Give me thy hand.
Luc.
O, soft, sir! hold you still:
70 I’ll fetch my sister, to get her good will. Exit.
[Enter] Dromio of Syracuse.
Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where runn’st thou so fast?
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?
75 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.
Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself.
Ant. S. What woman’s man? and how besides thyself?