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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 thy-
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, [self:
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
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ;
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

[spirit,

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,-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.
Por.

Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
Shy. I pray you give me leave to go from hence:
I am not well; send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. [fathers; Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two godHad I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not 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. know me, when we meet again;

pray you, I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

Buss. Dear sir, of force 1 must attempt you further; 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
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, [value.
And find it out by proclamation;
Only for this, I pray you pardon me.
Por. I see,
sir, you are liberal in offers:
You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks,
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife,
And, when she put it on, she made me vow,
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their And if your wife be not a mad woman, [gifts. And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! [Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA. Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring, Let his deservings, and my love withal, Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him, Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou can'st, Unto Antonio's house :-away, make haste.

[Exit GRATIANO

Come, you and I will thither presently;
And in the uing early will we both
Fly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio.

SCENE II.-The same.

A Street. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

[Exeuni.

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ACT V.-SCENE I.

207

And so,
I pray you, tell hin: Furthermore,
I pray you, shew my youth old Shylock's house.
Gra. That will I do.

Ner.

Sir, I would speak with you :I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [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; But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry. Ner. Come, good sir, will you shew me to this house? [Exeunt.

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Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Steph. A friend. [you, friend? Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word, 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. 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, sola, sola! Lor. Who calls!

Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and 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 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 Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand :
And bring your music forth into the air.-[Exit Sr.
How sweet the moon-light 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 deca
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 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;
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. [candle.
Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the
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 ou 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.

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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 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 the day is when the sun is hid.

Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO,
and their Followers.

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
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
This is the man, this is Antonio,
[friend.
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
Por. 1ou 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 :
t 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 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 you! fager,

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 ins 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.
Nor I in yours,

Ner.

Sweet Portia,

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 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 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.

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
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 t 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, If you do not, if I be left alone, Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

like Argus

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.

int. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. | Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome; 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. Aut. 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 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

• Of THE MERCHANT OF VENICE the style is even and easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of construction. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one

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.
Ant.

.

I am dumb.

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 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.

event is in this drama eminently happy. 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 play-JOHNSON.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

THOUGH this exquisite comedy appears to have been first pubished in the player's edition of our author's works in 1623, it must have been written before the year 1600; as at the beginning of the second volume of the entries at Stationers' Hall, two leaves of irregular prohibitions, notes, &c. are placed, in which As you like it is mentioned. An entry of the 4th of August, 1600, contains a caveat relative to three of our author's plays, the present comedy, Henry the Fifth, and Much ado about Nothing.-With respect to the other two plays, the caveat was soon taken off, and they were both pubished within the month. As you like it may have been

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printed at the same time, but no copy of such an edition has been discovered. The plot of the play was taken from Lodge's Rosalynd, or Eu. phue's Golden Legacye, 4to. 1590. And Shakspeare has followed the novel more exactly than is his general custom when he is indebted to such worthless originals. He has sketched some of his principal characters, and borrowed a few expres. sions from it. His imitations, &c. however, are in general too insignificant to merit transcription.

It should be observed, that the characters of Jaques, the Clown and Audrey, are entirely of the poet's own formation.

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ACT I.
SCENE I.-An Orchard, near Oliver's House.

Enter ORLANDO, and ADAM.

O-l. 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 dunghills 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. This 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. Enter OLIVER.

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?

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, 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. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
Oli. Know you before whom, sir?

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 endure it: therefore allow me such exercises 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 any 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. Holla, 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 Char. !-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 cousi 1, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred to gether, 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?

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 Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you and a many merry men with him; and there they live are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt young gentlemen flock to him every day; and fleet the us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; al-time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. beit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence.

Oli. What, boy!

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

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

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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, shal. 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,

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