Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you fort?
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt.
I go woolward1 for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jacquenetta's and that 'a wears next his heart for a favor.

Enter MERCADE.

Mer. God save you, madam!

Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt st our merriment.
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring,
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father
Prin. Dead, for my life.

cloud.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Birgn. Worthies, away; the scene begins to Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a [Exeunt Worthies.

soldier.

King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious
lords.

For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide,
The liberals opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme parts of time extrelmey form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,

The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found."

Prin. I understand you not; my griets are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of
grief;-

And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humors
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains :
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain :
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true

To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Ros.

We did not quotes them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.

Prin.

A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in:
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much.
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this,-
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning;
If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palmi, now kissing thine,
will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death,
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other s heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!"
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
Biron. And what to me, my love! and what to

me?

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; You are attaint with faults and perjury;

Therefore, if you my favor mean to get,

A twelvemonth you shall spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.

Dum. But what to me, my love! but what to me?
Kath. A wife !-A beard, fair health, and ho-
nesty;

With three-fold love I wish you all these threc.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
Kath. Not so, my lord;-a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.
Long. What says Maria!
Mar.

At the twelvemonth's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young.
Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón,
Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:

To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain;
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won.)
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavor of your wit
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of
death?

It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,

Your favors, the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, in our respects,
Have we not been; and therefore, met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more
than jest.
Long. So did our looks.

7 Clothed in wool, without linen.

Free to excess.

Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then if sickly years,
Dear'd with the calmors of their own dear groans
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

• Regard.

1 Clothing.

LUKE OF VENICE.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO, Suitors to Portia.

PRINCE OF ARRAGON,S

ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice

BASSANIO, his Friend.

SALANIO,

SALARINO, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio.

GRATIANO,

LORENZO, in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK, a Jew.

TUBAL, & Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBо, a Clown, Servant to Shylock.

Old GOBBO, Father to Launcelot.
SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice.
LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio.
BALTHAZAR,

STEPHANO,

Servants to Portia.

PORTIA, a rich Heiress.

NERISSA, her Waiting-Maid.
JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock.

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

SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

SCENE I-Venice. A Street.
Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO.

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 '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.

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,

ACT I.

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Satan. 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.

My wing, cooling my broth,
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 stones,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side
Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Eurobe 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.

Because you are not merry: and 'twere 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 others of such vinegar aspect,

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughter.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble

kinsman,

Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.
Salar. I would have staid till I had made you
merry,

If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Satur. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
Say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Sutar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO.
Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found

Antonio,

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

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Ant. I hold the world 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,

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

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.
Salan. Why then you are in love.

Ant.

Fye, fye! Sulan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad,

1 Ships of large burden.

154

2 Lowering.

---

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,-
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 dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
3 Obstinate silence.