Act 3, Scene II - Page 2

fair sun, being by.

LUCIANA
Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.

LUCIANA
Why call you me love? call my sister so.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
Thy sister's sister.

LUCIANA
That's my sister.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
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.

LUCIANA
All this my sister is, or else should be.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
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.

LUCIANA
O, soft, air! hold you still:
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

Exit

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse

ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'st thou so fast?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man?
am I myself?
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
I am an ass, I am a woman's man and besides myself.

ANTIPHOLUS
What woman's man? and how besides thyself? besides thyself?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one
that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
What claim lays she to thee?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
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.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
What is she?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
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.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
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.
ANTIPHOLUS

OF SYRACUSE
What complexion is she of?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
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.