The Comedy of Errors. William Shakespeare

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

       Weeping before for what she saw must come,

       And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

       That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

       Forc’d 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 fast’ned him unto a small spare mast,

       Such as sea-faring 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 dispos’d, my wife and I,

       Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,

       Fast’ned 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,

       Dispers’d those vapours that offended us,

       And by the benefit of his wished light

       The seas wax’d 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 term’d 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 seiz’d on us;

       And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,

       Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wrack’d guests,

       And would have reft the fishers of their prey,

       Had not their bark been very slow of sail;

       And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

       Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss,

       That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d

       To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

      DUKE.

       And for the sake of them thou sorrowest 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 importun’d me

       That his attendant, so his case was like,

       Reft of his brother, but retain’d 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 lov’d.

       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 mark’d

       To bear the extremity of dire mishap;

       Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,

       Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,

       Which princes, would they, may not disannul,

       My soul should sue as advocate for thee.

       But though thou art adjudged to the death,

       And passed sentence may not be recall’d

       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 doom’d 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.]

      SCENE II. A public place.

      Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and a Merchant.

      MERCHANT.

       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.

       Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

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

       Within this hour it will be dinnertime;

       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.