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Laun. I beseech you, Sir, go; my young mafter doch expect your reproach.

Shy. So do i his.

Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not say, you shall see a mafk; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on black monday lait, at fix a-clock i’th' morning, falling out that year on Ath-Wednesday was four in the afternoon.

Shy. What! are there masks ? hear you me, Jesica. Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the publick ftreet, To gaze on christian fools with varnish'd faces : But stop my house's ears; I mean, my casements; Let not the found of shallow foppery enter My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear, I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: But I will go ; go you



firrah : Say, I will come.

Laun. I will go before, Sir.
Mistress, look out at window, for all this;
There will come a christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

[Exit Laun Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring ? ha? Jef. His words were, farewel, mistress; nothing else.

Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder: Snail-flow in profit, but he sleeps by day More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me, Therefore I part with him; and part with him To one, that I would have him help to waste His borrow'd purse. Well, Jefica, go ia ; Perhaps, I will return immediately; Do, as I bid you. Shut the doors after you ; fast bind, faft find; A proverb never Itale in thrifty mind.

[Exit. Jef. Farewel; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter loft.



SCENE, the Street.


Enter Gratiano and Salanio in maskerade. Gra. HIS is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo

desired us to make a stand. Sal. His hour is almost past.

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Sal. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly (12)
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he fits down?
Where is the horse, that doth untread again
His tedious measures with th’unbated fire,
That he did pace them first ? all things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.
How like a younker, or a prodigal,
The skarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embrac'd by the strumpet wind !
How like the prodigal doth she return,

(12) O, ten times fafter Venus? Pigeons fly] This is a very odd image, of Venus's pigeons Aying to seal the bonds of love. The sense is obvious, and we know the dignity due to Venus's pigeons. There was certainly a joke intended here, which the ignorance or boldness, of the first transcribers have murder'd: I doubt not, but Sbak:speare wrote the line thus;

0, ten tiines fafter Venus' widgeons fly

To sea', &c. For widgeon is not only the filly bird so call'd, but signifies likewise, metaphorically, a fily fellow, as goose, or gudgeon, does now. The joke consists in the amb.guity of the signification, and to call the votaries of love Venus's widgeons has, I think, something very pretty. But the transcribers finding widgeon in the text, and knowing nothing of its figurative signification, substituted pigron as a more usual, or (perhaps, better founding) word. Butler has made the very same joke upon the presbyterians. Canto ist. pt. 1. v. 231.

Th'apostles of this fierce religion,

Like Mahomet’s were ass, and widgeon. The monks, in their fabulous account of Mahomet, said, he taught a pigeon to pick peas out of his ear the ends of his impofture.

Mr. Warburton.

With over-weather'd ribs and ragged fails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

Enter Lorenzo.
Sal. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this hereafter.

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs have made you wait;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then; come, approach ;
Here dwells my father Jew. Hoa, who's within ?

Jessica above, in boy's cloaths.
Jef. Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I'll fwear, that I do know your tongue.

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jef. Lorenzo certain, and my love, indeed; For who love I fo much ? and now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor. Heav'n and thy thoughts are witness, that thou art.

Jef. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains. I'm glad, 'tis night, you do not look on me; For I am much alham'd of my exchange ; But love is blind, and lovers cannot fee 'The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would bluth To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Jes. What, muft I hold a candle to my shames ?
They in themselves, goodsooth, are too too light.
Why, ’ris an office of discovery, love,
And I should be obscur’d.

Lor. So are you, sweet,
Ev'n in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But coine at once
For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.

Jef. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you


[Ex. from above. Gra. Now by my hood, a Gentile, and no few.


Lor. Befhrew me, but I love her heartily ;
For she is wife, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as the hath prov'd herself;
And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall the be placed in my constant soul.

Enter Jessica, to them.
What, art thou come? on, gentlemen, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us ftay. [Exit

Enter Anthonio. .
Anth. Who's there?
Gra. Signior Anthonio, --

Arth. Fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest ?
'Tis nine o'clock, our friends all stay for you ;
No masque to-night; the wind is come about,
Bafanio presently will go aboard ;
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gra. I'm glad on't; I defire no more delight
Than to be under fail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt.

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SCENE changes to Belmont. Enter Portia with Morochius, and both their trains. Por.

7 The fev'ral caskets to this noble Prince. Now make your choice. [Three Caskets are discovered.

Mor. The first of gold, which this inscription bears, Who chuleth me, juall gain what many men defire. The second filver, which this promise carries, Who chuleth me, shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. How shall I know, if I do chuse the right?

Por. The one of them contains my picture, Prince; If you chuse that, then I am yours withal.

Mor. Some God direct my judgment! let me see, I will survey the inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket ?


W'ho chuseth me must give and hazard all be hathi
Muit give, for what? for lead? hazard for lead?
This casket threatens, men, that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages :
A golden mind stoops not to thows of dross;
I'll then not give, por hazard, ought for lead.
'What says ini silver, wiih her virgin hue?
Who chujèth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As niuch as he deterves ? pause there, Morochius ;
And weigh tiiy value with an even hand.
If thou be it rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afraid of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of myieit.
As much as I deserve ? -why, that's the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding :
But more than there, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold.
Who chuseth me, mall gain what mony men desire.
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her:
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint:
Th' Hyrcanian deferts, and the valty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as thorough-fares now,
For Princes to come view fair Portia.
The wat’sy kingdom, whole ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come
As o’ei a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heav’nly picture.
Is’t like, that lead contains her? 'cwere damnation,
To think so baie a thought; it were too gross
To rib her fearcloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalu'd to try'd gold ?
O fintul thought, never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold! they have in England


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