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Introductory Remarks.

POETIC beauty of the finest order, character infinitely diversified, and an interesting plot, managed with consummate skill, combine to place the "MERCHANT OF VENICE" in the foremost rank of Shakspeare's comedies. The gentle Portia contrasts with Shylock as the moon shines cloudless over the convulsions of an earthquake or the outbreak of a volcano. Antonio, Bassanio, and the other principals of the drama, are delineated with proportionate strength and grace; while the numerous subordinates are embellished with the same sort of careless magnificence that Nature often shews in those sequestered gems and shells and flowers, which never but by chance can greet the human eye. The glorious prodigality is manifested in the two "walking gentlemen" who, with Antonio, open the play; but still more strikingly is it displayed in the Princes of Arragon and Morocco. These disappointed suitors are not essential to the plot, and in representation are always omitted: but what gorgeous beauty is thrown into the scenes in which they figure! It seems the very wantonness of mental wealth, boundless in generosity, because fearless of exhaustion.

The comic portion of this surpassing drama is no less profuse and admirable. For Gratiano, we can by no means concede to his demurer friends that "he speaks an infinite deal of nothing; more than any man in all Venice." Venice must have been far more fortunate than huger cities that might be mentioned, if she contained a large proportion of roysterers "whose bloods were warm within," that talked to better purpose. All he lacks, is a little verbal discretion, in order to obtain that perfect measure of respect which the multitude, perhaps, never accord but to those whose staidness of demeanor seems to claim it as a right.

And thou, "whatever title please thine ear!" how shall we address thee? "Good Launcelot, or good Gobbo," or rather (as the phrase appears to be in choicest odor with thee), "Young Master Launcelot!" Accord to us the honor of touching your worship's eloquent palm. Let not so small a trifle as "fifteen wives, eleven maids, and nine widows," induce thee to withhold thy blushing visage. Thou couldst not help the fates' decree. Although in danger of thy precious life "with the edge of a feather-bed," thou hast nothing to apprehend from our pointless goose-quill, which even now weeps dingy tears in thinking of its inability to celebrate those various excellences which go so near to justify the infinite self-complacency of their delectable owner. When a convocation shall be called of Shakspeare's Clowns, believe it, dainty Master Launcelot, thy proper seat will not be on the lowest bench.

Shylock is a topic which it is scarcely safe to touch, unless "with bated breath and whispering humbleness." Luckily, there cannot be two opinions as to the prodigious power displayed in his delineation. Against the Jews, as a nation, we entertain no idle prejudice: their ultra-trading character has been clearly forced upon them; for, in their palmy state, they were a people eminently pastoral. Still, we cannot subscribe to what may now be termed the current theory, that all which was attempted by the individual Hebrew Shylock is to be considered merely fair and patriotic retaliation. To us, it is evident that his main source of hatred to the Merchant will be found in the remark, "He lends out money gratis, and brings down the rate of usance here with us in Venice." Antonio, too, we venture to suggest, does not so much hate Shylock the Jew, as Shylock the extortioner, the cruel creditor, — although the complex idea is ever present to his mind: "I oft delivered from his forfeiture many that have at times made moan to me." In execrating usurers, Antonio may have been a bad political economist; and, doubtless, he degraded himself far more than the object of his indignation, when he spat upon the Hebrew's gaberdine. Still the royal Merchant was generous and disinterested; and we are not quite content to see the current of sympathy setting wholly in favor of his opponent, merely because, in times less enlightened, it may have been urged too exclusively in the opposite direction.

The "MERCHANT OF VENICE" was twice published in quarto, before its appearance in the folio collection Some account of the various sources of the plot will be found in the Notes.

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Merchant of Venice.

SCENE I.Venice. A Street.

ACT I.

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SOLANIO.
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 't is 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.

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

Do

overpeer the petty traffickers.

That courtesy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Solan. 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. My wind, cooling my broth,
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 docked in sand,

Vailing her high-top lower than her rips,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,

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, bechanced, would make me sad?

But tell not me; I know Antonio

Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

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 merchandise makes me not sad. Salar. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie!

Salar. Not in love neither?

you are sad

Then let us say,

Because you are not merry: and 't were as easy For you to laugh and leap, and say you are merry Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed

Janus,

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,

And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper;
And other of such vinegar aspéct,

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