ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No, It is thyself, mine own self’s better part, Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart, My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim, My sole earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim. LUCIANA. All this my sister is, or else should be. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee; Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. Give me thy hand. LUCIANA. O, soft, sir, hold you still; I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill. [_Exit Luciana._] Enter Dromio of Syracuse. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, how now, Dromio? where runn’st thou so fast? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What woman’s man? and how besides thyself? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman, one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What claim lays she to thee? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse, and she would have me as a beast; not that I being a beast she would have me, but that she being a very beastly creature lays claim to me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is she? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say “sir-reverence”. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How dost thou mean a “fat marriage”? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer than the whole world. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What complexion is she of? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why? she sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. That’s a fault that water will mend. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What’s her name? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Then she bears some breadth? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip. She is spherical, like a globe. I could find out countries in her. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In what part of her body stands Ireland? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Scotland? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I found it by the barrenness, hard in the palm of the hand. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where France?