The Comedy of Errors

Have you completely forgotten your duty as a husband? Antipholus, your marriage is still fresh and new, like the springtime—have the young shoots of your love already started to wither? Is the building of your love already in ruins? If you married my sister for her wealth, then for her wealth’s sake, treat her with more kindness. Or if your affection has already strayed to another woman, at least be stealthy about it. Hide your false love, blindfold yourself so my sister cannot read your faithlessness in your eyes. Watch what you say, and don’t let your own words give away your shame. Look sweet and act kindly—be attractive in your disloyalty. Disguise your misbehavior as integrity, and behave properly even if your heart is tainted. Though you are sinful, carry yourself like a holy saint. Be false in secret: why does she need to know? What foolish thief brags about his crimes? It’s doubly wrong to cheat on your wife and then let her see the offense in your eyes. When you do something shameful, it’s possible to put a good spin on it, but bad deeds are made worse by speaking of them. Alas, poor women! We’re so gullible, we believe it when you say you love us. Even if you love someone else in your heart, make it appear as if you love us. We follow in your orbit, and you have the power to move us. So, my sweet brother-in-law, go inside. Comfort my sister, cheer her up, call her “wife.” It’s a holy thing to lie a little when sweet flattery can smooth over trouble.

Sweet mistress—I don’t know what other name to give you, or how you’ve figured out mine—you seem as wise and graceful as the earth is wonderful and divine. Teach me how I should think and speak. My understanding is clumsy and human, riddled with errors—it is feeble, shallow, and weak. Reveal to me the hidden meaning of your words. Why would you have me betray the truth of my emotions and make my love wander in some other direction? Are you a god? Are you trying to remake me? Go ahead, I’ll yield to your power. But if I am myself, then I know for sure that your weeping sister is not my wife. I don’t owe her any duty—it’s you that I submit to. Oh, sweet mermaid, don’t command me to drown myself in the flood of your sister’s tears. Siren, use your song to make me love you instead, and I will obey. Spread your golden hair over the silver waves, and I will lie down in it like a bed. If a man could die in that glorious fantasy, then I think he would benefit by dying. Love is light and therefore floats—if my love is false, let me sink!

Are you insane, talking like this?

Not insane, but amazed. I don’t know how.

Your eyes are playing tricks on you.

That’s because you are near me, and you’re as dazzling as the sun.

Train your eye on what you should be looking at, and you’ll see straight again.

Sweet love, I’d rather close my eyes than look at darkness.

Why are you calling me “love”? Call my sister that.

Your sister’s sister.

That’s my sister.

No, it’s you: my better half. My eye’s clear vision, my heart’s most precious desire. My food, my fortune, my sweetest hope, my heaven on earth, and my entrance to heaven.

My sister is all those things, or else she should be.

Call yourself your own sister, because I want you. I will love you, and with you I’ll spend my life. You have no husband yet, and I have no wife. Give me your hand.

Oh, wait, sir. Stay here. I’ll go get my sister and see what she thinks.

What’s going on, Dromio? Where are you running so fast?

Do you know me? Am I Dromio? Am I your servant? Am I myself?

You are Dromio, you are my servant, and you are yourself.

I’m an ass, I’m a woman’s servant, and I’m beside myself.

What woman’s servant? What do you mean, beside yourself?

I’ll tell you. Besides belonging to myself, I belong to a woman. A woman who says she owns me, who won’t leave me alone, and who wants me.

How does she claim to own you?

The same way a person would claim to own his horse. And she wants me as a beast. I don’t mean that she wants me because I’m a beast, but that she, who is a beast, says I belong to her.

What’s she like?

She has a very significant body. You couldn’t even talk about it without saying, “I beg your pardon.” My luck would be running thin if I ended up with her, although she’d make it a fat marriage.

What do you mean, a fat marriage?

Sir, she works in the kitchen, so she’s oily. The only thing I could do with her is to use all that oil as fuel in a lamp and then use that light to run away by. Her clothes are so oily, they’d burn through the longest winter. Even if she lives till the end of the world, she’d keep burning an additional week.

What’s her skin like?

It’s dark, like my shoe. But it’s not as clean. You’d be up to your ankles in how filthy it is.

Some water will fix that.

No, it’s permanent. Noah’s flood wouldn’t be enough water to clean it.

What’s her name?

Nell. But an ell and three-quarters wouldn’t be long enough to measure her waist.

So she’s wide?

Her hips are as wide as she is tall. She’s round, like a globe. I could use her like a map to find out where countries are.

What part of her body is Ireland?

Her bottom. It’s near the bogs.

Where’s Scotland?

In the palm of her hand, which is covered in calluses.

Where’s France?

In her forehead, which is enormous because of her receding hairline.

Where’s England?

I thought her teeth might be like the white cliffs, but they’re dark and stained. So I guess it’s her chin, which is separated from her forehead by all the sweat on her face.

Where’s Spain?

Honestly, I didn’t see it, but I felt it in her hot breath.

Where’s America and the West Indies?

Oh, sir, on her nose, which is covered with pimples, sores, and red welts. It points straight down at her mouth, which catches everything that drips from it. exotic jewels

Where’s Belgium and the Netherlands ?

Oh, sir, I didn’t look down there. In conclusion, this witch said I was hers. She called me Dromio and swore I’d promised to marry her. She knew private things about my body, like the birthmark on my shoulder, the mole on my neck, and the huge wart on my left arm. I was terrified, and I ran away from her as if she were a witch. And I think that if I hadn’t been brave and strong, she would have turned me into a dog and made me her slave.

Get going—hustle over to the port. If there’s enough wind for a ship to sail out tonight, I won’t spend tonight in this town. If a ship’s leaving, come to the marketplace. I’ll wait there for you. If everyone here knows us but we don’t know anybody, it’s time, I think, for us to pack our bags and take off.

I’ll run from this woman who claims to be my wife as fast as I’d run from a bear.

Everyone who lives here is a witch. That means it’s high time for me to go. That woman who claims I am her husband—I loathe her in my soul. But her gorgeous sister, who’s so lovely and gracious, who’s so charming and who speaks so well, almost makes me want to stay here against my better judgment. I’d better stop up my ears against this siren’s song.

Master Antipholus—

Yes, that’s my name.

I know that, sir. Look, here’s the necklace. I was on my way to take it to you at the Porcupine, but it took a little longer to finish than I thought it would.

What do you want me to do with this?

Whatever you want—I made it for you.

Made it for me? I didn’t order it.

You did—not just once or twice, but twenty times. Take it home and make your wife happy. I’ll come over at suppertime and you can pay me for it then.

You should take the money now. If you don’t, you might never see the money or the necklace ever again.

You’re a funny man, sir. Take care.

I don’t know what to think about this. But what I do think is that nobody in his right mind would refuse to accept such a beautiful necklace when somebody offers it. I guess there’s no need to be a thief in Ephesus. People come up to you in the street and hand you gold. I’ll go wait for Dromio at the marketplace. If any ships are sailing, I’ll get right on one.