My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

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

him.

But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare

Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

Enter Launcelot.

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, soia, sola!
Lor. Who calls?

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,

Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and When neither is attended; and, I think,

mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola!

Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here.
Laun. Sola! where? where?
Lor. Here.

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

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their
coming.

And yet no matter;-Why should we go in ?
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your music forth into the air.-

[Exit Stephano.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines' of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.-

Enter musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music.
[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,
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 fuii 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;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music.

(1) A small flet dish, used in the administration| of the Eucharist

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!" [Music ceases.
Lor.
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,
To signify their coming.
Por.

Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence ;-
Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor you.

[A tucket2 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 day-light
sick,

It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,

Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
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;

(2) A flourish on a trumpet.

form.

In faith, 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.

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;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted so with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it; and here he stands;
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

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 mine:
And neither man, nor master, would take aught
But the two rings.

Por.

What ring gave you, my lord
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.

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.

Till I again see mine.
Bass.

Nor I in yours,

Sweet Portia,
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?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring.

?

|

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

Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
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 enforc'd 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 eye one:-swear by your double self,
And there's an oath of credit.

Bass.

Nay, but hear me :
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
[To Portia.
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 doctor.
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 deserved 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
Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome:
And I have better news in store for you,

Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,

There you shall, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
You shall not know by what strange accident

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

And charge us there upon intergatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra. Let it be so: The first intergatory,
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.
live, I'll fear no other thing
Well, while
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Duke, living in exile.

William, a country fellow, in love with Audrey

Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of A person representing Hymen.

his dominions.

Oli. What mar you then, sir?

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that

SCENE I-An orchard, near Oliver's house. which God made, a poor unworthy brother of

Enter Orlando and Adam.

yours, with idleness.

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught a while.

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. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
Oli. Know you before whom, sir?

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 Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. speak more properly, stays me here at home un-I know you are my eldest brother, and, in the genkept: For call you that keeping for a gentleman tle condition of blood, you should so know me of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that that you are the first-born; but the same tradition they are fair with their feeding, they are taught takes not away my blood, were there twenty brotheir manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: thers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before growth; for the which his animals on his dung-me is nearer to his reverence. hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this Oli. What, boy!

nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the some- Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too thing that nature gave me, his countenance seems young in this. to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as Orl. I am no villain:2 I am the youngest son of in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot of my father, which I think is within me, begins villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer take this hand from thy throat, till this other had endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast rail

to avoid it.

ed on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your fa-
ther's remembrance, be at accord.
Oli. Let me go, I say.
I

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, ob-
scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
me such exercises as may become a gentleman, of
give me the poor allottery my father left me by tes

tament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Jand have by underhand means laboured to dissuade Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of troubled with you: you shall have some part of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of your will: I pray you, leave me. every man's good parts, a secret and villanous

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes contriver against me his natural brother; thereme for my good.

fore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he my old master, he would not have spoke such a will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. some treacherous device, and never leave thee till Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or

I will physic your rankness, and yet give to thou- other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I sand crowns neither.-Holla, Dennis!

Enter Dennis.

Den. Calls your worship?

Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrests, here to speak with me?

Den. So please you, he is here at the do importunes access to you.

Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]-Twit good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

Enter Charles.

r, and

be a

speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship!

[Exit. 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

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles! what's the new more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, news at the new court? and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his the heart of the world, and especially of my own younger brother the new duke; and three or four people, who best know him, that I am altogether loving lords have put themselves into voluntary misprized: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. to wander. SCENE II-A lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter Rosalind and Celia.

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, 50 loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am or have died to stay behind her. She is at the mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his Unless you could teach me to forget a banished own daughter; and never two ladies loved as father, you must not learn me how to remember they do. any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Oli. Where will the ola duke live? Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy baArden, and a many merry men with him; and nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: my father, so thou hads't been still with me, I could they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every have taught my love to take thy father for mine; day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the

new duke?

so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me away from thy father perforce, I will render thee to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and credit: and he that escapes me without some bro- when I break that oath, let me turn monster: thereken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is fore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, sports: let me see; What think you of falling in if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I love?

came hither to acquaint you withal; that either Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: you might stay him from his intendment, or brook but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou is a thing of his own search, and altogether against may'st in honour come off again. my will.

Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. Í Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hencehad myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, forth be bestowed equally.

(1) A ready assent.

(2) Frolicksome fellow.

(3) Of all ranks