The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, to which are Added His Miscellaneous Poems. (Life of William Shakspeare, by Mr. N. Rowe.).

Arn. The sweet war man is dead and rotten;
sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried:
when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will for-
ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the
Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing.
[Biron whispers Custard.
Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de-
lighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,— Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou ?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours. Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shal! Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renown'd Pompey !

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
Froin what it purposed; 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 humours
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

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes,
Pompey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,

Biron. Pompey is moved:-More Atés, more Suggested us to make: therefore, ladies,
Ates; stir them on! stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern mant; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword:-1 pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey!
Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole
lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for
the combat? What mean you? You will lose your
repu

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.

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

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you for't?
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt;
I go woolward for penance.

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

Enter MERCADE.

Mer. God save you madam!

Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st oar merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud.
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
soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies.

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 endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberal 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.

Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove taise,
By being once faise 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.
Prin. We have received your letters, full of
love;

Your favours, the ambassadors 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, shew'd much more
than jest.

Long. So did our looks. +

Ros. We did not quote 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 perjured 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 palm, now kissing thine,
I 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 entitled 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 favour mean to get,

King. The extreme parts of tine extremely form A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,

All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate:

Até was the goddess of discord. + A clown.
Clothed in wool, without linen.

Free to excess.

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 honesty ;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife t
• Tempted.
Clothing.

+ Regard.

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 shal! 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 endeavour 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,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
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 ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours 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.

Biron. A twelvemonth? Well, befal what will
befal,

I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the King.

King. No, madam: we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill; these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy.

King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a

day,

And then 'twill end.

Biron, That's too long for a play.

Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,

Prin. Was not that Hector?

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteem'd greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have follow'd in the end of our show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm. Holla! approach.

Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD and others.

This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. -Ver. begin.

SONG.

• Cool.

DUKE OF VENICE.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO,

PRINCE OF ARRAGON, S

ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice: BASSANIO, his friend.

SALANIO,

SALARINO,

Friends to Antonio and Bassanio.

LORENZO, in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK, a Jew.

TUBAL, a Jew, his friend.

PORTIA, a rich Heiress.

NERISSA, her Waiting-maid.

JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock.

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

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shylock. Scene, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the
OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot.

SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice.

Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.-Venice.-A Street.

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALAN10.
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,
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Salan. 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 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,
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 merchandize.

Salan. 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,
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 aspect,

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

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.
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh!
Say, when?

You grow exceeding strange; Must it be so?
Salar. 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 yon, 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 changed.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra
tiano;

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.

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

No 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. Fie, fie!

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

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;
As who should say, am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
0, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools.

I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.-
Come, good Lorenzo: fare ye well, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime:

I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years

In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Ant. Is that any thing now? Bass. Gratianio speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all 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.

Ant. Well; tell me now what lady is this same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promised to tell me of?

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something shewing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate, but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts;
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged: to you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money, and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

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

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,

I 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,
1 oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pare innocence.
I owe you much; and like a wilful youth,
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 fatter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.
Ant. 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 my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, 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.-Belmont.-A Room in PORTIA's House. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

Ner. You would be, sweet madan, 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 with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 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, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over 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 choose me a husband:-0 me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father :-Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy unen, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you,) 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 namest 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 great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother, played false with a smith.

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say; An if you will not have me, choose: 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's head with a bone in

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me

time,

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 may by me be done, And I am 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 undervalued 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, Colchos' strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her. O my Antonio, had I but the means • Ready.

from these two!

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ?

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass 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 straight a capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands: if he would de spise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

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, court and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in French, nor Italian; and you will come into the the English. He is a proper man's picture; but, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How

ddly he is suited! I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where.

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

| of waters, winds, and rocks:-The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient:-Three thousand ducats:-1 think, I may take his bond.

Bass. Be assured you may.

Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me:-May I speak with

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrow'd a box of the ear of the English-Antonio ? man, and swore he would pay him again, when he was able: I think, the Frenchman became his surety, and seal'd under for another.

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew?

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most vileiy in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast; an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I shall make shift to go without him.

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him.

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket: for, if the devil be within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge.

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; they have acquainted me with their determinations: which is indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit: unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets.

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtain'd by the manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure.

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company with the Marquis of Montferrat? 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 look'd 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. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to
take their leave: and there is a fore-runner come
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings
word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night.
Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should
be glad of his approach: if he have the condition⚫
of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had ra-
ther he should shrive me than wive me. Come,
Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.-Whiles we shut the
gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.
[Excunt.

SCENE III.-Venice.-A public Place.
Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK.

Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well.
Bass. Ay, Sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months,-well.

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well.
Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound.

Bass. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.

hass. Have you heard any imputation to the con trary ?

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no;-my meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England,and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad: but ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be Jand-rats, and water rats, water-thieves, and landthieves; I mean pirates; and then, there is the peril Temper, qualities.

Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto?-Who is he comes here ?

Enter ANTONIO.

Bass. This is signior Antonio.

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he
looks!

I hate him, for he is a Christian :
But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest: cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him.

Bass. Shylock, do you hear?

Shy. I am debating of my present store;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats: What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
Will furnish me: But soft; How many months
Do you desire ?-Rest you fair, good signior;

[To Antonie.

Your worship was the last man in our mouths,
Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking, nor by giving of excess,
Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
I'll break a custom :-Is he yet possess'd,
How much you would?

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.

Shy. I had forgot,-three months, you told me so,
Well then your bond; and, let me see.-But hear

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep,
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,)
The third possessor; ay, he was the third.

Ant. And what of him? Did he take interest ?
Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromised,
That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied,
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
In the end of Autumn turned to the rams:
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands,
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes;
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

Ant. This was a venture, Sir, that Jacob served
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, [for;
But sway'd, and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams?
Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast :-
But note me, signior.

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite scripture for his purvose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Shy. Three thousand ducats,-'tis a good round

sum.

Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.

• Lambs just dropped.

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, to which are Added His ..., 第 1 卷