William Shakespeare: Comedy of Errors, Act III

Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain that would face me down
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house.
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know;
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass.

You're sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer
May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish.

Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
But, soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in.

Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch.
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store,
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door.

What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street.

Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet.

Who talks within there? ho, open the door!

Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore.

Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.

Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may.

What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.

O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name.
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy
name for an ass.

Faith, no; he comes too late;
And so tell your master.

O Lord, I must laugh!
Have at you with a proverb—Shall I set in my staff?

Have at you with another; that's—When? can you tell?

If thy name be call'd Luce—Luce, thou hast answered him well.

And you said no.

So, come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow.

Can you tell for whose sake?

Master, knock the door hard.

Let him knock till it ache.

You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?

By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

If you went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore.

Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we would fain have either.

In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
Your cake there is warm within; you stand here in the cold:
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.

Go fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate.

Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind,
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.

It seems thou want'st breaking: out upon thee, hind!

Here's too much 'out upon thee!' I pray thee, let me in.

Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

Well, I'll break in: go borrow me a crow.

A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather;
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.

Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.

Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!
Herein you war against your reputation
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown:
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against you.
Be ruled by me: depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner,
And about evening come yourself alone
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it,
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation
That may with foul intrusion enter in
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
For slander lives upon succession,
For ever housed where it gets possession.

You have prevailed: I will depart in quiet,
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle:
There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
My wife—but, I protest, without desert—
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:
To her will we to dinner.

Get you home
And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
For there's the house: that chain will I bestow—
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife—
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.

Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.