my sons; and till this present hour My heavy burden ne'er delivered. The duke, my husband and my children both, And you the calendars of their nativity, Go to a gossips' feast and go with me; After so long grief, such festivity! With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd? Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio: Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon: Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner: She now shall be my sister, not my wife. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. Will you walk in to see their gossiping? Not I, sir; you are my elder. That's a question: how shall we try it? We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first. Nay, then, thus: We came into the world like brother and brother; And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.