📔 The Comedy of Errors

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note.

I am possest with an adulterate blot, / My bloud is mingled with the crime of lust: […]

Now as I am a Christian answer me, / In what safe place you have bestow'd my monie; / Or I shall breake that merrie sconce of yours / That stands on tricks, when I am undispos'd: / Where is the thousand Markes thou hadst of me?