_Dro. E._ Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine. 275 _Cour._ He did; and from my finger snatch’d that ring. _Ant. E._ ’Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her. _Duke._ Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here? _Cour._ As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace. _Duke._ Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. 280 I think you are all mated, or stark mad. [_Exit one to the Abbess._ _Æge._ Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word: Haply I see a friend will save my life, And pay the sum that may deliver me. _Duke._ Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. 285 _Æge._ Is not your name, sir, call’d Antipholus? And is not that your bondman, Dromio? _Dro. E._ Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw’d in two my cords: Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound. 290 _Æge._ I am sure you both of you remember me. _Dro. E._ Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir? _Æge._ Why look you strange on me? you know me well. 295 _Ant. E._ I never saw you in my life till now. _Æge._ O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with time’s deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? 300 _Ant. E._ Neither. _Æge._ Dromio, nor thou? _Dro. E._ No, trust me, sir, nor I. _Æge._ I am sure thou dost. _Dro. E._ Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. 305 _Æge._ Not know my voice! O time’s extremity, Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid 310 In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: 315 All these old witnesses--I cannot err-- Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. _Ant. E._ I never saw my father in my life. _Æge._ But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know’st we parted: but perhaps, my son, 320 Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. _Ant. E._ The Duke and all that know me in the city Can witness with me that it is not so: I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life. _Duke._ I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years 325 Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa: I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. _Re-enter _Abbess_, with _ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse_ and _DROMIO of Syracuse_._ _Abb._ Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong’d. [_All gather to see them._ _Adr._ I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 330