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And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband’s office? shall, Antipholus. Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more kindness: Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: Let not my sister read it in your eye; Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator; Look sweet, be fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger; Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted? What simple thief brags of his own attaint? ’Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed And let her read it in thy looks at board: Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; Ill d eeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe, Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again; Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: ’Tis holy sport to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
Could it be that you’ve completely forgotten A husband’s duty? Shall I, Antipholus, Watch your love fade even in its prime? Can love, when it’s being built, fall apart like this? If you married my sister for her wealth, Then for her wealth’s sake, treat her more kindly: Or if you love someone else, do it secretly; Hide your false love behind some act of blindness: Don’t let my sister see it in your eyes; Don’t let your tongue be the speaker of your shame; Look sweet, be kind, but act unfaithfully; Dress up vice as if it were virtue’s messenger; Present yourself beautifully, even if your heart is corrupt; Teach sin to act like a holy saint; Be secretly false: why should she know? What kind of thief brags about his crime? It’s double wrong, to be unfaithful to your bed And let your wife see it in your face at the table: Shame has a bastard reputation, well handled; Evil deeds are made worse by an evil word. Poor women! Make us believe, Being made of trust, that you love us; Even if others have the power, show us the affection; We move with your actions and you can control us. So, gentle brother, go back inside; Comfort my sister, cheer her up, call her your wife: It’s harmless fun to be a little vain, When the sweet words of flattery calm a fight.
Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,-- Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not Than our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother’d in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words’ deceit. Against my soul’s pure truth why labour you To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I’ll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe Far more, far more to you do I decline. O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears: Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote: Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I’ll take them and there lie, And in that glorious supposition think He gains by death that hath such means to die: Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!
Sweet lady—what your name is, I don’t know, Nor how it is that you seem to understand me so well, You show as much grace and beauty as the wonders of the earth, More than what is divine or heavenly. Teach me, dear one, how to think and speak; Open up my simple mind, Which is full of mistakes, weak, shallow, and confused, And help me understand the hidden meaning in your words. Why are you trying to make my soul wander In a place I don’t know? Are you a god? Do you want to make me a new person? Then transform me, and I will submit to your power. But if I am truly myself, then I know well That your crying sister is not my wife, And I owe no loyalty to her bed. I owe far more, far more, to you. Oh, don’t lead me astray, sweet mermaid, with your song, To drown me in your sister’s ocean of tears: Sing, siren, for yourself, and I’ll be captivated by you: Spread your golden hair over the silver waves, And I’ll lie in them as if they were my bed, And in that wonderful fantasy, I’ll think That the one who dies with such a lovely way to die gains by it: Let love, being light, drown if she sinks!
What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
What, are you crazy, talking like that?
Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.
Not crazy, but confused; I don’t know why.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
It’s a problem that comes from your eyes.
For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
It’s because I’ve been staring at your light, fair sun, while you were near.
Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.
Look where you should, and that will clear your vision.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
It’s as good to close my eyes, sweet love, as to look at the night.
Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Why do you call me "love"? Call my sister that.
Thy sister’s sister.
Your sister’s sister.
That’s my sister.
That’s my sister.
No; It is thyself, mine own self’s better part, Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart, My food, my fortune and my sweet hope’s aim, My sole earth’s heaven and my heaven’s claim.
No; It is you, the better part of me, My clear sight, my heart’s truest love, My food, my fortune, my sweetest hope, My only heaven on earth, and the heaven I long for.
All this my sister is, or else should be.
All of this is true of my sister, or should be.
Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. Thee will I love and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. Give me thy hand.
Call yourself sister, sweet one, because I am you. I will love you and live my life with you: You have no husband, and I have no wife. Give me your hand.
O, soft, air! hold you still: I’ll fetch my sister, to get her good will.
Oh, wait, air! Stay still: I’ll go get my sister, to win her favor.
Why, how now, Dromio! where runn’st thou so fast?
Hey, what’s going on, Dromio! Why are you running so fast?
Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?
Do you recognize me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your servant? Am I really me?
Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.
You’re Dromio, you’re my servant, you’re yourself.
I am an ass, I am a woman’s man and besides myself.
I’m a fool, I’m a woman’s man, and I’m beside myself.
What woman’s man? and how besides thyself? besides thyself?
What do you mean, a woman’s man? And how are you beside yourself? Beside yourself?
Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.
Well, sir, besides being myself, I belong to a woman; one who claims me, one who follows me, one who wants me.
What claim lays she to thee?
What right does she have to you?
Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
Well, sir, the same kind of right you’d have to your horse; and she wants me like a beast. Not that I, being a beast, she wants me; but because she, being a very beastly woman, claims me.
What is she?
What kind of woman is she?
A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say ’Sir-reverence.’ I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
A very respectable lady; yes, the kind of woman a man can’t speak of without saying ‘Sir-reverence.’ I’ve had bad luck in this, but still, she’s a truly fat marriage.
How dost thou mean a fat marriage?
What do you mean by a fat marriage?
Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the whole world.
Well, sir, she’s the kitchen maid, all covered in grease; and I don’t know what to do with her except turn her into a lamp and run away using her own light. I I swear, her rags and the grease in them could keep a Poland winter burning: if she lives until doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the entire world.
What complexion is she of?
What does she look like?
Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing half so clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.
Dark-skinned, like my shoe, but her face isn’t even half as clean: why? Because she sweats; a person could walk over shoes in the dirt of it.
That’s a fault that water will mend.
That’s something water can fix.
No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it.
No, sir, it’s in her nature; even Noah’s flood couldn’t fix it.
What’s her name?
What’s her name?
Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.
Nell, sir; but her full name, and three-quarters of it, that’s about an extra yard, wouldn’t cover her from hip to hip.
Then she bears some breadth?
So she’s got some width to her?
No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.
Not any longer from head to toe than from hip to hip: she’s round, like a globe; I could map out countries on her.
In what part of her body stands Ireland?
Where’s Ireland on her?
Marry, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs.
Well, it’s in her buttocks: I figured it out by the swamps.
Where Scotland?
And where is Scotland?
I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand.
I found it by the dryness; it’s hard, right in the palm of the hand.
Where France?
Where’s France?
In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her heir.
It’s in her forehead; armed and turned around, waging war against her inheritance.
Where England?
Where’s England?
I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.
I looked for the white cliffs, but I couldn’t find any whiteness in them; but I think it was on her chin, from the salty discharge that ran between France and it.
Where Spain?
Where Spain?
Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.
Honestly, I didn’t see it; but I felt it hot on her breath.
Where America, the Indies?
Where is America, the Indies?
Oh, sir, upon her nose all o’er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose.
Oh, sir, it was on her nose, all covered in rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, tilting their rich beauty toward the hot breath of Spain; who sent entire fleets of ships to serve as ballast for her nose.
Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
Where was Belgia, the Netherlands?
Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call’d me Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a witch: And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith and my heart of steel, She had transform’d me to a curtal dog and made me turn i’ the wheel.
Oh, sir, I didn’t look that low. To sum up, this servant or witch, claimed me, called me Dromio; swore I belonged to her; told me about certain marks I had, like the mark on my shoulder, the mole on my neck, the big wart on my left arm, and I was so scared I ran from her like she was a witch: And, I think, if my chest hadn’t been made of faith and my heart of steel, She would have turned me into a little dog and made me run in circles.
Go hie thee presently, post to the road: An if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night: If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk till thou return to me. If every one knows us and we know none, ’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.
Go quickly, hurry to the road: And if the wind blows from any direction other than the shore, I won’t stay in this town tonight: If any ship sets sail, come to the market, I’ll be walking there until you return. If everyone knows us and we don’t know anyone, It’s time, I think, to pack up and leave.
As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife.
Just like a man would run for his life from a bear, I run from her, who wants to be my wife.
There’s none but witches do inhabit here; And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence. She that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, Possess’d with such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself: But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song.
There’s no one here but witches; And it’s high time I left this place. She who calls me husband, even my soul Can’t stand as a wife. But her beautiful sister, Possessed with such a gentle and noble grace, With such an enchanting presence and conversation, Has almost made me betray myself: But, to keep myself from making a mistake, I’ll block my ears against the mermaid’s song.
Master Antipholus,--
Master Antipholus,--
Ay, that’s my name.
Yes, that’s my name.
I know it well, sir, lo, here is the chain. I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine: The chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long.
I know it well, sir, here is the chain. I thought I would catch you at the Porpentine: But the unfinished chain made me delay.
What is your will that I shall do with this?
What do you want me to do with this?
What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.
Do whatever you like, sir: I made it for you.
Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.
Made it for me, sir! I didn’t order it.
Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. Go home with it and please your wife withal; And soon at supper-time I’ll visit you And then receive my money for the chain.
Not once, not twice, but twenty times you did. Take it home and please your wife with it; Then, at supper, I’ll visit you And collect my money for the chain.
I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more.
Please, sir, take the money now, In case you never see the chain or money again.
You are a merry man, sir: fare you well.
You’re a funny man, sir: goodbye.
What I should think of this, I cannot tell: But this I think, there’s no man is so vain That would refuse so fair an offer’d chain. I see a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I’ll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay If any ship put out, then straight away.
I don’t know what to think about this: But I do think, no one’s so foolish That they would turn down such a beautiful chain. I see a man here doesn’t have to live by tricks, When he meets such treasures in the streets. I’ll go to the market, and wait for Dromio there, If a ship sails out, I’ll leave right away.