thee for a rope; And told thee to what purpose and what end. You sent me for a rope's end as soon: You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. I will debate this matter at more leisure And teach your ears to list me with more heed. To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, There is a purse of ducats; let her send it: Tell her I am arrested in the street And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone! On, officer, to prison till it come. To Adriana! that is where we dined, Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. Thither I must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye That he did plead in earnest? yea or no? Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? What observation madest thou in this case Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? First he denied you had in him no right. He meant he did me none; the more my spite. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Then pleaded I for you. And what said he? That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? With words that in an honest suit might move. First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. Didst speak him fair? Have patience, I beseech. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. Who would be jealous then of such a one? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Ah, but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away: My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. Here! go; the desk, the purse! sweet, now, make haste. How hast thou lost thy breath? By running fast. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. A devil in an everlasting garment hath him; One