Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; Or else what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain; Would that alone a love he would detain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see the jewel best enamelled Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still That others touch and, often touching, will Where gold; and no man that hath a name By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. LUCIANA. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! <Exeunt SCENE 2 The mart Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave Is wand'red forth in care to seek me out. By computation and mine host's report I could not speak with Dromio since at first I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE How now, sir, is your merry humour alter'd? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur! You receiv'd no gold! Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner! My house was at the Phoenix! Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. What answer, sir? When spake I such a word? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him] DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Hold, sir, for God's sake! Now your jest is earnest. Upon what bargain do you give it me? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool and chat with you, 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.