Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam; he of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

Por. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise.—How now! what news.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the Prince of Morocco.

Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO.

Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince :-

Now make your choice.

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,—
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
The second, silver, which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
The third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,—
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince;
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see,
[Takes up lead casket.

Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves?—Pause, there, Morocco.
As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady;
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes.
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold:
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
Why, that's the lady: all the world desires her.
Deliver me the key:

Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,

Then I am yours.

Mor. What have we here?

[He unlocks the golden casket.

A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll?

Portia, adieu! I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

[Exit.

Por. A gentle riddance :- -Draw the curtains, go;Let all of his complexion choose me so.

Enter NERISSA, with a Servant.

[Exeunt.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight; The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,

And comes to his election presently.

Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON.

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:

First, never to unfold to any one

Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail

Of the right casket, never in my life

To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and begone.

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Ar. And so have I addressed me.

To my heart's hope!

Fortune now

What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:-
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire?—That many may be
By the fool multitude, that choose by show.

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:

[Addressing the silver casket.

Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves:

And well said too: For who shall go about

To cozen fortune, and be honourable

Without the stamp of merit!

O, that estates, degrees, and offices,

Were not derived corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?

Well, but to my choice:

Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.

I will assume desert:-Give me the key for this,

And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

Por. Too long a pause for that, which you find there. Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Presenting me a schedule?

With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.—

Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,

Patiently to bear my wroth.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate

A young Venetian.

Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be!

Enter BASSANIO.

Por. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two,
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,

I lose your company. I could teach you
How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ;
So will I never be: so may you miss me;
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn.

I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time:
To eke it, and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.

Bass. Let me choose:

For as I am, I live upon the rack.

But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

[Exit Arragon.

Por. Away then: I am lock'd in one of them;

If you

do love me, you will find me out.

Bass. [Takes up gold and silver caskets, then speaks.] So

may the outward shows be least themselves;

The world is still deceived with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
But, being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore

To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word

The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee:

Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge (181)

T

"Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught,
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,
And here choose I: Joy be the consequence!
Por. How all the other passions fleet to air,
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!

Bass. What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit?

[Opening the leaden casket.

Here's the scroll,

The continent and summary of my fortune.
You that choose not by the view,
Chance as fair, and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content, and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,

And claim her with a loving kiss.

A gentle scroll;—Fair lady, by your leave:
I come by note to give and to receive;
Yet doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

[Kissing her.

Por. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am though, for myself alone,

I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet for you,

I would be trebled twenty times myself;

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich:

That only to stand high on your account,

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account.

And even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring;
Which, when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,

And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

(262.) THE BLACKSMITH'S DAUGHTER.

J. H. Stoddart, b. 1828, journalist and poet; editor of the Glasgow Herald, of which staff he became a member in 1857. The book of poems, called Village Life, from which the following extract is taken, is remarkable for its simple truthfulness and pure poetic style.

Away philosophy and creeds!

Here in this honeysuckle bower,

Which, at the garden's farthest edge,
Looks on the streamlet as it speeds,
Sunlit and glancing through a shower,
Away o'er pebbles and through sedge,
Sits with her needle Isabel,

The smith's young daughter, fair and tall,
As sweet a maiden for a song
As e'er did poet's heart enthral.
Her eyes are steadfast as a well
Of living water in its pit,
When to its depths immeasurable
A zenith star has lighted it.
Her face is ruddy as the health

Pure blood through all her body whirls:
And worth all gems of greatest wealth

Is the luxuriance of her curls;

She shakes them gaily in the sun,
Nor knows how witchingly they fall
About the marble of her throat.
Though dearly loved and prized by all,
She hardly knows she has begun
To blossom into perfect flower—
The perfect flower of womanhood.
Unconsciously she's fair and good,-
A village maiden pure and sweet;
Her soul just opening daintily
To the young radiance of the day,
That tinges it with blushes meet.
Much given to meditation, too;
Naught loves she better than to see
The red light softly die away,
Beyond the woods, beyond the moor.
Then steals she past the smithy door,
Rejoicing in her friend the Night,—