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Modern English
I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder’d you; But, I protest, he had the chain of me, Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
I’m sorry, sir, that I’ve delayed you; But, I swear, he had the chain from me, Even though he’s lying and denying it.
How is the man esteemed here in the city?
How is this man thought of in the city?
Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit infinite, highly beloved, Second to none that lives here in the city: His word might bear my wealth at any time.
He’s highly respected, sir, Very trustworthy, loved by everyone, Second to none here in the city: His word is as good as my wealth at any time.
Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.
Speak quietly; over there, I think, he’s coming.
’Tis so; and that self chain about his neck Which he forswore most monstrously to have. Good sir, draw near to me, I’ll speak to him. Signior Antipholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this shame and trouble; And, not without some scandal to yourself, With circumstance and oaths so to deny This chain which now you wear so openly: Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, You have done wrong to this my honest friend, Who, but for staying on our controversy, Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day: This chain you had of me; can you deny it?
It’s him; and there’s the same chain around his neck That he swore he never had. Good sir, come over here, I’ll talk to him. Signior Antipholus, I’m really surprised That you would cause me this embarrassment and trouble; And not only that, but also disgrace yourself, With lies and oaths denying The chain you’re wearing so openly: Besides the accusations, the shame, and the imprisonment, You’ve wronged my honest friend here, Who, if it weren’t for this argument with us, Would have set sail and left for sea today: This chain you took from me; can you deny it?
I think I had; I never did deny it.
I think I did; I never denied it.
Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.
Yes, you did, sir, and you even swore against it.
Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?
Who heard me deny it or swear against it?
These ears of mine, thou know’st did hear thee. Fie on thee, wretch! ’tis pity that thou livest To walk where any honest man resort.
These ears of mine, you know, heard you. Shame on you, you scoundrel! It’s a shame you’re alive To walk where any decent person goes.
Thou art a villain to impeach me thus: I’ll prove mine honour and mine honesty Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.
You’re a villain to accuse me like this: I’ll defend my honor and honesty Against you right now, if you dare to stand up to me.
I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.
I dare, and I call you a villain.
Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake! he is mad. Some get within him, take his sword away: Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.
Stop, don’t hurt him, for God’s sake! he’s insane. Someone get inside him, take his sword away: Tie up Dromio too, and take them both to my house.
Run, master, run; for God’s sake, take a house! This is some priory. In, or we are spoil’d!
Run, master, run; for God’s sake, get inside a house! This looks like some kind of monastery. Get in, or we’re doomed!
Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?
Quiet down, everyone. Why are you crowding here?
To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. Let us come in, that we may bind him fast And bear him home for his recovery.
To take my poor, confused husband away. Let us in, so we can tie him up tight And take him home to recover.
I knew he was not in his perfect wits.
I knew he wasn’t thinking clearly.
I am sorry now that I did draw on him.
I regret now that I drew my sword on him.
How long hath this possession held the man?
How long has this madness been taking over him?
This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, And much different from the man he was; But till this afternoon his passion Ne’er brake into extremity of rage.
This week he’s been moody, sour, and sad, So different from the man he used to be; But until this afternoon, his anger Never went to such an extreme.
Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye Stray’d his affection in unlawful love? A sin prevailing much in youthful men, Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Which of these sorrows is he subject to?
Has he lost a lot of money in a shipwreck? Buried a dear friend? Has his heart Strayed to unlawful love? A sin that’s common among young men, Who let their eyes wander freely. Which of these troubles is he dealing with?
To none of these, except it be the last; Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.
None of those, unless it’s the last one; Specifically, some love that kept pulling him away from home.
You should for that have reprehended him.
You should have scolded him for that.
Why, so I did.
Well, I did.
Ay, but not rough enough.
Yes, but not rough enough.
As roughly as my modesty would let me.
As roughly as my modesty would allow.
Haply, in private.
Maybe, in private.
And in assemblies too.
And in public too.
Ay, but not enough.
Yes, but not enough.
It was the copy of our conference: In bed he slept not for my urging it; At board he fed not for my urging it; Alone, it was the subject of my theme; In company I often glanced it; Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
It was the same as our conversation: In bed, he didn’t sleep because I kept asking; At the table, he didn’t eat because I kept asking; Alone, it was the topic of my talk; In company, I often mentioned it; I still told him it was wrong and bad.
And thereof came it that the man was mad. The venom clamours of a jealous woman Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth. It seems his sleeps were hinder’d by thy railing, And therefore comes it that his head is light. Thou say’st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings: Unquiet meals make ill digestions; Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; And what’s a fever but a fit of madness? Thou say’st his sports were hinderd by thy brawls: Sweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue But moody and dull melancholy, Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, And at her heels a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? In food, in sport and life-preserving rest To be disturb’d, would mad or man or beast: The consequence is then thy jealous fits Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.
And that’s why he went mad. The poisonous complaints of a jealous woman Are more deadly than the bite of a mad dog. It seems his sleep was disturbed by your complaining, And that’s why his mind is unsettled. You say his food was ruined by your criticisms: Troubled meals cause bad digestion; That’s why the fever’s burning heat came on; And what’s a fever but a kind of madness? You say his fun was ruined by your fights: When recreation is blocked, what happens But sadness and dull depression, Related to deep, hopeless despair, And following that, a whole army of sicknesses That are pale, unhealthy, and dangerous to life? Being disturbed in food, play, and rest, Can drive either man or beast mad: The result is that your jealous fits Have driven your husband to lose his sanity.
She never reprehended him but mildly, When he demean’d himself rough, rude and wildly. Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?
She never criticized him harshly, When he behaved roughly, rudely, and wildly. Why do you take these insults without responding?
She did betray me to my own reproof. Good people enter and lay hold on him.
She betrayed me to my own criticism. Someone call for help and grab him.
No, not a creature enters in my house.
No, no one enters my house.
Then let your servants bring my husband forth.
Then let your servants bring my husband out.
Neither: he took this place for sanctuary, And it shall privilege him from your hands Till I have brought him to his wits again, Or lose my labour in assaying it.
Neither: he came here for sanctuary, And this place protects him from your hands Until I’ve brought him back to his senses, Or wasted my effort trying.
I will attend my husband, be his nurse, Diet his sickness, for it is my office, And will have no attorney but myself; And therefore let me have him home with me.
I will care for my husband, be his nurse, Treat his illness, because that’s my job, And I won’t let anyone else do it; So let me take him home with me.
Be patient; for I will not let him stir Till I have used the approved means I have, With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers, To make of him a formal man again: It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, A charitable duty of my order. Therefore depart and leave him here with me.
Be patient; I won’t let him leave Until I’ve used the trusted remedies I have, With healing syrups, medicines, and prayers, To make him a proper man again: It’s part of my oath, A kind duty of my profession. So leave and let me keep him here.
I will not hence and leave my husband here: And ill it doth beseem your holiness To separate the husband and the wife.
I won’t leave here and leave my husband behind: And it’s wrong for you, your honor, To separate a husband and wife.
Be quiet and depart: thou shalt not have him.
Be quiet and leave: you won’t get him.
Complain unto the duke of this indignity.
Complain to the duke about this unfairness.
Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet And never rise until my tears and prayers Have won his grace to come in person hither And take perforce my husband from the abbess.
Come, let’s go: I’ll fall on my knees at his feet And won’t get up until my tears and prayers Have convinced him to come here personally And forcefully take my husband away from the abbess.
By this, I think, the dial points at five: Anon, I’m sure, the duke himself in person Comes this way to the melancholy vale, The place of death and sorry execution, Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
By now, I think, the clock is pointing to five: Soon, I’m sure, the duke will come himself This way, to the sad and gloomy place, The place of death and cruel punishment, Behind the abbey’s walls here.
Upon what cause?
What’s this about?
To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, Who put unluckily into this bay Against the laws and statutes of this town, Beheaded publicly for his offence.
To see a respected Syracusian merchant, Who unfortunately ended up in this bay Against the laws and rules of this town, Be publicly executed for his crime.
See where they come: we will behold his death.
Look, here they come: we’ll watch his execution.
Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.
Kneel to the duke before he passes the abbey.
Yet once again proclaim it publicly, If any friend will pay the sum for him, He shall not die; so much we tender him.
Once again, let it be proclaimed publicly, If anyone is willing to pay the sum for him, He won’t die; we offer him that much mercy.
Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess!
Justice, most honorable duke, against the abbess!
She is a virtuous and a reverend lady: It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
She is a virtuous and respected lady: It can’t be that she has wronged you.
May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband, Whom I made lord of me and all I had, At your important letters,--this ill day A most outrageous fit of madness took him; That desperately he hurried through the street, With him his bondman, all as mad as he-- Doing displeasure to the citizens By rushing in their houses, bearing thence Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. Once did I get him bound and sent him home, Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, That here and there his fury had committed. Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, He broke from those that had the guard of him; And with his mad attendant and himself, Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, Met us again and madly bent on us, Chased us away; till, raising of more aid, We came again to bind them. Then they fled Into this abbey, whither we pursued them: And here the abbess shuts the gates on us And will not suffer us to fetch him out, Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.
May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband, Whom I made the master of me and everything I had, At your urgent request, -- on this dreadful day A terrible fit of madness overtook him; He desperately ran through the streets, With his servant, both as crazy as he was— Causing trouble for the citizens By barging into their homes, taking away Rings, jewels, anything his anger wanted. Once, I had him tied up and sent him home, While I went to sort out the wrongs he’d caused Here and there in his mad rage. Soon, I don’t know how, he escaped with a strong effort, He broke away from those who were guarding him; And with his crazy servant and himself, Each of them furious, with drawn swords, Came at us again, crazily attacking us, Chased us off; until, bringing more help, We returned to capture them. Then they ran Into this abbey, which we followed them into: And here the abbess locked the gates on us And won’t let us take him out, Nor send him out so we can carry him away. So, most gracious duke, by your command Let him be brought out and carried away for help.
Long since thy husband served me in my wars, And I to thee engaged a prince’s word, When thou didst make him master of thy bed, To do him all the grace and good I could. Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate And bid the lady abbess come to me. I will determine this before I stir.
A long time ago, your husband served me in my wars, And I gave you my word as a prince, When you made him master of your bed, To do him all the good and honor I could. Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate And ask the lady abbess to come to me. I’ll decide this before I move.
O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! My master and his man are both broke loose, Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire; And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: My master preaches patience to him and the while His man with scissors nicks him like a fool, And sure, unless you send some present help, Between them they will kill the conjurer.
Oh mistress, mistress, hurry and save yourself! My master and his servant have both escaped, Beaten the maids and tied up the doctor Whose beard they burned off with firebrands; And every time it flared up, they threw on him Big buckets of muddy water to put out the flames: My master tells him to be patient, but meanwhile His servant keeps cutting his beard like a fool, And I swear, unless you send some help soon, They’ll end up killing the conjurer.
Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here, And that is false thou dost report to us.
Quiet, fool! Your master and his servant are here, And you’re lying about what’s happening.
Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; I have not breathed almost since I did see it. He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, To scorch your face and to disfigure you.
Mistress, I swear on my life, I’m telling the truth; I’ve hardly breathed since I saw it happen. He’s calling for you, and swears that if he catches you, He’ll burn your face and disfigure you.
Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress. fly, be gone!
Listen, listen! I hear him, mistress. Run, hurry up!
Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds!
Come, stand by me; don’t be afraid. Guard with halberds!
Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you, That he is borne about invisible: Even now we housed him in the abbey here; And now he’s there, past thought of human reason.
Oh no, it’s my husband! You can see, He’s being carried around invisibly: We just hid him in the abbey here; And now he’s there, beyond all human understanding.
Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice! Even for the service that long since I did thee, When I bestrid thee in the wars and took Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me justice! Even for the service I did you a long time ago, When I rode beside you in the wars and took Deep wounds to save your life; even for the blood I lost for you then, now grant me justice.
Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.
Unless the fear of death has made me lose my senses, I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.
Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there! She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife, That hath abused and dishonour’d me Even in the strength and height of injury! Beyond imagination is the wrong That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
Justice, my dear prince, against that woman there! She whom you gave to me to be my wife, Who has mistreated and dishonored me Even at the height of my suffering! The wrong she’s done to me today is beyond belief, A wrong so terrible it can’t even be imagined.
Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
Explain how, and you’ll find me just.
This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me, While she with harlots feasted in my house.
Today, great duke, she locked the doors on me, While she partied with prostitutes in my house.
A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so?
That’s a serious offense! Tell me, woman, did you do this?
No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister To-day did dine together. So befall my soul As this is false he burdens me withal!
No, my good lord: I, he, and my sister Dined together today. May my soul be cursed If what he accuses me of is true!
Ne’er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth!
May I never see daylight or sleep at night, If she’s not telling you the simple truth!
O perjured woman! They are both forsworn: In this the madman justly chargeth them.
Oh, lying woman! They’re both swearing falsely: In this, the madman is right to accuse them.
My liege, I am advised what I say, Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire, Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock’d me out this day from dinner: That goldsmith there, were he not pack’d with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him: in the street I met him And in his company that gentleman. There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down That I this day of him received the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey, and sent my peasant home For certain ducats: he with none return’d Then fairly I bespoke the officer To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates. Along with them They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A dead-looking man: this pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as ’twere, outfacing me, Cries out, I was possess’d. Then all together They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence And in a dark and dankish vault at home There left me and my man, both bound together; Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain’d my freedom, and immediately Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames and great indignities.
My lord, I speak only what I know to be true, Neither drunk from wine nor rash with anger, Though my wrongs could make anyone justifiably mad. This woman locked me out of the house today: That goldsmith there, if he weren’t involved with her, Could confirm it, for he was with me then; He left me to go get a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, Where Balthazar and I were dining together. After our meal, and he not showing up there, I went looking for him: in the street I met him And with him that gentleman. There, the lying goldsmith swore I’d received the chain, Which, God knows, I never saw: for this, He had me arrested by an officer. I obeyed, and sent my servant home With a certain amount of ducats: but he didn’t return So I kindly asked the officer To come with me to my house. On the way, we ran into My wife, her sister, and a bunch of other people Who were all part of this vile conspiracy. With them, They brought a man named Pinch, a hungry, thin-faced villain, A walking skeleton, a quack doctor, A shabby magician and a fortune-teller, A poor, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A dead-looking man: this dangerous man, Pretended to be a conjurer, And, staring into my eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no expression, as if he was confronting me, Shouted that I was possessed. Then all together They attacked me, tied me up, and dragged me away To a dark, damp dungeon at my house Where they left me and my servant, both bound together; Until, gnawing through my ropes with my teeth, I broke free, and immediately Ran here to your grace; I beg of you To give me full justice For these terrible wrongs and indignities.
My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, That he dined not at home, but was lock’d out.
My lord, I can confirm, up to this point, That he wasn’t allowed in his home and was locked out.
But had he such a chain of thee or no?
But did he have such a chain from you or not?
He had, my lord: and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck.
He did, my lord: and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain around his neck.
Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine Heard you confess you had the chain of him After you first forswore it on the mart: And thereupon I drew my sword on you; And then you fled into this abbey here, From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Also, I swear I heard you admit you had the chain from him After you first denied it in the marketplace: And because of that I drew my sword on you; And then you ran into this abbey here, From where, I believe, you’ve come by some miracle.
I never came within these abbey-walls, Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me: I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven! And this is false you burden me withal.
I never came inside this abbey, And you never drew your sword on me: I’ve never seen the chain, so help me God! And this is a lie you’re accusing me of.
Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup. If here you housed him, here he would have been; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly: You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?
What a complicated accusation this is! I think you’ve all been drinking from Circe’s cup. If you had kept him here, he would have been here; If he were crazy, he wouldn’t plead so calmly: You say he ate at home; the goldsmith here Denies that claim. What do you say, sir?
Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.
Sir, he ate with her there, at the Porpentine.
He did, and from my finger snatch’d that ring.
He did, and took that ring right off my finger.
’Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.
It’s true, my lord; this ring I got from her.
Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here?
Did you see him enter the abbey here?
As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.
Yes, my lord, as surely as I see you here.
Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. I think you are all mated or stark mad.
This is very strange. Go call the abbess here. I think you are all confused or completely mad.
Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word: Haply I see a friend will save my life And pay the sum that may deliver me.
Most mighty duke, allow me to speak a word: Maybe I see a friend who will save my life And pay the money that will set me free.
Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
Speak openly, Syracusian, whatever you wish.
Is not your name, sir, call’d Antipholus? And is not that your bondman, Dromio?
Isn’t your name, sir, Antipholus? And isn’t that your servant, Dromio?
Within this hour I was his bondman sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw’d in two my cords: Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.
I was his servant just an hour ago, sir, But he, thank God, gnawed through my ropes: Now I’m Dromio and no longer his servant.
I am sure you both of you remember me.
I’m sure both of you remember me.
Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now You are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir?
We remember who we are because of you, Because we were in the same situation as you are now. You’re not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir?
Why look you strange on me? you know me well.
Why are you looking at me like that? You know me well.
I never saw you in my life till now.
I’ve never seen you before in my life.
O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with time’s deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Oh, grief has changed me since you last saw me, And the troubled hours with time’s rough touch Have written strange marks on my face: But tell me, don’t you recognize my voice?
Neither.
No.
Dromio, nor thou?
Dromio, don’t you recognize me either?
No, trust me, sir, nor I.
No, I swear, sir, I don’t.
I am sure thou dost.
I’m sure you do.
Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Yes, sir, but I’m sure I don’t; and whatever a man denies, you’re now obligated to believe him.
Not know my voice! O time’s extremity, Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untuned 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.
Not recognize my voice! Oh, the hardship of time, Has it so damaged and shattered my poor tongue In just seven short years that now my only son Doesn’t recognize the weak sound of my voice, Though now my weathered face may be covered In snow from winter that eats away the sap, And all the pathways of my blood are frozen, Yet in the night of my life, some memory remains, My fading lights still have a little glow left, My dull, deaf ears still have some use to hear: All these old signs—I can’t be wrong— Tell me, you are my son Antipholus.
I never saw my father in my life.
I’ve never seen my father in my life.
But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know’st we parted: but perhaps, my son, Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.
It’s only been seven years, boy, since we parted in Syracuse, You know this: but maybe, my son, You’re too ashamed to admit you know me now that I’m in trouble.
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.
The duke and everyone who knows me in the city Can testify that this isn’t true. I’ve never been to Syracuse in my life.
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.
I tell you, Syracusian, for twenty years I’ve been Antipholus’s patron, And during all that time, he’s never seen Syracuse: I can see your age and the dangers you’ve faced are making you confused.
Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong’d.
Most powerful duke, look at a man who has been terribly wronged.
I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
I see two husbands, or am I seeing things?
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?
One of these men is the twin of the other; And so are these. Which one is the real man, And which one is the spirit? Who can tell them apart?
I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
I, sir, am Dromio; tell him to leave.
I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.
I, sir, am Dromio; please, let me stay.
AEgeon art thou not? or else his ghost?
AEgeon, is that you? Or are you just a ghost?
O, my old master! who hath bound him here?
Oh, my old master! Who has tied him up here?
Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds And gain a husband by his liberty. Speak, old AEgeon, if thou be’st the man That hadst a wife once call’d AEmilia That bore thee at a burden two fair sons: O, if thou be’st the same AEgeon, speak, And speak unto the same AEmilia!
Whoever tied him up, I’ll set him free And get a husband back by giving him his freedom. Speak, old AEgeon, if you’re the one Who once had a wife named AEmilia Who bore you two fine sons as a burden: Oh, if you’re the same AEgeon, speak, And speak to the same AEmilia!
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?
If I’m not dreaming, you must be AEmilia: If you are, tell me where is that son Who was with you on the fateful raft?
By men of Epidamnum 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 Epidamnum. What then became of them I cannot tell I to this fortune that you see me in.
By men from Epidamnum, he and I And the twin Dromio were all taken up; But soon after, rough fishermen from Corinth Forcefully took Dromio and my son from them And left me with the people of Epidamnum. What happened to them, I don’t know I ended up in the situation you see me in.
Why, here begins his morning story right; These two Antipholuses, these two so like, And these two Dromios, one in semblance,-- Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,-- These are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together. Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?
Well, here starts his story just right; These two Antipholuses, who are so alike, And these two Dromios, who look the same,-- Besides her telling about her shipwreck at sea,-- These are the parents of these children, Who, by chance, have met each other. Antipholus, you came from Corinth, right?
No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.
No, sir, not me; I came from Syracuse.
Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.
Wait, stand back; I can’t tell who’s who.
I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord,--
I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord,--
And I with him.
And I came with him.
Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
We were brought to this town by that famous warrior, Duke Menaphon, your well-known uncle.
Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
Which of you two had dinner with me today?
I, gentle mistress.
I did, dear madam.
And are not you my husband?
Aren’t you my husband?
No; I say nay to that.
No, I say no to that.
And so do I; yet did she call me so: And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother.
And I say no too; but she did call me that: And this lovely lady, her sister here, Did call me brother.
What I told you then, I hope I shall have leisure to make good; If this be not a dream I see and hear.
What I told you then, I hope I’ll have time to prove true; If this isn’t just a dream I’m seeing and hearing.
That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
That’s the chain, sir, that you got from me.
I think it be, sir; I deny it not.
I think it is, sir; I won’t deny it.
And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
And you, sir, for this chain had me arrested.
I think I did, sir; I deny it not.
I think I did, sir; I won’t deny it.
I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.
I sent you money, sir, to pay your bail, By Dromio; but I don’t think he brought it.
No, none by me.
No, not by me.
This purse of ducats I received from you, And Dromio, my man, did bring them me. I see we still did meet each other’s man, And I was ta’en for him, and he for me, And thereupon these errors are arose.
This bag of gold coins I got from you, And Dromio, my servant, gave them to me. I see we still met each other’s servant, And I was taken for him, and he for me, And because of that, these mistakes happened.
These ducats pawn I for my father here.
I’m using these coins as a guarantee for my father’s life.
It shall not need; thy father hath his life.
That won’t be necessary; your father’s life is safe.
Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
Sir, I need that diamond from you.
There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.
Here, take it; and thanks for the good time you’ve given me.
Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes: And all that are assembled in this place, That by this sympathized one day’s error Have suffer’d wrong, go keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction. Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; and till this present hour My heavy burden ne’er delivered. The duke, my husband and my children both, And you the calendars of their nativity, Go to a gossips’ feast and go with me; After so long grief, such festivity!
Honored duke, please take the time To come with us to the abbey here And listen to all our stories in detail: And everyone who’s gathered here, Who, because of this shared mistake from one day, Has suffered wrong, come and join us, And we’ll make full amends. Thirty-three years I’ve spent in pain For you, my sons; and until now, My heavy burden has never been lifted. The duke, my husband, and my children both, And you, the astrologers who predicted their births, Come to a celebration with me; After such long sorrow, such joy!
With all my heart, I’ll gossip at this feast.
With all my heart, I’ll join in this celebration.
Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?
Master, should I go get your things from the ship?
Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark’d?
Dromio, what things of mine did you load onto the ship?
Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.
Your belongings that were staying at the inn, sir, in the Centaur.
He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio: Come, go with us; we’ll look to that anon: Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.
He’s talking to me. I’m your master, Dromio: Come, go with us; we’ll take care of that in a bit: Hug your brother there; be happy with him.
There is a fat friend at your master’s house, That kitchen’d me for you to-day at dinner: She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
There’s a fat friend at your master’s house, Who cooked for me today at dinner: She will now be my sister, not my wife.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
I think you’re my mirror, not my brother: I see through you that I’m a handsome young man. Will you come inside to see them gossiping?
Not I, sir; you are my elder.
Not me, sir; you’re older than I am.
That’s a question: how shall we try it?
That’s a good question: how should we figure it out?
We’ll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first.
We’ll draw straws to decide who’s the older: until then, you lead.
Nay, then, thus: We came into the world like brother and brother; And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.
Alright, then, here’s how: We came into the world like brothers; So let’s go together, side by side, with no one ahead of the other.