The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  As ours hath been since we arrived in France.

  KING OF FRANCE

  Accursed man! Of this I was foretold,

  But did misconstrue what the prophet told.

  PRINCE OF WALES (to King Edward)

  Now, father, this petition Edward makes

  To thee, whose grace hath been his strongest shield:

  That as thy pleasure chose me for the man

  To be the instrument to show thy power,

  So thou wilt grant that many princes more,

  Bred and brought up within that little isle,

  May still be famous for like victories.

  And for my part, the bloody scars I bear,

  The weary nights that I have watched in field, 5

  The dangerous conflicts I have often had,

  The fearful menaces were proffered me,

  The heat and cold, and what else might displease,

  I wish were now redoubled twentyfold,

  So that hereafter ages, when they read

  The painful traffic of my tender youth,

  Might thereby be inflamed with such resolve

  As not the territories of France alone,

  But likewise Spain, Turkey and what countries else

  That justly would provoke fair England’s ire,

  Might at thy presence tremble and retire.

  KING EDWARD

  Here, English lords, we do proclaim a rest,

  An intercession of our painful arms.

  Sheathe up your swords, refresh your weary limbs,

  Peruse your spoils, and after we have breathed

  A day or two within this haven town,

  God willing, then for England we’ll be shipped,

  Where in a happy hour I trust we shall

  Arrive: three kings, two princes, and a queen.

  Exeunt

  ADDITIONAL PASSAGE

  In Q, the following lines, which are probably a misplaced addition, occur at the end of 8.108, between ‘foot’ and ‘Exeunt’, and fall between what may have been stints by two different authors. They may have been intended to go after either 8.93 or 8.98.

  KING EDWARD

  What picture’s this?

  PRINCE OF WALES A pelican, my lord,

  Wounding her bosom with her crooked beak

  That so her nest of young ones might be fed

  With drops of blood that issue from her heart.

  The motto, ‘Sic et vos’—‘and so should you’.

  THE COMEDY OF ERRORS

  ON the night of 28 December 1594, the Christmas revels at Gray’s Inn—one of London’s law schools—became so uproarious that one performance planned for the occasion had to be abandoned. Eventually ‘it was thought good not to offer anything of account saving dancing and revelling with gentlewomen; and after such sports a comedy of errors (like to Plautus his Menaechmus) was played by the players. So that night was begun, and continued to the end, in nothing but confusion and errors; whereupon it was ever afterwards called “The Night of Errors”.’

  This sounds like a reference to Shakespeare’s play, first printed in the 1623 Folio, which is certainly based in large part on the Roman dramatist Plautus’ comedy Menaechmi. As Shakespeare’s shortest play, it would have been especially suited to late-night performance. Exceptional in having no cues for music, it may have been written for the occasion, or at least have been new in 1594.

  The comedy in Menaechmi derives from the embarrassment experienced by a man in search of his long-lost twin brother when various people intimately acquainted with that twin—including his wife, his mistress, and his father—mistake the one for the other. Shakespeare greatly increases the possibilities of comic confusion by giving the brothers (both called Antipholus) servants (both called Dromio) who themselves are long-separated twins. An added episode in which Antipholus of Ephesus’ wife, Adriana, bars him from his own house in which she is entertaining his brother is based on another play by Plautus, Amphitruo. Shakespeare sets the comic action within a more serious framework, opening with a scene in which the twin masters’ old father, Egeon, who has arrived at Ephesus in search of them, is shown under imminent sentence of death unless he finds someone to redeem him. This strand of the plot, as well as the surprising revelation that brings about the resolution of the action, is based on the story of Apollonius of Tyre which Shakespeare was to use again, many years later, in Pericles.

  The Comedy of Errors is a kind of diploma piece, as if Shakespeare were displaying his ability to outshine both his classical progenitors and their English imitators. Along with The Tempest, it is his most classically constructed play: all the action takes place within a few hours and in a single place. Moreover, it seems to make use of the conventionalized arcade setting of academic drama, with three ‘houses’—the Phoenix, the Porcupine, and the Priory—represented by doors and signs on stage. The working out of the complexities inherent in the basic situation represents a considerable intellectual feat. But the comedy is humanized by the interweaving of romantic elements, such as Egeon’s initial plight, the love between the visiting Antipholus and his twin brother’s wife’s sister, Luciana, and the entirely serious portrayal of Egeon’s suffering when his own son fails to recognize him at the moment of his greatest need. From time to time the comic tension is relaxed by the presence of discursive set pieces, none more memorable than Dromio of Syracuse’s description of Nell, the kitchen wench who is ‘spherical, like a globe’.

  THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

  Solinus, DUKE of Ephesus

  EGEON, a merchant of Syracuse, father of the Antipholus twins

  ADRIANA, wife of Antipholus of Ephesus

  LUCIANA, her sister

  NELL, Adriana’s kitchen-maid

  ANGELO, a goldsmith

  BALTHASAR, a merchant

  A COURTESAN

  Doctor PINCH, a schoolmaster and exorcist

  MERCHANT OF EPHESUS, a friend of Antipholus of Syracuse

  SECOND MERCHANT, Angelo’s creditor

  EMILIA, an abbess at Ephesus

  Jailer, messenger, headsman, officers, and other attendants

  The Comedy of Errors

  1.1 Enter Solinus, the Duke of Ephesus, with Egeon the Merchant of Syracuse, Jailer, and other attendants

  EGEON

  Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,

  And by the doom of death end woes and all.

  DUKE

  Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more.

  I am not partial to infringe our laws.

  The enmity and discord which of late

  Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke

  To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,

  Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,

  Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,

  Excludes all pity from our threat‘ning looks.

  For since the mortal and intestine jars

  ’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,

  It hath in solemn synods been decreed,

  Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,

  To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.

  Nay more: if any born at Ephesus

  Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs;

  Again, if any Syracusian born

  Come to the bay of Ephesus—he dies,

  His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose,

  Unless a thousand marks be levied

  To quit the penalty and ransom him.

  Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,

  Cannot amount unto a hundred marks.

  Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.

  EGEON

  Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,

  My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

  DUKE

  Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause

  Why thou departed‘st from thy native home,

  And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus.

  EGEON

  A heavie
r task could not have been imposed

  Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable.

  Yet, that the world may witness that my end

  Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,

  I’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.

  In Syracusa was I born, and wed

  Unto a woman happy but for me,

  And by me happy, had not our hap been bad.

  With her I lived in joy, our wealth increased

  By prosperous voyages I often made

  To Epidamnum, till my factor’s death,

  And the great care of goods at random left,

  Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse,

  From whom my absence was not six months old

  Before herself—almost at fainting under

  The pleasing punishment that women bear-

  Had made provision for her following me,

  And soon and safe arrived where I was.

  There had she not been long but she became

  A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

  And, which was strange, the one so like the other

  As could not be distinguished but by names.

  That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,

  A mean-born woman was delivered

  Of such a burden male, twins both alike.

  Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,

  I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.

  My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

  Made daily motions for our home return.

  Unwilling, I agreed. Alas! Too soon

  We came aboard.

  A league from Epidamnum had we sailed

  Before the always-wind-obeying deep

  Gave any tragic instance of our harm.

  But longer did we not retain much hope,

  For what obscured light the heavens did grant

  Did but convey unto our fearful minds

  A doubtful warrant of immediate death,

  Which though myself would gladly have embraced,

  Yet the incessant weepings of my wife—

  Weeping before for what she saw must come—

  And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

  That mourned for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

  Forced me to seek delays for them and me.

  And this it was—for other means was none:

  The sailors sought for safety by our boat,

  And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.

  My wife, more careful for the latter-born,

  Had fastened him unto a small spare mast

  Such as seafaring men provide for storms.

  To him one of the other twins was bound,

  Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.

  The children thus disposed, my wife and I,

  Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixed,

  Fastened ourselves at either end the mast,

  And floating straight, obedient to the stream,

  Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

  At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,

  Dispersed those vapours that offended us,

  And by the benefit of his wished light

  The seas waxed calm, and we discovered

  Two ships from far, making amain to us:

  Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.

  But ere they came—O let me say no more!

  Gather the sequel by that went before.

  DUKE

  Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so,

  For we may pity though not pardon thee.

  EGEON

  O, had the gods done so, I had not now

  Worthily termed them merciless to us.

  For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,

  We were encountered by a mighty rock,

  Which being violently borne upon,

  Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,

  So that in this unjust divorce of us

  Fortune had left to both of us alike

  What to delight in, what to sorrow for.

  Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened

  With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,

  Was carried with more speed before the wind,

  And in our sight they three were taken up

  By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.

  At length another ship had seized on us,

  And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,

  Gave healthful welcome to their shipwrecked guests,

  And would have reft the fishers of their prey

  Had not their barque been very slow of sail;

  And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

  Thus have you heard me severed from my bliss,

  That by misfortunes was my life prolonged

  To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

  DUKE

  And for the sake of them thou sorrow’st for,

  Do me the favour to dilate at full

  What have befall’n of them and thee till now.

  EGEON

  My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

  At eighteen years became inquisitive

  After his brother, and importuned me

  That his attendant—so his case was like,

  Reft of his brother, but retained his name—

  Might bear him company in the quest of him;

  Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see,

  I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.

  Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,

  Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,

  And coasting homeward came to Ephesus,

  Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought

  Or that or any place that harbours men.

  But here must end the story of my life,

  And happy were I in my timely death

  Could all my travels warrant me they live.

  DUKE

  Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have marked

  To bear the extremity of dire mishap,

  Now trust me, were it not against our laws—

  Which princes, would they, may not disannul—

  Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,

  My soul should sue as advocate for thee.

  But though thou art adjudged to the death,

  And passed sentence may not be recalled

  But to our honour’s great disparagement,

  Yet will I favour thee in what I can.

  Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day

  To seek thy health by beneficial help.

  Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus:

  Beg thou or borrow to make up the sum,

  And live. If no, then thou art doomed to die.

  Jailer, take him to thy custody.

  JAILER I will, my lord.

  EGEON

  Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,

  But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

  Exeunt

  1.2 Enter ⌈from the bay⌉ Antipholus of Syracuse, Merchant ⌈of Ephesus⌉, and Dromio of Syracuse

  MERCHANT ⌈OF EPHESUS⌉

  Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,

  Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.

  This very day a Syracusian merchant

  Is apprehended for arrival here,

  And, not being able to buy out his life,

  According to the statute of the town

  Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.

  There is your money that I had to keep.

  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE (to Dromio)

  Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

  And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.

  Within this hour it will be dinner-time.

  Till that I’ll view the manners of the town,

  Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,

  And then return and sleep within mine inn;

  For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
>
  Get thee away.

  DROMIO OF SYRACUSE

  Many a man would take you at your word,

  And go indeed, having so good a mean. Exit

  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE

  A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,

  When I am dull with care and melancholy,

  Lightens my humour with his merry jests.

  What, will you walk with me about the town,

  And then go to my inn and dine with me?

  MERCHANT ⌈OF EPHESUS⌉

  I am invited, sir, to certain merchants

  Of whom I hope to make much benefit.

  I crave your pardon. Soon at five o’clock,

  Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart,

  And afterward consort you till bedtime.

  My present business calls me from you now.

  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE

  Farewell till then. I will go lose myself,

  And wander up and down to view the city.

  MERCHANT ⌈OF EPHESUS⌉

  Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit

  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE

  He that commends me to mine own content

  Commends me to the thing I cannot get.

  I to the world am like drop of water

  That in the ocean seeks another drop,

  Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,

  Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.

  So I, to find a mother and a brother,

  In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

  Enter Dromio of Ephesus

  Here comes the almanac of my true date.

  What now? How chance thou art returned so soon?

  DROMIO OF EPHESUS

  Returned so soon? Rather approached too late.

  The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit.

  The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;

  My mistress made it one upon my cheek.

  She is so hot because the meat is cold.

  The meat is cold because you come not home.

  You come not home because you have no stomach.

  You have no stomach, having broke your fast;

  But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray

  Are penitent for your default today.

  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE

  Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray:

  Where have you left the money that I gave you?

  DROMIO OF EPHESUS

  O—sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last

  To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper?