DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s pate.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS.
A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
It seems thou want’st breaking; out upon thee, hind!
DROMIO OF EPHESUS.
Here’s too much “out upon thee”; I pray thee, let me in.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.
Well, I’ll break in; go, borrow me a crow.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS.
A crow without feather; master, mean you so?
For a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a feather.
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we’ll pluck a crow together.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.
Go, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.
BALTHASAR.
Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so:
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against you.
Be rul’d by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner,
And about evening, come yourself alone
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
For slander lives upon succession,
For ever hous’d where it gets possession.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.
You have prevail’d. I will depart in quiet,
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;
There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
My wife (but, I protest, without desert)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner.—Get you home
And fetch the chain, by this I know ’tis made.
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine,
For there’s the house. That chain will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)
Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me.