gone, sir, and not trouble you. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, A nut, a cherry-stone; But she, more covetous, would have a chain. Master, be wise: an if you give it her, The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain: I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go. 'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad, Else would he never so demean himself. A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, And for the same he promised me a chain: Both one and other he denies me now. The reason that I gather he is mad, Besides this present instance of his rage, Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner, Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now to hie home to his house, And tell his wife that, being lunatic, He rush'd into my house and took perforce My ring away. This course I fittest choose; For forty ducats is too much to lose. Fear me not, man; I will not break away: I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money, To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. My wife is in a wayward mood to-day, And will not lightly trust the messenger That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. Here comes my man; I think he brings the money. How now, sir! have you that I sent you for? Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. But where's the money? Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I returned. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. Good sir, be patient. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity. Good, now, hold thy tongue. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows