Egeon, a merchant from Syracuse, is arrested and condemned to death for illegally entering Ephesus, a rival city. Brought before Solinus, the Duke of Ephesus. Plot summary of and introduction to William Shakespeare's play The Comedy of Errors, with links to online texts, digital images, and other resources. the Comedy of Errors, complete with romance, lost love, mistaken identities, .. pt .pdf. In The Comedy of Errors, Shakespeare undoubtedly borrows freely from.
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Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you. To make it wander in an. Set in the city of Ephesus, The Comedy of Errors concerns the farcical misadventures of two sets of identical twins. Many years earlier, the Syracusan merchant. Scenes (11 total). Complete Text · Act I · Scene 1. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Scene 2. The Mart. Act II · Scene 1. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.
Courtesan , hostess of Antipholus of Ephesus at dinner. First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. More company. But if thou live to see like right bereft. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.
In a shipwreck, Egeon lost his wife, one of his sons, and one of the Dromios.
Egeon's remaining son, Antipholus of Syracuse, and his servant, Dromio of Syracuse, come to Ephesus, where—unknown to them—their lost twins now live. The visitors are confused, angered, or intrigued when local residents seem to know them.
Similarly, Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus run into puzzling reactions from the people they know—who have been dealing, unwittingly, with the Syracusans. Antipholus of Ephesus's wife bars him from his house; he is jailed after a jeweler claims he owes money on a gold chain he never received.
When the four twins come together, all is finally resolved. In one last twist, their parents reunite as well. The Comedy of Errors was first published in the First Folio and that text serves as the source for all subsequent editions of the play. Some of these images show actors in character, while others show the plays as if they were real-life events—telling the difference isn't always easy.
A selection of images related to The Comedy of Errors is shown below, with links our digital image collection. More images of The Comedy of Errors can be seen in our digital image collection. Because of how they were cataloged, some images from other plays might appear in the image searches linked here, so always check the sidebar to see if the image is described as part of a larger group.
The Folger is closed to the public on Monday, April T T he Comedy of Errors. Read the play. Buy the play. Early printed texts The Comedy of Errors was first published in the First Folio and that text serves as the source for all subsequent editions of the play.
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 fasten'd 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 fix'd, Fasten'd 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 wax'd calm, and we discovered 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. For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encounterd 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! At length, another ship had seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd 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 sever'd from my bliss; That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Whom whilst I labour'd 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 or 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. 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 would sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death And passed sentence may not be recall'd But to our honour's great disparagement, Yet I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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 doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. This very day a Syracusian merchant Is apprehended for arrival here; And not being able to buy out his life According to the statute of the town, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return and sleep within mine inn, For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away. Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.
Good sister, let us dine and never fret: A man is master of his liberty: Time is their master, and, when they see time, They'll go or come: There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Are their males' subjects and at their controls: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords: Then let your will attend on their accords.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me, But, if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.
Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh. I could not speak with Dromio since at first I sent him from the mart.
See, here he comes. Say that I linger'd with you at your shop To see the making of her carcanet, And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain that would face me down He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, And charged him with a thousand marks in gold, And that I did deny my wife and house. Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass, You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass. But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But, soft! Go bid them let us in. Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many?
Go, get thee from the door. My master stays in the street. I have not dined to-day. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. Have at you with a proverb--Shall I set in my staff? Your cake there is warm within; you stand here in the cold: It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.
I'll break ope the gate. Master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather; If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Herein you war against your reputation And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this,--your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown: And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you.