’d
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall’d
But to our honour’s great disparagement,
Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaoler I will, my lord. Aegeon

Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt.

Scene II

The Mart.

	Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of Syracuse, and First Merchant.
First Merchant	Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day a Syracusian merchant Is apprehended for arrival here; And not being able to buy out his life According to the statute of the town Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep.
Antipholus of Syracuse	Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be 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, For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away.
Dromio of Syracuse	Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean. Exit.
Antipholus of Syracuse	A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn and dine with me?
First Merchant	I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. Soon at five o’clock, Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart And afterward consort you till bed-time: My present business calls me from you now.
Antipholus of Syracuse	Farewell till then: I will go lose myself And wander up and down to view the city.
First Merchant	Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit.
Antipholus of Syracuse	He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
	Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
	Here comes the almanac of my true date. What now? how chance thou art return’d so soon?
Dromio of Ephesus	Return’d so soon! rather approach’d too late: The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek: She is so hot because the meat is cold; The meat is cold because you come not home; You come not home because you have no stomach; You have no stomach having broke your fast; But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray Are penitent for your default 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	O⁠—sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper? The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
Antipholus of Syracuse	I am not in a sportive humour now: Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody?
Dromio of Ephesus	I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed, For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock And strike you home without a messenger.
Antipholus of Syracuse	Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season; Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?