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Por. That cannot be :
This ring I do accept most thankfully,
Nér. Sir, I would speak with you:-
[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;
Ner. Come, good Sir, will you show me to this house? [Exeunt.
SCENE I-Belmont.-Avenue to PORTIA'S House.
Enter LORENZO and JESSICA. Lor. The moon shines bright:-In such a night as this,
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.
Jes. In such a night,
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
Lor. 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.
Jes. In such a night,
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
Lor. In such a night,
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.
pray you, friend?
Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word,
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about
Lor. Who comes with her?
Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, [him.Some welcome for the mistress of the house. And ceremoniously let us prepare
Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola!
Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo,
master, with his horn full of good news; my Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from iny master will be here ere morning. [Exit.
Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect
And yet no matter;-Why should we go in? their coming. Within the house, your mistress is at hand; My friend Stepháno, signify, I pray you, And bring your music forth into the air.[Exit STEPHANO. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet masic.
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Which is the hot condition of their blood; Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing 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,
* A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist.
By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the
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.
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. 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 When neither is attended; and, I think, [lark, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection!Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak'd!
Lor. That is the voice,
[A tucket sounds.
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 daylight sick,
It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,
Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend.
A flourish on a trumpet.
This is the man, this is Antonio,
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
[GRATIANO and NERISSA seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me
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;
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
And neither man, nor master, would take
Por. What ring gave you, my lord?
I would deny it; but you see, my finger
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. Nor I in yours, Till I again see mine.
Bass. Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
When naught would be accepted but the ring,
Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,
Por. Then you shall be his surety: Give him
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Buss. By heaven, it is the same I gave the
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 high
In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all
You shall not know by what strange accident
And that which you did swear to keep for me, I chanced on this letter.
I will become as liberal as you:
I'll not deny him any thing I have,
Lie not a night from home; watch me, like
Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well ad-
How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gru. Well, do you so let me not take him then;
For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Aut. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.
Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome
Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
Por. Mark you but that!
In both my eyes he doubly sees himself:
Bass. Nay, but hear me :
Ant. I am dumb.
Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you
Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold?
Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-
When I am absent, then lie with my wife.
For here I read for certain, that my ships
Por. How now, Lorenzo?
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
Por. It is almost morning,
Gra. Let it be so: The first intergatory,
Orl. Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar SCENE I.—An Orchard, near OLIVER'S House. that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.
Orl. 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 begins 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 unkept: 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-hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something 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. That 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 to avoid it.
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?" Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.
Oli. What mar you then, Sir?
What do you here?
Oli. Marry, Sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.
Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury?
Oli. Know you where you are, Sir?
Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I 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 me is nearer to his reverence.
Oli. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, young in this.
elder brother, you are too
Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain:* 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 education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer * Villain is used in a double sense; by Oliver for worthless fellow, and by Orlando for a man of basc extraction.
endure it: therefore allow me such exercises | I had myself notice of my brother's purpose as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.
Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, Sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me.
Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! Enter DENNIS.
Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you.
Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.]-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES.
'Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court?
Cha. There's no news at the court, Sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave* to wander.
Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father.
Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her,-being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.
Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?
Cha. Marry, do I, Sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, Sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, Sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.
Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. A ready assent.
herein, and have by underhand means laboured
If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his pay-
Oli. Farewell good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester:* I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never schooled, and yet learned; full of noble device: of all sorts + enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about.
SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duke's Palace.
Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, merry.
Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with love thee: if my uncle, the full weight that thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee.
Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.
Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir! for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection: by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love?
Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest: nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.
+ Of all ranks.