ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinnertime; Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return and sleep within mine inn, For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean. [_Exit Dromio._] ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn and dine with me? MERCHANT. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit. I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o’clock, Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart, And afterward consort you till bedtime. My present business calls me from you now. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself, And wander up and down to view the city. MERCHANT. Sir, I commend you to your own content. [_Exit Merchant._] ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, failing there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Here comes the almanac of my true date. What now? How chance thou art return’d so soon? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Return’d so soon? rather approach’d too late. The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek. She is so hot because the meat is cold; The meat is cold because you come not home; You come not home because you have no stomach; You have no stomach, having broke your fast; But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default today. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Stop in your wind, sir, tell me this, I pray: Where have you left the money that I gave you? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O, sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper: The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I am not in a sportive humour now. Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed, For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, And strike you home without a messenger. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season, Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?