Part 9

Luc. What are you mad, that you doe reason so? Ant. Not mad, but mated, how I doe not know

Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eie

Ant. For gazing on your beames faire sun being by

Luc. Gaze when you should, and that will cleere your sight

Ant. As good to winke sweet loue, as looke on night

Luc. Why call you me loue? Call my sister so

Ant. Thy sisters sister

Luc. That's my sister

Ant. No: it is thy selfe, mine owne selfes better part: Mine eies cleere eie, my deere hearts deerer heart; My foode, my fortune, and my sweet hopes aime; My sole earths heauen, and my heauens claime

Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be

Ant. Call thy selfe sister sweet, for I am thee: Thee will I loue, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: Giue me thy hand

Luc. Oh soft sir, hold you still: Ile fetch my sister to get her good will.

Enter.

Enter Dromio, Siracusia.

Ant. Why how now Dromio, where run'st thou so fast? S.Dro. Doe you know me sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I my selfe? Ant. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thy selfe

Dro. I am an asse, I am a womans man, and besides my selfe

Ant. What womans man? and how besides thy selfe? Dro. Marrie sir, besides my selfe, I am due to a woman: One that claimes me, one that haunts me, one that will haue me

Anti. What claime laies she to thee? Dro. Marry sir, such claime as you would lay to your horse, and she would haue me as a beast, not that I beeing a beast she would haue me, but that she being a verie beastly creature layes claime to me

Anti. What is she? Dro. A very reuerent body: I such a one, as a man may not speake of, without he say sir reuerence, I haue but leane lucke in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage

Anti. How dost thou meane a fat marriage? Dro. Marry sir, she's the Kitchin wench, & al grease, and I know not what vse to put her too, but to make a Lampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. I warrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burne a Poland Winter: If she liues till doomesday, she'l burne a weeke longer then the whole World

Anti. What complexion is she of? Dro. Swart like my shoo, but her face nothing like so cleane kept: for why? she sweats a man may goe ouer-shooes in the grime of it

Anti. That's a fault that water will mend

Dro. No sir, 'tis in graine, Noahs flood could not do it

Anti. What's her name? Dro. Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters, that's an Ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip

Anti. Then she beares some bredth? Dro. No longer from head to foot, then from hippe to hippe: she is sphericall, like a globe: I could find out Countries in her

Anti. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. Marry sir in her buttockes, I found it out by the bogges

Ant. Where Scotland? Dro. I found it by the barrennesse, hard in the palme of the hand

Ant. Where France? Dro. In her forhead, arm'd and reuerted, making warre against her heire