DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, no, the bell, ’tis time that I were gone. It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. ADRIANA. The hours come back! That did I never hear. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, ’a turns back for very fear. ADRIANA. As if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou reason! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season. Nay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say That time comes stealing on by night and day? If he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Enter Luciana. ADRIANA. Go, Dromio, there’s the money, bear it straight, And bring thy master home immediately. Come, sister, I am press’d down with conceit; Conceit, my comfort and my injury. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The same Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend, And everyone doth call me by my name. Some tender money to me, some invite me; Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; Some offer me commodities to buy. Even now a tailor call’d me in his shop, And show’d me silks that he had bought for me, And therewithal took measure of my body. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, here’s the gold you sent me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparelled? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison; he that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I understand thee not. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a bass-viol in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What! thou mean’st an officer? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, “God give you good rest.” ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth tonight? may we be gone? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark _Expedition_ put forth tonight, and then were you hindered by the sergeant to tarry for the hoy _Delay_. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. The fellow is distract, and so am I, And here we wander in illusions. Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtesan.