Biron, A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a Paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God? Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vam; too, too vain. But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Exit Armado.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies:-He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.
King. You are deceived, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy :

Abate a throw at novum*; and the whole world again,

Cannot prick + out five such, take each one in his

vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. [Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c.

Pageans of the Nine Worthies.

Enter COSTARD arm'd, for POMPEY.

Cost. I Pompey am,———

Boyet. You lie, you are not he.

Cast. I Pompey am,

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the big,Dum. The great.

Cast. It is great, Sir;-Pompey surnamed the great; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat:

And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say Thanks, Pompey, I had

done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Biron. My hat to a half-penny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter NATHANIEL arm'd, for ALEXANDER. Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander;

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:

My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I qm Alisander. Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tendersmelling knight.

Pria. The conqueror is dismay'd: proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the world's

Commander ;

[sander.

Baget, Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the great, Cost. Your servant, and Costárd. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away AliCost. 0, Sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown Wader the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds hipod-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to 4: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. Nath retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a foolish hild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dasa'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth; and a very good bowler; but, for Alisander, alas, + Pick.

A game with dice.

he may stumble.

Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!

Enter ARMADO arm'd, for HECTOR. Biron, Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in thy arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. Boyet. But is this Hector?

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd. Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small.
Biron. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god, or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift,

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Biron. A lemon.

Kath. Not so, my lord ;-a twelvemonth and a day 1 mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say: Cune when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dam. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet, swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Leng. What says Maria?

Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,

I 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.
Biren. 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 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.

Bas. 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 car

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;
Bat, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Eight 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. biren. 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.

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.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,-
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,—O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married car!
II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,-
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

SCENE 1.-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 caine 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, Becanse you are not sad. Now, by two-headed

Janus,

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermere 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. Sulan. 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 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 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.

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?

Sleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundic
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

Aat. 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
1s, to come fairly off from the great debts;
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged: to you, Antonio,
love 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 honour, 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,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure 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 latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time,

To wind about my love with circumstance;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wroug,
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.

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 Ly 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 mesher of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband:-O 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 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 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 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 his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me 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 sm 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 despise 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, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in the English. He is a proper man's picture; but, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How

• An heady, gay youngster. Count.