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"Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear: "Which is-no, no-which was the fairest dame, "That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd, "with cheer.

"Come tears, comfound;
"Out sword, and wound
"The pap of Pyramus:
"Ay, that left pap,
"Where heart doth hop:-
"Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
"Now am I dead,
"Now am I fled;
"My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon take thy flight!
"Now die, die, die, die, die.

[Dies. Exit Moonshine. Dem. No die, but an ace for him; for he is but

one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead: he is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass.

15

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The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the

dead.

Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance', between two of our company.

20 The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hang'd himself in Thisbe's garter, 25 it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a Dance of Clowns.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve;30 Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.

Hip. How chance the moonshine is gone, be-35 fore Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? The. She will find him by star-light.

Enter Thisbe.

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I fear, we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity.

SCENE II. Enter Puck.

[Excunt.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf beholds the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone'.

Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,

That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolick; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house:

Thrum is the end or extremity of a weaver's warp; it is popularly used for very coarse yarn. To quell is to murther, to destroy. That is, a dance after the manner of the peasants of Bergomasco, a country in Italy belonging to the Venetians. + i. e. Passage, progress. ! i, e. Over

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Ob. Through this house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire:

Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing and dance it trippingly.

Tit. First, rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.
SONG and DANCE.

Ob. Now, until the break of day, '
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue, there create,
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be:
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious1, such as are

1i. e. portentous.

5

10

[15]

(20

Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.—
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gate2;

And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace:
Ever shall it safely rest,

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;
Make no stay;

Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Train.
Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, (and all is mended)
That
you have but slumber'd here,
While these cisions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends, ere long:
Else the Puck a liar call,

So, good night unto you

all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

? i. e. take his way.

[Exit.

MERCHANT

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Senators of Venice, Officers, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants.
SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia.

SCENE I.

A Street in Venice.

ACT I.

Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio.
Anth. 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 '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.

Sal. Your mind is tossing on the ocean:
There, where your argosies with portly sail,-
Like signiors and rich burghers on he flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,-
Do over-peer the petty traffickers,
That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Sala. Believe me, sir, had I such ventures 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;
Prying in maps, for ports, and piers and roads:
And ev'ry object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me sad.

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Sal. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought. What harm a wind too great might do at sea. should not see the sandy hour-glass run,

3

5 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,

10 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,

15 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 Anthonio

20

is sad to think upon his merchandize.

fit,

Anth. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for 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. 25 Sala. Why then you are in love? Anth. Fie, fie!

Ships so named from Ragusa. 2 The name of the ship. hat, to strike sail, to give sign of submission.

To vail, means to put off the

Sala.

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Sula. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you
are sad,

Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry,
Becausey on arenotsad. Now by two-headedJanus,
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will everinore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And other of such vinegar aspect,
That they!! not shew their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nesto. swe r the jest be laughable,

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Sat. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: fare you well; [kinsman,|
We leave you now with better company.

Sata. I would have staid till Ihad made youmerry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.

Anth. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Sal. Good morrow, my good lords.

Buss. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh:
say, when?

5

[That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing; who, I am very sure, [ears,
they should speak, would almost damn those
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers
I'll tell thee more of this another time: [fools'.
But fish not with this melancholy bait,

For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.—
Come, good Lorenzo;-Fare ye well, awhile;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner3.
[time.
10] Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years

more,

[tongue. 15 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own Anth. Fare well; I'll grow a talker for this

20

You grow exceeding strange; Must it be so?
Sal We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 25
[Exeunt Sal. and Sala.

Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found
Anthonio,

We two will leave you; but at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Buss. I will not fail you.

Gra. You look not well, signior Anthonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

Anth. Ihold theworld but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Gra. Let me play the fool':
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Anthonio,—
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;—
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Or wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,
"Ad when Lope my lips, let no dog bark!"
O, my Anthonio, I do know of these,

gear. [mendable Gra, Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only comIn a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gra. and Lor. Anth. Is that any thing now? Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in ali Venice: His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

Anth. Well; tell me now, what lady is the same,
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
30 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something shewing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance :
35 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd

From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my tinie, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gag'd: To you, Anthonio,
40 owe the most, in money, and in love;
And froin your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

Anth. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
45 And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lye all unlock'd to your occasions.

[shaft,

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one 50 shot his fellow of the self-same flight

The self-same way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by advent ring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
155 owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,

This alludes to the common comparison of human life to a stage-play. So that he desires his may be the fool's or buffoon's part, which was a constant character in the old farces; from whence came the phrase, to play the fool. 2 Our author's meaning is, that so e people are thought wise whilst they keep silence; who, when they open their mouths, are such stupid praters, that the hearers cannot help calling them fools, and so incur the judgment denounced in the gospel. 3 The humour of this consists in its being an allusion to the practice of the puritan preachers of those times; who being generally very long and tedious, were often forced to put off that part of their sermon called the exhortation, till after dinner.

That

Act 1. Scene 2.]

That which I owe is lost; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
[time,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Anth. You know me well: and herein spend but
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uttermost,
Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge my by me be done,
And am I prest' unto it: therefore speak.

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues: sometimes' from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalu'd
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Anthonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.
Anth. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are
[at sea;
Nor have I money, nor commodity,
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,
Try what iny credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently enquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.

blood; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to chuse me a husband: 5-O me, the word chuse! I may neither chuse whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father:-Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot chuse one, nor refuse none?

10 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy
men, at their death, have good inspirations;
therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in
these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead,
(whereof who chuses his meaning, chuses you)
15 will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly,
but one who you shall rightly love. But what
warmth is there in your affection towards any of
these princely suitors that are already come?

Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and, as thou 20nam'st them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection.

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt', indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a Colchos' 25 great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid my [strand, lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then, there is the County Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as, who 30 should say, An if you will not have me, chuse : he hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's35 head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two!

A Room in Portia's House in Belmont.

Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is weary of this great world.

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Mon-sieur Le Bon?

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass 40 for a man, In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing, he falls strait a-capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands: If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

a-45

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 50 with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England?

Por. You know I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor pen55 ny-worth in the English. He is a proper man's picture; But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think, The bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every-where.

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd. Ner. They would be better, if well follow'd. Por. If to do, were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine, that follows his own instructions. I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 60 than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

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That is, ready to do it. Sometimes here means formerly. ? Sometimes here means formerly. i. e. a thoughtless, giddy, gay youngster.

Por.

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