But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry.

Ner. Come, good Str, will you shew me to this house? [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-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;

And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor. In such a night,

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand

Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love

To come again to Carthage.

Jes. in such a night,

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

Lør. 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 loved her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor. And in such a night,

Did pretty Jessica like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come: But hark, I hear the footing of a man.

L. Sola! Did you see master Lorenzo, and

mistress Lorenzo! Sia, sola!

Ler. Leave hollaing, man; here.
Laun. Sola! Where? Where?
Ler. Here.

Laan. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master 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 Stepháno, 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 moon-light sleeps upon this bank
Here will we set, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night,
Becomes the touches of sweet harmony.
St. 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,
Eat in his motion like an angel sings,
Bull quiring to the young eyed cherubims:
Sach harmony is in immortal souls ;

• A small flat dish, used in the administration of Lae Eucharist.

But, whilst this muddy vesture of deony
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 naught 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 moved with concord of sweet sounas,
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.

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 awaked!

Lor. That is the voice,

Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

[Music ceases.

Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo,

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 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 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.

• A flourish on a trumpet.

This the man, this ts 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.

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 respectivet, and have kept it.
Gave it a judge's clerk !-But well I know,
The clerk will ue'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 begged 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 received 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. Nor I in yours,.
Till I again see mine.

Bass. 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 naught 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 that 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 pleased 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.

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 displeased away;
Even he that had held up the very life

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 ine to give the worthy doctor.

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:

Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
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 advised,

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 quar. rels.

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 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 high ways

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 amazed:
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,
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 was enforced to send it after him;

• Verbal complimentary form. + Regardful.

• Advantage.

Per. 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, your are not satisfied
Of these events at full: let us go in ;

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.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

[Exeunt.

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banish'd 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 follow'd 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 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 disguised against me to try a fall: to-morrow, Sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some Lroken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loth 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. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means labour'd to dissaade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow ef France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous Contriver against me, his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: and thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, er i he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by Some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainou this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I 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 more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learn'd; full of noble device; of all sorts tenchantingly 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. [Exit.

SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duxx's Palace.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

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

Res. Dear Celia, I shew more mirth than I am istress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish'd father you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Ces. Herein, I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy baash'd father, had banish'd thy uncle, the duke + Frolicsome fellow.

A ready assent.

Of all ranks.

could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst 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.

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 pry'thee, do, to make sport with all 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. Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Portune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestow'd equally.

Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. 'Tis true for those, that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.

Enter TOUCHSTONE.

Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature may she not by fortune fall into the fire ?Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit.

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? Whither wander you?

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

Ross. Where learn'd you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st?
Touch. One that old Frederick, your father,

loves.

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! Speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days.

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have, makes, a great show. Here comes monsieur Le Beau.

Enter LE BEAU.

Ros. With his mouth full of news.

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

• Satire.