_Sec. Mer._ Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine Heard you confess you had the chain of him, 260 After you first forswore it on the mart: And thereupon I drew my sword on you; And then you fled into this abbey here, From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
_Ant. E._ I never came within these abbey-walls; 265 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me: I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven: And this is false you burden me withal!
_Duke._ Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 270 If here you housed him, here he would have been; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly: You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?
_Dro. E._ Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine. 275
_Cour._ He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
_Ant. E._ 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.
_Duke._ Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?
_Cour._ As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace.
_Duke._ Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. 280 I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
_Æge._ Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word: Haply I see a friend will save my life, And pay the sum that may deliver me.
_Duke._ Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. 285
_Æge._ Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus? And is not that your bondman, Dromio?
_Dro. E._ Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound. 290
_Æge._ I am sure you both of you remember me.
_Dro. E._ Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?
_Æge._ Why look you strange on me? you know me well. 295
_Ant. E._ I never saw you in my life till now.
_Æge._ O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? 300
_Dro. E._ Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. 305
_Æge._ Not know my voice! O time's extremity, Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid 310 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: 315 All these old witnesses--I cannot err-- Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.