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E. Ant.

Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,

And art confederate with a damned pack

To make a loathsome abject scorn of me;

But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes

That would behold in me this shameful sport.

Enter three or four, and offer to bind him; he strives.

Adr.

O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near me.

Pinch.

More company! the fiend is strong within him.

Luc.

Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

E. Ant.

What, will you murther me? Thou jailer, thou,

I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them

To make a rescue?

Off.

Masters, let him go:

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

Pinch.

Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.

[They offer to bind Dromio of Ephesus.]

Adr.

What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?

Hast thou delight to see a wretched man

Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Off.

He is my prisoner; if I let him go,

The debt he owes will be requir’d of me.

Adr.

I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:

Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,