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thy-shakespeare

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Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common of my serious hours.
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sconce, call you it? So you would
leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and
insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders.
But I pray, sir, why am I beaten?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Dost thou not know?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Shall I tell you why?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say
every why hath a wherefore.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, first for flouting me; and then wherefore,
For urging it the second time to me.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?
Well, sir, I thank you.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thank me, sir! for what?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave
me for nothing.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I'll make you amends next, to
give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinnertime?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In good time, sir, what's that?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Basting.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Your reason?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me
another dry basting.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time;
there's a time for all things.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I durst have denied that, before you
were so choleric.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By what rule, sir?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the
plain bald pate of Father Time himself.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Let's hear it.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There's no time for a man to recover
his hair that grows bald by nature.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and
recover the lost hair of another man.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why is Time such a niggard of
hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Because it is a blessing that he bestows
on beasts, and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath
given them in wit.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, but there's many a man
hath more hair than wit.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not a man of those but he hath the
wit to lose his hair.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, thou didst conclude hairy
men plain dealers without wit.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost;
yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For what reason?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. For two; and sound ones too.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sound I pray you.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sure ones, then.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Certain ones, then.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Name them.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The one, to save the money that he spends in
tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his
porridge.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. You would all this time have prov'd there
is no time for all things.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover
hair lost by nature.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. But your reason was not substantial, why
there is no time to recover.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald,
and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I knew 't'would be a bald conclusion. But,
soft, who wafts us yonder?
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA
ADRIANA. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once when thou unurg'd wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again