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Even now a tailor call’d me in his shop,

And show’d me silks that he had bought for me,

And therewithal took measure of my body.

Sure these are but imaginary wiles,

And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

Enter Dromio [of] Syracusa.

S. Dro. Master, here’s the gold you sent me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell’d?

S. Ant. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?

S. Dro. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison; he that goes in the calve’s-skin that was kill’d for the Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.

S. Ant. I understand thee not.

S. Dro. No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a base-viol in a case of leather; the man, sir, that when gentlemen are tir’d, gives them a sob and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decay’d men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike.

S. Ant. What, thou mean’st an officer?