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ADRIANA: Neither my husband nor the slave returned, that in such haste I sent to seek his master? Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.
LUCIANA: Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, and from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: a man is master of his liberty.
ADRIANA: Why should their liberty than ours be more?
LUCIANA: Because their business still lies out of door.
ADRIANA: Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
LUCIANA: O, know he is the bridle of your will.
ADRIANA: There’s none but *** will be bridled so.
LUCIANA: Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe: there’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye - ...
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh!
ADRIANA: Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
DROMIO E: Nay, he’s at two hands with me, and my two ears can witness.
ADRIANA: Say, didst thou speak with him? Know’st thou his mind?
DROMIO E: Aye, aye, he told his mind upon mine ear: beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
ADRIANA: Prithee, is he coming home? It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
DROMIO E: Why mistress, sure my master is horn mad.
ADRIANA: Horn mad, thou villain?
DROMIO E: I mean not cuckold mad, but sure he is stark mad!
When I desired him to come home to dinner, he asked me for a thousand marks in gold!
" ’Tis dinner-time,” quoth I; “My gold,” quoth he.
“Your meat doth burn,” quoth I; “My gold,” quoth he.
“Will you come?” quoth I; “My gold,” quoth he.
“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?” “The pig,” quoth I, “is burned.” "My gold," quoth he.
“My mistress, sir,” quoth I; “Hang up thy mistress, I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress.”
LUCIANA: Quoth who? DROMIO E: Quoth my master.
“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no mistress.”
ADRIANA: Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
DROMIO E: Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God’s sake, send some other messenger.
ADRIANA: Go back again, thou slave, or I will break thy pate across.
DROMIO E: And he will bless that cross with other beating: between you I shall have a holy head!
ADRIANA: Hence, prating peasant, fetch thy master home.
DROMIO E: You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; if I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
LUCIANA: Fie, how impatience loureth in your face.
ADRIANA: His company must do his minions grace, whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took from my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it. Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?
Do their gay vestments his affections bait? That’s not my fault: he’s master of my state:
My decayed fair a sunny look of his would soon repair.
LUCIANA: Self-harming jealousy: fie, beat it hence.
ADRIANA: Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense!
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere, or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promised me a chain; would that alone, a toy he would detain, so he would keep fair quarter with his bed:
Since that my beauty can no longer please his eye, I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.
LUCIANA: How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?