I'll fee if I can get my husband's ring,

Which I did make him fwear to keep for ever.
Por. Thou may'ft, I warrant: We fhall have old

fwearing,

That they did give the rings away to men ;

But we'll out-face them, and out-fwear them too.
Away, make hatte; thou know'ft where I will tarry.
Ner. Come, good fir, will you fhew me to this houfe?

[Exeunt.

[To Por.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Belmont. A Grove, or Green Place,
before Portia's Houfe.

Enter Lorenzo, and Feffica.

Lor. The moon fhines bright:-In fuch a night as this, When the fweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noife; in fuch a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan wall, And figh'd his foul toward the Grecian tents, Where Creffid lay that night.

Jef. In fuch a night,

Did Thisbe fearfully o'er-trip the dew;
And faw the lion's fhadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor. In fuch a night,

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild fea-banks, and wav'd her love

old fearing,]-a torrent of oaths.

"Then here will be old utis.'

HENRY IV, Part 2, Act II, S. 4. 1 Draw.

To come again to Carthage.
Jef. In fuch a night,

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Efon.

Lor. In fuch a night,

Did Jeffica fteal from the wealthy Jew;

And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.

Jef. And in fuch a night,

Did young Lorenzo fwear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her foul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor. And in fuch a night,

Did pretty Jeffica, like a little fhrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jef. I would out-night you, did no body come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Enter a Servant.

Lor. Who comes fo fast in filence of the night?
Serv. A friend.

Lor. A friend? what friend? your name,

friend?

I

pray you,

Serv. Stephano is my name; and I bring word,
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont: fhe doth ftray about
By holy croffes, where fhe kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

Lor. Who comes with her?

Serv. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my mafter yet return'd?

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. But go we in, I pray thee, Jeffica,

And

And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the miftrefs of the houfe.

Enter Launcelot fmacking a whip.

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

Lor. Who calls?

Laun. Sola! did you see mafter Lorenzo, and mistress Lorenza? fola, fola!

Lor. Leave hollowing, man; here.

Laun. Sola! where? where?

Lor. Here.

Laun. Tell him, there's a poft come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my mafter will be here ere morning. [Exit.

Lor. Sweet foul, let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter;-Why fhould we go in? My friend Stephano, fignify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand;

And bring your mufick forth into the air.- [Exit fervant.
How fweet the moon-light fleeps upon this bank!

'Here will we fit, and let the founds of mufick
Creep in our ears; foft ftillness, and the night,
Become the touches of fweet harmony.
Sit, Jeffica: Look, how the floor of heaven

Is thick inlay'd with 'pattens of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel fings,

Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims.
Such harmony is in immortal fouls;
But, whilft this muddy vefture of decay
Doth grofly close it in, we cannot hear it.-
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;

་ pattens-fmall round plates.

cloje it in,]-deadens the found, ftifles, fuppreffes it. h Diana]-the moon.

M 3

With

With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with mufick.

Jef. I am never merry, when I hear fweet mufick.

[Mufick.

Lor. The reafon is, your fpirits are attentive:
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 perchance but hear a trumpet found,
Or any air of mufick touch their ears,

You fhall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their favage eyes turn'd to a modeft gaze,
By the sweet power of mufick Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, ftones, and floods;
Since nought fo ftockifh, hard, and full of rage,
But mufick for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no mufick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, ftratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus :
Let no fuch man be trufted.-Mark the mufick.

Enter Portia, and Neriffa, at a distance.

hall.

Por. That light we fee, is burning in my How far that little candle throws his beams! So fhines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner. When the moon fhone, we did not fee the candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king, Until a king be by; and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters, Mufick! hark! Ner. It is your musick, madam, of the house.

[Mufick.

Por.

Por. Nothing is good, I fee, without respect;
Methinks, it founds much fweeter than by day.
Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
Por. The crow doth fing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should fing by day,
When every goofe is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by feafon feafon'd are

To their right praise, and true perfection!-
Peace! how the moon fleeps with Endymion,

And would not be awak'd!

[Mufick ceafes.

Lor. That is the voice,

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.

Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckow, By the bad voice.

Lor. Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a meffenger before, To fignify their coming.

Por. Go in, Neriffa,

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?

Give order to my fervants, that they take

No note at all of our being abfent hence ;—
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jeffica, nor you. [A tucket founds.

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light fick, It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,

Such as the day is when the fun is hid.

1 without respect ;]—not abfolutely, but relatively, or as it is circumftanced.

Enter

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