seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun’d cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hid
In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these old witnesses—I cannot err—
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.
E. Ant.
I never saw my father in my life.
Ege.
But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
Thou know’st we parted, but perhaps, my son,
Thou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery.
E. Ant.
The Duke, and all that know me in the city,
Can witness with me that it is not so.
I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke.
I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa:
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the Abbess with Antipholus [of] Syracusa and Dromio [of] Syracusa.
Abb.
Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong’d.
All gather to see them.
Adr.
I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
Duke.
One of these men is genius to the other:
And so of these, which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
S. Dro.
I, sir, am Dromio, command him away.
E. Dro.
I, sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay.
S. Ant.
Egeon art thou not? or else his ghost?
S. Dro.
O my old master, who hath bound him here?
Abb.
Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man
That hadst a wife once call’d Aemilia,
That bore thee at a burthen two fair sons.
O, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Aemilia!
Ege.
If I dream not, thou art Aemilia.
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?
Abb.
By men of Epidamium he and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamium.
What then became of them I cannot tell;
I to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke.
Why, here begins his morning story right:
These two Antipholus’, these two so like,
And these two Dromios, one in semblance—
Besides her urging of her wrack at sea—
These are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first?
S. Ant.
No, sir, not I, I came from Syracuse.
Duke.
Stay, stand apart, I know not which is which.
E. Ant.
I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord—
E. Dro.
And I with him.
E. Ant.
Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr.
Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
S. Ant.
I, gentle mistress.
Adr.
And are not you my husband?
E. Ant.
No, I say nay to that.
