Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. How comes it now, my husband, O! Monologues and scenes for training and auditions. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate! My decayed fair A sunny look of his would soon repair; But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale And feeds from home: poor I am but his stale. My way is now to hie home to his house, And tell his wife, that, being lunatic, He rush'd into my house, and took perforce My ring away. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates: along with them They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. So, Act I has this pitched argument between the two sisters, with Adrianna standing for equality of the sexes at least in marriage and Luciana arguing for a definite order — men on top, women subservient. This is the fairy land: O spite of spites! I pray you, master, tell me. For, since the mortal and intestine jars 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed, Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, T' admit no traffic to our adverse towns: Nay, more, if any, born at Ephesus Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs; Again, if any Syracusian born Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose; Unless a thousand marks be levied, To quit the penalty and to ransom him. Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears? To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me.
Why should their liberty than ours be more? Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate! Luciana in The Comedy of Errors - Shmoop The Comedy of Errors by William Shakespeare. And slay thy lady that in thy life lives, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects; I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, That by misfortune was my life prolong'd, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Why suck'st, from sodden moss and dripping stone, Toad-like, thy nourishment alone? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part.
O, know he is the bridle of your will. How is it, my husband—oh, how is it—that you have become a stranger to yourself? The monologues are organized by play, then categorized by comedy, history and tragedy. For know, my love, as easy mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. What simple thief brags of his own attaint? For if we two be one, and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; I live disdained, thou undishonorèd.
In this scene Adriana is anxiously waiting for her husband's return in the company of his sister. Because their business still lies out o' door. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce 325 understand them. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return: Unwilling I agreed; alas! Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. I will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe fruit. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere, Or else what lets it but he would be here? And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast: The consequence is then, thy jealous fits Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits.
It seems he hath great care to please his wife. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd, That in such haste I sent to seek his master! Doing displeasure to the citizens By rushing in their houses, bearing thence Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like. With her I liv'd in joy: our wealth increas'd By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum; till my factor's death, And the great care of goods at random left, Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: From whom my absence was not six months old, Before herself,'almost at fainting under The pleasing punishment that women bear,' Had made provision for her following me, And soon and safe arrived where I was. Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, He broke from those that had the guard of him, And with his mad attendant and himself, Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords Met us again, and, madly bent on us Chas. Why railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? For you should know, my love, that it would be as easy to let a drop of water fall into the churning sea and then fish it out again, unmingled and undiminished, as it would be to take yourself from me without taking me out of myself as well. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured.
For if we two be one, and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. This pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me, Cries out, I was possess'd. Yes, yes, Antipholus: look bewildered and frown at me. The Comedy of Errors And may it be that you have quite forgot. That's not my fault: he's master of my state: What ruins are in me that can be found, 370 By him not ruin'd? Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face, And tear the stained skin off my harlot-brow, And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.
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. Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part. Quoth my master: 'I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; I live disdained, thou undishonorèd.