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Modern English
The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave Is wander’d forth, in care to seek me out By computation and mine host’s report. I could not speak with Dromio since at first I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.
The gold I gave to Dromio is safe Stored at the Centaur; and the careful servant Has wandered off, busy trying to find me Based on calculations and my host’s report. I haven’t spoken to Dromio since I first Sent him away from the marketplace. Look, here he comes.
How now sir! is your merry humour alter’d? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur? you received no gold? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me?
How’s it going, sir? Is your cheerful mood changed? Since you like to be hit, go ahead and joke with me again. Don’t you know the Centaur? Didn’t you get any gold? Did your mistress send you to bring me home to dinner? My house was at the Phoenix. Were you mad, That you answered me like that so crazily?
What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?
What answer, sir? When did I say such a thing?
Even now, even here, not half an hour since.
Just now, right here, not even half an hour ago.
I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.
I haven’t seen you since you sent me away, Back to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.
Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt, And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt’st I was displeased.
You rogue, you denied receiving the gold, And you talked to me about a mistress and a dinner; For that, I’m sure you could tell I was angry.
I am glad to see you in this merry vein: What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
I’m glad to see you in such a cheerful mood: What’s this joke about? Please, master, tell me.
Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
Oh, so now you mock me to my face? Do you think I’m joking? Take that, and that.
Hold, sir, for God’s sake! now your jest is earnest: Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Stop, sir, for God’s sake! now you’re being serious: What deal are you making with me?
Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest upon my love And make a common of my serious hours. When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. If you will jest with me, know my aspect, And fashion your demeanor to my looks, Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
Because sometimes, in a friendly way, I use you as my fool and chat with you, Your cheekiness will make jokes about my love And waste my serious time. When the sun’s out, let silly bugs have fun, But hide in corners when the sun goes down. If you want to joke with me, know my mood, And match your behavior to my expression, Or I’ll knock this attitude out of your head.
Sconce call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head and ensconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir why am I beaten?
Knock my head, you say? Well, if you stop hitting me, I’d rather you just knocked my head: if you keep hitting me, I’ll need to get a helmet for my head and put it on; or else I’ll have to use my shoulders for brains. But please, sir, why am I being beaten?
Dost thou not know?
Don’t you know?
Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
Nothing, sir, except that I’m being beaten.
Shall I tell you why?
Should I tell you why?
Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say every why hath a wherefore.
Yes, sir, and why exactly; because they say every "why" has a reason.
Why, first,--for flouting me; and then, wherefore-- For urging it the second time to me.
Well, first—because you mocked me; and then, second— Because you insisted on doing it again.
Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason? Well, sir, I thank you.
Has anyone ever been beaten this badly for no reason, When neither the "why" nor the "wherefore" makes any sense? Well, sir, thank you.
Thank me, sir, for what?
Thank me, sir, for what?
Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.
Well, sir, for this little something you gave me for nothing.
I’ll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?
I’ll make it up to you next by giving you nothing for something. But tell me, sir, is it time for dinner?
No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.
No, sir; I think the food needs what I have.
In good time, sir; what’s that?
Good timing, sir; what’s that?
Basting.
Beating.
Well, sir, then ’twill be dry.
Well, then it’ll be dry.
If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it.
If it is, sir, I beg you, don’t eat any of it.
Your reason?
Why?
Lest it make you choleric and purchase me another dry basting.
Because it might make you angry and get me another dry beating.
Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there’s a time for all things.
Well, learn to joke at the right time: there’s a time for everything.
I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.
I would’ve denied that, before you got so angry.
By what rule, sir?
By what rule, sir?
Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.
Well, by a rule as simple as the bald head of Father Time himself.
Let’s hear it.
Let’s hear it.
There’s no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.
There’s no time for a man to get his hair back once it’s gone naturally bald.
May he not do it by fine and recovery?
Can’t he do it by paying a fine and getting it back?
Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and recover the lost hair of another man.
Yes, by paying a fine for a wig and getting someone else’s hair back.
Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
Why is Time so stingy with hair, when it’s such a plentiful waste product?
Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts; and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.
Because it’s a gift he gives to animals; and what he’s short on giving men in hair, he gives them in intelligence.
Why, but there’s many a man hath more hair than wit.
Well, there are many men who have more hair than brains.
Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.
Not a single one of them, but has the sense to lose his hair.
Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.
Why, you just said that men with hair are simple and lack sense.
The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
The simpler they are, the quicker they lose it: but they lose it in a kind of happiness.
For what reason?
For what reason?
For two; and sound ones too.
For two reasons, and good ones too.
Nay, not sound, I pray you.
No, not good reasons, please.
Sure ones, then.
Well, certain reasons then.
Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
No, not certain, when something is false.
Certain ones then.
Clear reasons then.
Name them.
Name them.
The one, to save the money that he spends in trimming; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.
One reason is to save the money spent on grooming; the other is so they don’t fall into his porridge at dinner.
You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things.
All this time you’ve been proving there’s no time for everything.
Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.
Yes, and I did, sir; specifically, there’s no time to get hair back that was lost naturally.
But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.
But your reason wasn’t strong enough to explain why there’s no time to recover it.
Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald and therefore to the world’s end will have bald followers.
Let me fix it: Time itself is bald, and so, until the world ends, it will have bald followers.
I knew ’twould be a bald conclusion: But, soft! who wafts us yonder?
I knew it would be a bald conclusion: But wait! Who is that coming towards us?
Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown: Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects; I am not Adriana nor thy wife. The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, That never touch well welcome to thy hand, That never meat sweet-savor’d in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus estranged from thyself? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self’s better part. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me! For know, my love, as easy mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate! Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me And hurl the name of husband in my face And tear the stain’d skin off my harlot-brow And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it. I am possess’d with an adulterate blot; My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: For if we too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain’d, thou undishonoured.
Yes, yes, Antipholus, look confused and angry: Some other woman must have your sweet looks; I am not Adriana, nor your wife. There was a time when, without anyone telling you, You would swear That no words were as sweet as mine to your ear, That nothing looked as good as I did to your eyes, That no touch felt as good as mine in your hand, That no food tasted as good as mine on your tongue, Unless I spoke, or looked, or touched, or served it to you. How is it now, my husband, oh, how is it, That you are so distant from yourself? I call it yourself, since you are so unfamiliar to me, The part of you that was whole, inseparable, Is now less than the best part of you. Ah, don’t tear yourself away from me! For know, my love, it’s just as easy for you to fall As a drop of water into the ocean’s deep, And never see that drop again, Without it changing or losing a single drop, As it is to take yourself away from me and not leave me too. How much would it hurt me to the core, If you ever heard I was unfaithful And that this body, meant only for you, Would be defiled by a reckless desire? Wouldn’t you spit on me, and curse me, And throw the name of husband in my face, And rip the tainted skin off my sinful brow, And take off my wedding ring, And break it with an oath to divorce me forever? I know you would; and that’s why I’m telling you to do it. I’m tainted with an adulterous stain; My blood is mixed with the crime of passion: Because if we are one, and you are unfaithful, I swallow the poison of your flesh, Infected by your betrayal. Keep your distance from me then, Let me live free of dishonor, and you remain untarnished.
Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not: In Ephesus I am but two hours old, As strange unto your town as to your talk; Who, every word by all my wit being scann’d, Want wit in all one word to understand.
Are you speaking to me, lady? I don’t know you: I’ve only been in Ephesus for two hours, I’m as unfamiliar with your town as I am with your language; Who, after analyzing every word with all my wit, Can’t make sense of even one of them.
Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you! When were you wont to use my sister thus? She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
Shame on you, brother! How the world has changed for you! When did you start treating my sister like this? She sent for you through Dromio to come home for dinner.
By Dromio?
Through Dromio?
By me?
Through me?
By thee; and this thou didst return from him, That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows, Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Yes, through you; and this is what you brought back from him, That he hit you, and, in his blows, Refused to acknowledge my house as his, or me as his wife.
Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? What is the course and drift of your compact?
Did you talk to this woman, sir? What’s going on between you two?
I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Me, sir? I’ve never seen her until now.
Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.
Liar, you’re lying; for even her very words You spoke to me at the market.
I never spake with her in all my life.
I never spoke to her in my life.
How can she thus then call us by our names, Unless it be by inspiration.
How can she know our names, then, Unless it’s by divine intervention?
How ill agrees it with your gravity To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate: If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.
How badly does it suit your seriousness To pretend so badly with your servant, Helping him to frustrate me in my mood! It’s my problem that you are excused from, But don’t make it worse by treating me with even more disrespect. Come on, I will grab this sleeve of yours: You are an elm, my husband, I am a vine, Whose weakness, joined to your stronger nature, Makes me share in your strength: If anything takes you away from me, it’s worthless, A creeping ivy, thorn, or useless moss; Who, because of not being pruned, with their intrusion Corrupts your sap and lives off your confusion.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme: What, was I married to her in my dream? Or sleep I now and think I hear all this? What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? Until I know this sure uncertainty, I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy.
She speaks to me; she moves me with her words: What, was I married to her in my dream? Or am I still sleeping and think I hear all of this? What mistake makes our eyes and ears go wrong? Until I know for sure what this uncertainty is, I’ll entertain the false offer being made to me.
Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
Dromio, go tell the servants to set the table for dinner.
O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land: O spite of spites! We talk with goblins, owls and sprites: If we obey them not, this will ensue, They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.
Oh, my beads! I curse myself as a sinner. This is the fairy world: Oh, spite of spite! We talk to goblins, owls, and spirits: If we don’t obey them, this will happen, They’ll steal our breath, or pinch us black and blue.
Why pratest thou to thyself and answer’st not? Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!
Why are you talking to yourself and not answering? Dromio, you drone, you snail, you slug, you fool!
I am transformed, master, am I not?
I’ve changed, master, haven’t I?
I think thou art in mind, and so am I.
I think you’ve changed in your mind, and so have I.
Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.
No, master, both in mind and in my form.
Thou hast thine own form.
You have your own shape.
No, I am an ape.
No, I’m an ape.
If thou art changed to aught, ’tis to an ass.
If you’ve changed into anything, it’s into a donkey.
’Tis true; she rides me and I long for grass. ’Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be But I should know her as well as she knows me.
It’s true; she rides me and I long for grass. It’s true, I’m a donkey; otherwise, it could never be That I should know her as well as she knows me.
Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, To put the finger in the eye and weep, Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I’ll dine above with you to-day And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.
Come, come, I will no longer be a fool, To put my finger in my eye and cry, While man and master laugh at my troubles. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, guard the gate. Husband, I’ll dine upstairs with you today And absolve you of a thousand silly mistakes. Sirrah, if anyone asks for your master, Say he’s dining out, and don’t let anyone in. Come, sister. Dromio, do your job as the gatekeeper.
Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! I’ll say as they say and persever so, And in this mist at all adventures go.
Am I on earth, in heaven, or in hell? Am I sleeping or awake? Am I crazy or thinking clearly? Known to these people, but hidden from myself! I’ll do what they do and keep going like this, And in this confusion, I’ll take whatever comes my way.
Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Master, should I be the doorman at the gate?
Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.
Yes; and don’t let anyone in, or I’ll hit you on the head.
Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
Come on, Antipholus, we’re eating too late.