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And may it be that you have quite forgot

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?
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint?

If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
 Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more kindness.
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth,
 Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
Let not my sister read it in your eyeHyperbaton;
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's oratorHyperbaton and Synecdoche:
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyaltyIsocolon;
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saintIsocolon
Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
‘Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
 And let her read it in thy looks at board:
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
 Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women, make us but believe
 (Being compact of credit) that you love us;
Though others have the armSynecdoche, show us the sleeveMetonymy:
We in your motion turnHyperbaton, and you may move us.
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:
 ‘Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
Antipholus of Syracuse
Sweet mistress—what your name is else I know not,
 Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine—
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
 Than our Earth’s wonder, more than Earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak.
 Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,
Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
 The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.
Against my soul’s pure truth why labor you
 To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? Would you create me new?
 Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe.
 Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note
 To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
Sing, Siren, for thyself, and I will dote.
 Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I’ll take them and there lie,
 And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die.
 Let love, being light, be drownèd if she sink.
What, are you mad that you do reason so?
Antipholus of Syracuse
Not mad, but mated—how, I do not know.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Antipholus of Syracuse
For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
Gaze when you should, and that will clear your sight.
Antipholus of Syracuse
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Why call you me “love”? Call my sister so.
Antipholus of Syracuse
Thy sister’s sister.
That’s my sister.
Antipholus of Syracuse
It is thyself, mine own self's better part:
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,Anaphora and Antanaclasis

My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.Anaphora and Anadiplosis

All this my sister is, or else should be.
Antipholus of Syracuse
Call thyself “sister,” sweet, for I am thee.
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
Give me thy hand.
O soft, sir. Hold you still.
I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill.
 She exits.