Scene I.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god-||SCENE II-The same. A street. Enter Portia

fathers;

Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten

more,

To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

[Exit Shylock.
Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.
Por. humbly do desire your grace of pardon;
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet, I presently set forth.
Duke. I am sorry, that

not.

your

leisure serves you

Antonio, gratify this gentleman;
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

[Exeunt Duke, magnificoes, and train.
Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend,
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.
Ant. And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.

Por. He is well paid, that is well satisfied;
And I, delivering you, am satisfied,
And therein do account myself well paid;
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
pray you, know me, when we meet again;
wish you well, and so I take my leave.

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you fur

ther;

Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

Por. You press me far, and therefore I will
yield.

Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you :-
Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more;
And you in love shall not deny me this.

Bass. This ring, good sir,-alas, it is a trifle;
I will not shame myself to give you this.

Por. I will have nothing else but only this;
And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.

Bass. There's more depends on this, than on
the value.

The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
And find it out by proclamation;
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers:
You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks,
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my
wife;

And, when she put it on, she made me vow,
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.
Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their
gifts.

An if your wife be not a mad woman,
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring,
She would not hold out enemy for ever,
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!
[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa.
Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring;
Let his deservings, and my love withal,
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him,
Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou canst,
Unto Antonio's house :-away, make haste.
[Exit Gratiano.
Come, you and I will thither presently;
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio. [Exeunt.
(1) Reflection.

and Nerissa.

Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this

deed,

And let him sign it; we'll away to-night,
And be a day before our husbands home:

This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken :
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,
Hath sent you here this ring; and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.

Por.

That cannot be :
This ring I do accept most thankfully,
And so, I pray you, tell him: Furthermore,
pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.
Gra. That will I do.

Ner.
Sir, I would speak with you :-
I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia.
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

Por. Thou may'st, I warrant: We shall have
old swearing,

That they did give the rings away to men;
But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.
Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry.
Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this
[Exeunt.
house?

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.
In such a night,

Lor.

Jes.
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.
In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.
In such a night,
Jes.
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Æson.

In such a night,
Lor.
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew:
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.

Jes.

And in such a night,
Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.
Lor.

And in such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come :
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
Enter Stephano.

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
Steph. A friend.

Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

Lor.
Who comes with her?
Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid.

pray you, is my master yet return'd?

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from

him.

But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare

Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

Enter Launcelot.

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola!

Lor. Who calls?

Act F.

Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance.
Por. That light we see, is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the
candle.

A substitute shines brightly as a king,
Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less:
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house.
Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect;
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,

Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and When neither is attended; and, I think,

mistress Lorenzo! sola, sola!

Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here.
Laun. Sola! where? where?

Lor. Here.

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their

coming.

And yet no matter;-Why should we go in?
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your music forth into the air.-

[Exit Stephano.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines' of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.—
Enter musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music.

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
[Music.
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing
loud,

Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and

floods;

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music.

(1) A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist.

The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
To their right praise, and true perfection!-
How many things by season season'd are
Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd!
[Music ceases.
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the
cuckoo,
By the bad voice.

Lor.

Lor.
Dear lady, welcome home.
Por. We have been praying for our husbands'
welfare,

Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return'd?
Lor.

Madam, they are not yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.
Por.
Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence ;-
Nor you, Lorenzo ;-Jessica, nor you.

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet:
[Å tucket sounds.
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.
Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light
sick,

It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their fol-
lowers.

If

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
you would walk in absence of the sun.

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
And never be Bassanio so for me;

But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord.
Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my
friend.-

To whom I am so infinitely bound.
This is the man, this is Antonio,

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to

him,

For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.3

[Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me. wrong;

(2) A flourish on a trumpet.

(3) Verbal, complimentary form.

In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter?
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me; whose posy was
For all the world, like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not.
Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death;
And that it should lie with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Gave it a judge's clerk !--but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair, on his face, that

had it.

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man.
Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,-
A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee;
I could not for my heart deny it him.

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted so with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it; and here he stands;
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear, I lost the ring defending it.

[Aside.

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine:
And neither man, nor master, would take aught
But the two rings.

Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away :
Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
I was enforc'd to send it after him;
I was beset with shame and courtesy ;
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady;
For, by these blessed candles of the night,
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my
house:

Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you:

I'll not deny him any thing I have,
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed :
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
If you do not, if I be left alone,

Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then;
For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.
Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome
notwithstanding.

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
And, in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,-

Por.

Mark you but that!
In both my eyes he doubly sees himself:
In each eye one-swear by your double self,
And there's an oath of credit.

Bass.

Nay, but hear me :
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;2

Por.
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.

What ring gave you, my lord?|| Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault,

I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone.

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.

Ner.

Till I again see mine.
Bass.

Nor I in yours,

Sweet Portia,

If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to contain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to have defended it,
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring.
Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,

[To Portia.
Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

Por. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this;
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this

ring.

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For by this ring the doctor lay with me.

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?
Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd:
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you,
And but even now return'd; I have not yet
Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome;
And I have better news in store for you,
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
There you shall find, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
You shall not know by what strange accident

ACT I.

Oli. What mar you then, sir?

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that

SCENE I-An orchard, near Oliver's house. which God made, a poor unworthy brother of

Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orlando.

yours, with idleness.

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught a while.

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury?

As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeathed me: By will, but a poor thousand
crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother,
on his blessing, to breed me well: and there be-
gins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at
school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit:||
for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to
speak more properly, stays me here at home un-I
kept: For call you that keeping for a gentleman
of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an
ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that
they are fair with their feeding, they are taught
their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired
but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but
growth; for the which his animals on his dung-me is nearer to his reverence.
hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this
nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the some-
thing that nature gave me, his countenance seems
to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds,
bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as
in him lies, mines my gentility with my education.
This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit
of my father, which I think is within me, begins
to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer
endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how

Oli. Know you where you are, sir?

Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. Oli. Know you before whom, sir? Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. know you are my eldest brother, and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me: The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before

to avoid it.

Enter Oliver.

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

Oli. Now, sir! what make you here?1

Oli. What, boy!

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too in this. young

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ?→

Orl. I am no villain:2 I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast railed on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord.

Oli. Let me go, I say.

Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good

Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. education: you have trained me like a peasant, ob

(1) What do you here?

(2) Villain is used in a double sense; by Oliver for a worthless fellow, and by Orlando for a man of base extraction.

scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by tes