_Ant. S._ As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. _Luc._ Why call you me love? call my sister so. _Ant. S._ Thy sister’s sister. _Luc._ That’s my sister. _Ant. S._ No; 60 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. _Luc._ All this my sister is, or else should be. 65 _Ant. S._ Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. Give me thy hand. _Luc._ O, soft, sir! hold you still: I’ll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [_Exit._ 70 _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._ _Ant. S._ Why, how now, Dromio! where runn’st thou so fast? _Dro. S._ Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? _Ant. S._ Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art 75 thyself. _Dro. S._ I am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself. _Ant. S._ What woman’s man? and how besides thyself? _Dro. S._ Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a 80 woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. _Ant. S._ What claim lays she to thee? _Dro. S._ Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, 85 I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. _Ant. S._ What is she? _Dro. S._ A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say Sir-reverence. I have 90 but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. _Ant. S._ How dost thou mean a fat marriage? _Dro. S._ Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make 95 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. _Ant. S._ What complexion is she of? 100 _Dro. S._ Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept: for why she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. _Ant. S._ That’s a fault that water will mend. _Dro. S._ No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not 105 do it. _Ant. S._ What’s her name? _Dro. S._ Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. 110 _Ant. S._ Then she bears some breadth? _Dro. S._ No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her. _Ant. S._ In what part of her body stands Ireland? 115