e, 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.

[_Exit one to the Abbess._

_Aege._ 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

_Aege._ 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

_Aege._ 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?

_Aege._ Why look you strange on me? you know me well. 295

_Ant. E._ I never saw you in my life till now.

_Aege._ 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

_Ant. E._ Neither.

_Aege._ Dromio, nor thou?

_Dro. E._ No, trust me, sir, nor I.

_Aege._ I am sure thou dost.

_Dro. E._ Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever
a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. 305

_Aege._ 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