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For what obscured light the heavens did grant

Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death,

Which though myself would gladly have embrac’d,

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

Weeping before for what she saw must come,

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

Forc’d me to seek delays for them and me.

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 fast’ned him unto a small spare mast,

Such as sea-faring 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 dispos’d, my wife and I,

Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,

Fast’ned ourselves at either end the mast,

And floating straight, obedient to the stream,

Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,

Dispers’d those vapors that offended us,

And by the benefit of his wished light

The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered

Two ships from far, making amain to us,

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.

But ere they came—O, let me say no more!

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.

Ege.

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 encount’red 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 seiz’d on us,

And knowing whom it was their hap to save,

Gave healthful welcome to their shipwrack’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 favor to dilate at full

What have befall’n of them and [thee] till now.

Ege.

My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive

After his brother; and importun’d 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 labored of a love to see,

I hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d.

Five summers have I spent in farthest 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 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.

Hapless Egeon, 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 honor’s great disparagement,

Yet will I favor thee in what I can;

Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day

To seek thy [health] 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.

Jailer, take him to thy custody.

Jail.

I will, my lord.

Ege.

Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,

But to procrastinate his liveless end.

Exeunt.

¶

Francis Wheatley , p. — James Neagle , e.

Enter Antipholus Erotes [of Syracuse, First] Merchant [of Ephesus], and Dromio [of Syracuse].

[1. E.] Mer.

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;

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.

S. Ant.

Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.

Within this hour it will be dinner-time;

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.

S. Dro.

Many a man would take you at your word,

And go indeed, having so good a mean.

Exit Dromio.

S. Ant.

A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,

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?

[1.] E. Mer.

I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,

Of whom I hope to make much benefit;

I crave your pardon. Soon at five a’ 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.

S. Ant.

Farewell till then. I will go lose myself,

And wander up and down to view the city.

[1.] E. Mer.

Sir, I commend you to your own content.

Exit.

S. Ant.

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), ah, lose myself.

Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanac of my true date.

What now? How chance thou art return’d so soon?

E. Dro.

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 to-day.

S. Ant.

Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray:

Where have you left the money that I gave you?

E. Dro.