The Comedy of Errors By William Shakespeare

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The Comedy of Errors

William Shakespeare

Published: 1594

Categorie(s): Fiction, Drama

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- King Lear (1606)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.

> Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants

AEGEON

> Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall

> And by the doom of death end woes and all.

DUKE SOLINUS

> Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;

> I am not partial to infringe our laws:

> The enmity and discord which of late

> Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke

> To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,

> Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives

> Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,

> Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.

> For, since the mortal and intestine jars

> 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,

> It hath in solemn synods been decreed

> Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,

> To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,

> If any born at Ephesus be seen

> At any Syracusian marts and fairs;

> Again: if any Syracusian born

> Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

> His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,

> Unless a thousand marks be levied,

> To quit the penalty and to ransom him.

> Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,

> Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;

> Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.

AEGEON

> Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,

> My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

DUKE SOLINUS

> Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause

> Why thou departed'st from thy native home

> And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

AEGEON

> A heavier task could not have been imposed

> Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:

> Yet, that the world may witness that my end

> Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,

> I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.

> In Syracusa was I born, and wed

> Unto a woman, happy but for me,

> And by me, had not our hap been bad.

> With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased

> By prosperous voyages I often made

> To Epidamnum; till my factor's death

> And the great care of goods at random left

> Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:

> From whom my absence was not six months old

> Before herself, almost at fainting under

> The pleasing punishment that women bear,

> Had made provision for her following me

> And soon and safe arrived where I was.

> There had she not been long, but she became

> A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

> And, which was strange, the one so like the other,

> As could not be distinguish'd but by names.

> That very hour, and in the self-same inn,

> A meaner woman was delivered

> Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:

> Those,—for their parents were exceeding poor,—

> I bought and brought up to attend my sons.

> My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

> Made daily motions for our home return:

> Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,

> We came aboard.

> A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,

> Before the always wind-obeying deep

> Gave any tragic instance of our harm:

> But longer did we not retain much hope;

> 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 embraced,

> 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,

> Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,

> Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I,

> Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,

> Fasten'd 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,

> Dispersed those vapours 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 SOLINUS

> Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;

> For we may pity, though not pardon 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 encounterd 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 shipwreck'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 SOLINUS

> 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 SOLINUS

> 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 would 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 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.

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 to-day.

> 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, air, 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?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS

> To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

> ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE

> Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,

> And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS

> My charge was but to fetch you from the mart

> Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:

> My mistress and her sister stays for you.

> ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE

> In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,

> Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours

> That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:

> Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS

> I have some marks of yours upon my pate,

> Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,

> But not a thousand marks between you both.

> If I should pay your worship those again,

> Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

> ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE

> Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS

> Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;

> She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,

> And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.

> ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE

> What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,

> Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS

> What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands!

> Nay, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

>

> Exit

>

> ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE

> Upon my life, by some device or other

> The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.

> They say this town is full of cozenage,

> As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,

> Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,

> Soul-killing witches that deform the body,

> Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,

> And many such-like liberties of sin:

> If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.

> I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:

> I greatly fear my money is not safe.

>

> Exit

Act II

SCENE I. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.

> Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA

ADRIANA

> Neither my husband nor the slave return'd,

> That in such haste I sent to seek his master!

> Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

LUCIANA

> Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,

> And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.

> Good sister, let us dine and never fret:

> A man is master of his liberty:

> Time is their master, and, when they see time,

> They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

ADRIANA

> Why should their liberty than ours be more?

LUCIANA

> Because their business still lies out o' door.

ADRIANA

> Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

LUCIANA

> O, know he is the bridle of your will.

ADRIANA

> There's none but asses will be bridled so.

LUCIANA

> Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.

> There's nothing situate under heaven's eye

> But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:

> The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,

> Are their males' subjects and at their controls:

> Men, more divine, the masters of all these,

> Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,

> Indued with intellectual sense and souls,

> Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,

> Are masters to their females, and their lords:

> Then let your will attend on their accords.

ADRIANA

> This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

LUCIANA

> Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

ADRIANA

> But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.

LUCIANA

> Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

ADRIANA

> How if your husband start some other where?

LUCIANA

> Till he come home again, I would forbear.