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.