illumination upon vellum. It has, however, suffered much from time: many leaves have been lost, and several greatly injured; but seventy figures and views remain, many of which are quite unharmed. It was rebound in 1644, which date is stamped in antique characters upon its cover; but it is plainly much older — probably twenty-five, perhaps fifty years. Its color makes it more valuable than Vecelli's book with regard to such figures as it represents. Of these figures ten of the most perfect and curious are Venetian. These show, among others, the Doge, the Senator, and the Nobles of various grades, all of whom appear to have worn long loose robes, descending to the very ground, with enormous open sleeves, hanging quite as low. The colors are, for the Senators and Nobles, the most superb scarlet, the robes of the former being lined with amethyst purple, and having over the left shoulder the inexplicable long and narrow flap (mentioned by Coryat in his Crudities, but not by Vecelli) of the same color; the Nobles who are also Senators have their robes lined with a rich golden brown, the flap being white, richly embroidered in gold and crimson. The robes of other Nobles are of amethystine purple, lined with brown, the flap being of the same hue, but much darker than the robe, and embroidered with the same color. Other Nobles wore, according to this authority, black robes, lined with amethystine purple, the fashion of the garment being the same in all cases, except in two instances, which will be noticed particularly in the Introduction to Othello. All the Nobles wear the "marvellous little black caps of felt without any brims at all" mentioned by Coryat.

The Merchant of Venice has never been put upon the stage in the costume of the time at which it was written; and gorgeous as that costume was, it is by no means certain that much would be gained by absolute correctness in this particular. Should the Duke and the Magnificoes enter in their cumbrous and allenveloping mantles, with their queer little bird's nests of caps perched upon gray and bearded heads, the grave Antonio with a bonnet like an inverted porringer shadowing his melancholy countenance, Bassanio with one half a yard high, taller before than behind, and puffed out like a pillow with bombast, which also swelled his fantastically decorated breeches to an enormous size, Portia in the stiff and clumsy skirt and stomacher of a Venetian lady of rank of that day, formidable with bristling

ruffs, and with her hair engineered into two little conical turrets of curls upon her forehead, one over each eye, it is to be feared that the splendor and faithfulness of the scene would be forgotten in its absurdity, and that the audience would explode in fits of uncontrollable laughter as the various personages came upon the stage. Any Italian costume, rich, beautiful, and sufficiently antique to remove the action out of the range of present probabilities, will meet the dramatic requirements of this play; but the orange-tawny bonnet, that mark of an outcast race, ought not to be missed from the brow of Shylock.

The time supposed to elapse in the action of this play is of course a few days more than three months, three months having been the period for which Antonio's bond was given. The bond is signed at the end of the first Act, and Bassanio arrives at Belmont at the end of the second; and in the second Scene of the third he receives Antonio's letter announcing that the bond is forfeit. Bassanio could not have lost many days in making his preparations to leave Venice, or, as we see by subsequent events, have passed more than a day or two in his journey; nor can we suppose him to have waited the third of three months before making trial for the mistress of Belmont. Chronological succession halts; but dramatic interest advances with equally swift and steady pace.

VOL. IV.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailers, Servants, and other Attendants.

SCENE: Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.- Venice. A Street.

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO

ANTONIO.

N sooth, I know not why I am so sad:

But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Salarino. Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
There, where your argosies with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Salanio. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,

The better part of my affections would

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still

Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear

Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me sad.

Salar.
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,

My wind, cooling my broth,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,

And,
in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad?
But, tell not me: I know, Antonio

Is sad to think upon his merchandize.

Ant. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:

Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad.
Salar. Why, then you are in love.
Ant.

Salar. Not in love neither?

are sad,

Fie, fie!

Then let's say, you

Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy

For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry,