Enter the DUKE of Ephesus, with EGEON the merchant of Syracuse,
 GAOLER, and other ATTENDANTS.

Egeon	Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
	And by the doom of death end woes and all.

Duke	Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
	I am not partial to infringe our laws.
	The enmity and discord which of late
	Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
	To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
	Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
	Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
	Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks;
	For, since the mortal and intestine jars
	'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
	It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
	Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
	To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.
	Nay, more: if any born at Ephesus
	Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs;
	Again, if any Syracusian born
	Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
	His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
	Unless a thousand marks be levid
	To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
	Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
	Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
	Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.

Egeon	Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
	My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke	Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
	Why thou departed'st from thy native home,
	And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Egeon	A heavier task could not have been imposed
	Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable.
	Yet, that the world may witness that my end
	Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
	I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
	In Syracusa was I born, and wed
	Unto a woman happy but for me,
	And by me, had not our hap been bad.
	With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased
	By prosperous voyages I often made
	To Epidamnum, till my factor's death,
	And the great care of goods at random left,
	Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse,
	From whom my absence was not six months old
	Before herself, almost at fainting under
	The pleasing punishment that women bear,
	Had made provision for her following me,
	And soon and safe arrivd where I was.
	There she had not been long but she became
	A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
	And, which was strange, the one so like the other
	As could not be distinguished but by names.
	That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,
	A mean woman was deliverd
	Of such a burden male, twins both alike.
	Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
	I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
	My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
	Made daily motions for our home return.
	Unwilling, I agreed. Alas, too soon
	We came aboard.
	A league from Epidamnum had we sailed
	Before the always-wind-obeying deep
	Gave any tragic instance of our harm.
	But longer did we not retain much hope,
	For what obscurd light the heavens did grant
	Did but convey unto our fearful minds
	A doubtful warrant of immediate death,
	Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
	Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
	Weeping before for what she saw must come,
	And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
	That mourned for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
	Forced me me to seek delays for them and me.
	And this it was - for other means was none-
	The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
	And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
	My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
	Had fastened him unto a small spare mast
	Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
	To him one of the other twins was bound,
	Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
	The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
	Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixed,
	Fastened ourselves at either end the mast,
	And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
	Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
	At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
	Dispersed those vapours that offended us,
	And by the benefit of his wished light
	The seas waxed calm, and we discoverd
	Two ships from far making amain to us:
	Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this;
	But ere they came - O, let me say no more!
	Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke	Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so;
	For we may pity though not pardon thee.

Egeon	O, had the gods done so, I had not now
	Worthily termed them merciless to us!
	For ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues
	We were encountered by a mighty rock,
	Which being violently borne upon,
	Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
	So that in this unjust divorce of us
	Fortune had left to both of us alike
	What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
	Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdend
	With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
	Was carried with more speed before the wind,
	And in our sight they three were taken up
	By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
	At length another ship had seized on us,
	And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
	Gave healthful welcome to their shipwracked guests,
	And would have reft the fishers of their prey
	Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
	And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
	Thus have you heard me severed from my bliss,
	That by misfortunes was my life prolonged
	To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke	And for the sake of them thou sorrow'st for,
	Do me the favour to dilate at full
	What hath befallen of them and thee till now.

Egeon	My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
	At eighteen years became inquisitive
	After his brother, and importuned me
	That his attendant - so his case was like,
	Reft of his brother, but retained his name-
	Might bear him company in the quest of him;
	Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see,
	I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
	Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
	Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
	And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus,
	Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
	Or that of any place that harbours men.
	But here must end the story of my life,
	And happy were I in my timely death
	Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke	Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have marked
	To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
	Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
	Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
	Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
	My soul should sue as advocate for thee;
	But though thou art adjudgd to the death,
	And passd sentence may not be recalled
	But to our honour's great disparagement,
	Yet will I favour thee in what I can.
	Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
	To seek thy health by beneficial help.
	Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
	Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
	And live. If no, then thou art doomed to die.
	Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaoler	I will, my lord.

Egeon	Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,
	But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
												[Exeunt.
