DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a bass-viol in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
What! thou mean’st an officer?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, “God give you good rest.”
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth tonight? may we be gone?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark Expedition put forth tonight, and then were you hindered by the sergeant to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
The fellow is distract, and so am I,
And here we wander in illusions.
Some blessed power deliver us from hence!
Enter a Courtesan.
COURTESAN.
Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now.
Is that the chain you promis’d me today?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Master, is this Mistress Satan?