ACT I SCENE I. A hall in the Duke’s palace Enter Duke, Egeon, Jailer, Officers 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 seal’d 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 levied 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 condemn’d 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 departedst from thy native home, And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus.

EGEON.

A heavier task could not have been impos’d 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 liv’d in joy; our wealth increas’d 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 arrived where I was. There had she 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 distinguish’d but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A mean woman was delivered 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 sail’d Before the always-wind-obeying deep Gave any tragic instance of our harm; But longer did we not retain much hope; For what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death, Which though myself would gladly have embrac’d, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Forc’d 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 fast’ned him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring 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 dispos’d, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d, Fast’ned ourselves at either end the mast, And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.