Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not cross'd, I have a father, you a daughter lost.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

The same.

Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO masked.

Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lo

renzo

Desired us to make stand.

Salar.

His hour is almost past.

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly

To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont, To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse, that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker, or a prodigal,

The scarfed bark1 puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

The vessel decorated with flags.

Enter LORENZO.

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo :-more of this hereafter.

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long

abode ;

Not I, but my affairs have made you wait.

When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then.-Approach;
Here dwells my father Jew.-Ho! who's within?

Enter JESSICA above, in boy's clothes.

Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit. I'll swear that I do know your tongue. Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed; For who love I so much? And now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that thou art.

Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.

I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange :
But Love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;

And I should be obscured.

Lor.

So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once;

For the close night doth play the runaway,

And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exit from above.

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily :
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;

And true she is, as she hath proved herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter JESSICA below.

What, art thou come ?-On, gentlemen; away!
Our masking mates by this time for us stay.

[Exit with Jes. and Salar,

Enter ANTONIO.

Ant. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio ?

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you :No mask to-night; the wind is come about. Bassanio presently will go aboard:

I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gra. I am glad on 't; I desire no more delight, Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Belmont. A room in Portia's house.

Florish of cornets.

Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE

OF MOROCCO, and both their trains.

Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.-
Now make your choice.

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears;

Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.'

The second, silver, which this promise carries

'Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.'

This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ;---Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.'

How shall I know if I do choose the right?

If

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince; you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; I will survey the inscriptions back again.

What says this leaden casket?

'Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.'

Must give-For what? for lead? hazard for lead ?
This casket threatens. Men, that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages:

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?

'Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.'

As much as he deserves?-Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand;
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady ;
And yet to be afeard of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve!-Why, that's the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
But, more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?

Let's see once more this saying graved in gold :— Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.'

Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her ;
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as throughfares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia :
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar