Luciana

Adriana
Neither my husband nor the slave returned
That in such haste I sent to seek his master?
Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.
Luciana
Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret.

So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
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Luciana
Fie, how impatience loureth in your face.
Adriana
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.

Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.

Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek?
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Adriana
How ill agrees it with your gravity
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood.
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.

This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls,
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Luciana
And may it be that you have quite forgot
 A husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus,
Even in the spring of love thy love-springs rot?
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?

Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted.
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint.
Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted?
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Adriana
Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
 Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no?
 Looked he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
What observation mad’st thou in this case
Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face?

He is deformèd, crooked, old, and sere,
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