Bass. Por.

Here is the money.

Soft; The Jew shall have all justice :-soft!-no haste ;He shall have nothing but the penalty.

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!
Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh,'
Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more,
But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more,
Or less, than a just pound,-be it but so much
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance,
Or the division of the twentieth part

Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair,-
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.

Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy for

feiture.

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court; He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it! I'll stay no longer question.

Por.

Tarry, Jew;

The law hath yet another hold on you.

It is enacted in the laws of Venice,

If it be prov'd against an alien,

That by direct, or indirect attempts,

He seek the life of any citizen,

The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st:
For it appears by manifest proceeding,
That, indirectly, and directly too,
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life
Of the defendant: and thou hast incurr'd
The danger formerly by me rehears'd.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang
thyself:

And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's
charge.

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our
spirit,

I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:

1 Balthasar Gracian, the celebrated Spanish Jesuit, in his Hero, relates a similar judgment, which he attriDutes to the great Turk.

2 Antonio's offer has been variously explained. It appears to be 'that he will quit his share of the fine, as the duke has already done that portion due to the state,

The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

Por. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio.
Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that
You take my house, when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house; you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.
Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.
Ant. So please my lord the duke and all the court,
To quit the fine for one half of his goods;
I am content, so he will let me have
The other half in use, 2-to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter:

Two things provided more.-That, for this favour,
He presently become a Christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter.

Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant
The pardon that I late pronounced here.
Por. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say?
Shy. I am content.

To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.

[Exit SHYLOCK. Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. Por. I 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 your leisure serves you not. 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;
I 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

if Shylock will let him have it in use (i. e. at interest) during his life, to render it at his death to Lorenzo. 3 i. e. a jury of twelve men to condemn him. This appears to have been an old joke.

Enter Musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.
[Music.
Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music.
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,1
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;2
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music.

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 lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
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.

[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.

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,

Go in, Nerissa,

To signify their coming.
Por.
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence ;-
Nor you, Lorenzo ;-Jessica, nor you.

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,
Such as a day is when the sun is hid.

1 We find the same thought in the Tempest:
-Then I beat my tabor,

At which, like unback'd colts, they pricked their ears,
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses
As they smelt music.'

Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their Followers.

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If 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.

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

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.

[GRATIANO and NERISSA seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong; 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. You swore to me, when I did give it you, Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value? 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. gave my love a ring, and made him swear Never to part with it; and here he stands;

dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

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

Por.
What ring gave you, my
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.
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.

lord?

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.

3 Not absolutely good, but relatively good, as it is modified by circumstances.

4 Toccata, Ital. a flourish on a trumpet.

5 Shakspeare delights to trifle with this wotu.

6 This verbal complimentary form, made up only of breath, i. e. words. -like cutler's poetry Upon a knife.'

7

9 Respective, that is considerative, regaraful; nos respectful or respectable as Steevens supposed.

Sweet Portia,

Ner. Nor I in yours,
Till I again see mine.
Bass.
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 ?2
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,

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

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 doc tor!

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

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 eve, one:-swear by your double And there's an oath of credit.

self,

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
I chanced on this letter.

I am dumb.

Ant.
Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?
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 bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living;

For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.

Por.
How now, Lorenzo?
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.-
There do I give to you, and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.
Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starved people.

Por,
It is almost morning,
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full: Let us go in ;
And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra. Let it be so: The first inter'gatory
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is,
Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt.

retain.

Juliet.

4 Double is here used for deceitful, full of duplicity. 5 i. e. for his advantage; to obtain his happiness. Wealth was the term generally opposed to adversity or calamity

serious fixes expectations The probability of either one or the other story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one event is in this drama eminently hap py. Dryden was much pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, I believe, the critic will find excelled by this piay. JOHNSON

DR. GREY and Mr. Upton asserted that this Play was certainly borrowed from the Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, printed in Urry's Chaucer, but it is hardly likely that Shakspeare saw that in manuscript, and there is a more obvious source from whence he derived his plot, viz. the pastoral romance of Rosalynde, or Euphues' Golden Legacy,' by Thomas Lodge, first printed in 1590. From this he has sketched his principal characters, and constructed his plot; but those admirable beings, the melancholy Jaques, the witty Touchstone, and his Audrey, are of the poet's own creation. Lodge's novel is one of those tiresome (I had almost said unnatural) pastoral romances, of which the Euphues of Lyly and the Arcadia of Sidney were also popular examples: it has, however, the redeeming merit of some very beautiful verses interspersed, and the circumstance of its having led to the formation of this exquisite pastoral drama, is enough to make us with hold our assent to Steevens's splenetic censure of it as worthless'

Touched by the magic wand of the enchanter, the dull and endless prosing of the novelist is transformed into an interesting and lively drama. The forest of Arden converted into a real Arcadia of the golden age.

The following beautiful Stanzas are part of what is called Rosalynd's Madrigal,' and are not unworthy of a place even in a page devoted to Shakspeare: Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet:

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his
His bed amidst my tender breast,
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.

Ah, wanton, will ye?
And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight;
And makes a pillow of my knee

The livelong night.

nest,

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string
He music plays, if so I sing,

He lends me every lovely thing;
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting
Whist, wanton, still ye?

The highly sketched figures pass along in the most di versified succession: we see aiways the shady darkgreen landscape in the back ground, and breathe in imagination the fresh air of the forest. The hours are here measured by no clocks, no regulated recurrence of duty or toil; they flow on unnumbered in voluntary occupation or fanciful idleness.-One throws himself down under the shade of melancholy boughs,' and indulges in reflection on the changes of fortune, the falsehood of the world, and the self-created torments of social life: others make the woods resound with social and festive songs, to the accompaniment of their horns. Selfishness, envy and ambition, have been left in the city behind them; of all the human passions, love alone has found an entrance into this silvan scene, where it dictates the same language to the simple shepherd, and the chivalrous youth, who hangs his love ditty to a tree?

And this their life, exempt from public haunts, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

How exquisitely is the character of Rosalind conceiv ed, what liveliness and sportive gaiety, combined with the most natural and affectionate tenderness; the reader is as much in love with her as Orlando, and wonders not at Phebe's sudden passion for her when disguised as Ganymede; or Celia's constant friendship. Touchstone is indeed a rare fellow he uses his folly as a stalkinghorse, and under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit: his courtship of Audrey, his lecture to Corin, his defence of cuckolds, and his burlesque upon the 'duello' of the age, are all most exquisite fooling.' It has been remarked, that there are few of Shakspeare's plays which contain so many passages that are quoted and remembered, and phrases that have become in a manner proverbial. To enumerate them would be to mention every scene in the play. And I must no longer detain the reader from this most delightful of Shaks peare's comedies.

Malone places the composition of this play in 1599 There is no edition known previous to that in the folio of 1623. But it appears among the miscellaneous en tries of prohibited pieces in the Stationers' books, without any certain date.

† Schlegel.