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King. Madam, not sw; I do beseech you, stay. Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this.Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious If for my love (as there is no such cause) lords,

You will do aught, this shall you do for me u For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,

Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe To some forlorn and naked hermitage, In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide,

Remote froin all the pleasures of the wo. ld; The liberale opposition of our spirits:

There stay, until the twelve celestial sigiis If over-boldly we have borne ourselves

Have brought about their annual reckoning; In the converse of breath, your gentleness

If this austere insociable life
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! Change not your offer made in heat of blood,
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue: If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Excuse ine so, coming so short of thanks Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

But that it bear this trial, and last love;
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form Then, at the expiration of the year,
All causes to the purpose of his speed;

Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, And often, at his very loose, decides

And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, That which long process could not arbitrate: I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut And though the mourning brow of progeny My woeful self up in a mourning house; Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,

Raining the tears of lamentation,
The holy suit which fain it would convince; For the remembrance of my father's death.
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

Neither intitled in the other's heart.
From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost, King. If this, or more than this, I would deny
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,

To Hatter up these powers of mine with rest, As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double. Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to grief;

me? And by these badges understand the king.

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; For your fair sakes have we neglected time, You are attaint with faults and perjury; Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, Hath much deform’d us, fashioning our humors A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, Even to the opposed end of our intents:

But seek the weary beds of people sick. And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,

Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? As love is full of unbefitting strains ;

Kath. A wife !-A beard, fair health, and hoAll wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;

nesty ; Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye, With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll

Kath. Not so, my lord;--atwelvemonth and a day To every varied object in his glance:

I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say. Which party-coated presence of loose love Come when the king doth to my lady come, Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,

Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,

Dum. I'W serve thee true and faithfully till then. Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,

Long. What says Maria ? Our love being yours, the error that love makes Mar.

At the twelvemonth's ead, Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. By being once false for ever to be true

Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. To those that make us both,—fair ladies, you: Nar. The liker you; few taller are so young. And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me. Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; What humble suit attends thy answer there; Your favors, the embassadors of love;

Impose some service on me for thy love. Anil, in our maiden council, rated them

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,

Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue As bombast, a.id as lining to the time:

Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; But more devout than this, in our respects, Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Have we not been; and therefroe met your loves Which you on all estates will execute, In their own fashion, like a :nerriment.

That lie within the merøy of your wit: Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more To weed this wormwood from your fruitsul brain; than jest.

And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, Long. So dia our looks.

(Without the which I am not to be won) Ros.

We did not quote' them so. You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Visit the speechless sick, and still converse Grant us your loves.

With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, Prin.

A time, methinks, too short With all the fierce endeavor of your wit To make a world-without-end bargain in : Tb enforce the pained impotent to smile. No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of

death? * Regard.

• Clothing.

• Free to excess.


It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,

And lady smocks all silver-white,
Which shallow laughing bearers give to fools:

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Do paint the meadows with delight, Of him that hears it, never in the tongue

The cuckoo then, on every tree, Of him that makes it: then if sickly years,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Deafʼd with the clamors of their own dear groans,

Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-0 word of fear,
And I will have you, and that fault withal ;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,

Unpleasing to a married ear!
And I shall find you empty of that fault,

II. Right joyful of your reformation.

When shepherds pipe on vaten straws, Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, befal,

When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, i l'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

And maidens bleach their summer smocks, Prin. Ay, sweet my lord: and so I take my leave.

The cuckoo then, on every tree, [To the King.

Mocks married men, for thus sings he, King. No, madam: we will bring you on your

Cuckoo; way.

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-0 word of fear
Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ;

Unpleasing to a married ear!
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy,

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a winter. When icicles hang by the wall,
And then 'twill end.

And Dick the shepherd blows his niil,
That's too long for a play.

And Tom beurs logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail, Enter ARMADO.

When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,

Then nightly sings the staring owl, Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,

To-who; Prin. Was not that Hector ?

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.

While Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave:

greasy Joan doth keel'the pot.

IV. I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, When all aloud the wind doth blow, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue And coughing drowns the parson's saw, that the two learned men have compiled, in praise And birds sit brooding in the snow, of the owi and the cuckoo? it should have followed

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, in the end of our show.

When roasted crabs 3 hiss in the bowl,. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Then nightly sings the staring owl, Arm. Holla! approach.


Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,

While grecsy Joan doth keel the pot.
TARI), and others.

Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; songs of Apollo. You that way; we, this way. the one inaintain'd by the owl, the other by the

[C.xeunt cuckoo. Ve-, legin.




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Old Gobbo, Father to Launcelot.
Suitors to Portia.

Salerno, a Messenger from Venice.

LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio.
Astoxro, the Merchant of Venice.
Bassanio, his Friend.


Servants to Portia. ·
SALARINO, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. Portia, a rich Heiress.

Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid.
LORENZO, in love with Jessica.

Jessica, Daughter to Shylock.
TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of LAUNCELOT Go B Bo,a Clown, Serrant to Shylock.' Justice, Guoler, Servants, and other Attendants.

SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.


SCENE I.-Venice. A Street.

But I should thing of shallows and of flats,

And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Enter Antonio, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,

To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; And see the holy edifice of stone,
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, Which touching but my gentle vessel's side
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
I am to learn;

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, And, in a word, but even now worth this, That I have much ado to know myself.

And now worth nothing! Shall I have the thought Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, There, where your argosies' with portly sail, That such a thing, bechanc'd,would make me sad! Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,

Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate

Sulan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, Upon the fortune of this present year: The better part of my affections would

Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Salan. Why then you are in love. Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; Ant.

Fye, fye! Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's

say, you And every object, that might make me fear

are sad, Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,

Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy Would make me sad.

For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Salar.

My wind, cooling my broth, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: What harm a wind too great might do at sea. Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, should not see the sandy hour-glass run, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; 1 Ships of large burden.

9 Lowering.

And other of such vinegar aspéct,

you shall seek all day ere you find them: and, when That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, you have them, they are not worth the search. Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same Enter BASSANIO, Lorenzo, and GRATIANO.

To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; [kinsman. How much I have disabled mine estate, Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble That you to-day promis'd to tell me of

Bass. "Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, We leave you now with better company.

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you By something showing a more swelling port If worthier friends had not prevented me. [merry, Nor do I now make moan to be abridg’d

Than my faint means would grant continuance: Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you,

From such a noble rate; but my chief care And you embrace the occasion to depart.

Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.

Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio,

I owe the most, in money, and in love;
Say, when ?
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so ?

And from your love I have a warranty
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. How to get clear of all the debts I owe:

To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, [Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time, [tonio, And, if it stand, as you yourself

still do, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

Within the eye of honor, be assured, Bass. I will not fail you.

My purse, my person, my extremest means, Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio;

Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. You have too much respect upon the world :

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft They lose it, that do buy it with much care.

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.

The self-same way, with more advised watch, Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano: To find the other forth ; and by advent’ring both, A stage where every man must play a part,

I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
And mine a sad one.

Because what follows is pure innocence.
Let me play the Fool:

I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;

That which I owe is lost: but if you please And let my liver rather heat with wine,

To shoot another arrow that self way Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, As I will watch the aim, or to find both, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Or bring your latter hazard back again, Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice And thankfully rest debtor for the first. By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,

. Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but

0 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;

time, There are a sort of men, whose visages

To wind about my love with circumstance; Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;

And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, And do a wilful stillness entertain,

In making question of my uttermost, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion

Than if you had made waste of all I have: Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

Then do but say to me what I should do, As who should say, I am sir Oracle,

That in your knowledge may by me be done, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !

And I am prest' unto it: therefore speak. O, my Antonio, I do know of these,

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, That therefore only are reputed wise,

And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,

I did receive fair speechless messages :
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, Her name is Portia : nothing undervalued
I'll tell thee more of this another time: [fools To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.

For the four winds blow in from every coast

Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Come, good Lorenzo Fare ye well, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Lor. Well

, we will leave you then till dinner-time: Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand. I must be one of these same dumb wise men,

And many Jasons come in quest of her. For Gratiano never lets me speak.

O my Antonio, had I but the means Thou shalt not know the sound of thine

own tongue. That I should questionless be fortunate. Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, To hold a rival place with one of them,

I have a mind presages me such thrift,
Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com-

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea, mendable

Nor have I money, nor commodity
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,

[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Try what my credit can in Venice do; Ant. Is that any thing now?

That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermost, Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are

Go, presently inquire, and so will I, as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; Where money is; and I no question make, * Obstinate silence.

To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. • Ready.


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