Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting [lamps] some fading glimmer left,
315 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
[All] these [old witnesses—I cannot err—]
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
Æge. But seven years since, in [Syracusa, boy],
320 Thou know’st we parted: but perhaps, my son,
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The Duke and all that know me in the city