Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,
But she tells to your highness simple truth!

Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.

Complain unto the duke of this indignity.

She never reprehended him but mildly,
When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly.
Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?

God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!

Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

And I am witness with her that she did.

Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

How hast thou lost thy breath?

Who would be jealous then of such a one?
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

Have patience, I beseech.

With words that in an honest suit might move.
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.

That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.

Then pleaded I for you.

Then swore he that he was a stranger here.

First he denied you had in him no right.

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

All this my sister is, or else should be.

That's my sister.

Why call you me love? call my sister so.

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

It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus.
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
Then for her wealth's sake use her with more ...

Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass.

Why pratest thou to thyself and answer'st not?
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!
When were you wont to use my sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!

Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!

Quoth who?

Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.

Till he come home again, I would forbear.

Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these ...

O, know he is the bridle of your will.

Because their business still lies out o' door.

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:
Time is their master, and, when they see time,
They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.