But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry. Ner. Come, good Str, will you shew me to this house? [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE 1.-Belmont.-Avenue to PORTIA's House. Enter LORENZO and JESSICA. Lor. The moon shines bright:-In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, Jes. In such a night, Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, Lor. In such a night, Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love To come again to Carthage. Jes. in such a night, Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs Lør. In such a night, Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew; And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, As far as Belmont. Jes. And in such a night, Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well; Lor. And in such a night, Did pretty Jessica like a little shrew, Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come: But hark, I hear the footing of a man. L. Sola! Did you see master Lorenzo, and mistress Lorenzo! Sia, sola! Ler. Leave hollaing, man; here. Laan. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming And yet no matter;-Why should we go in? [Exit Stephano. • A small flat dish, used in the administration of Lae Eucharist. But, whilst this muddy vesture of deony Come ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. [Music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, By the sweet power of music :-Therefore, the poet floods; Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounas, Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. To their right praise and true perfection !— Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceived, of Portia. [Music ceases. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, Por. Go in, Nerissa, Give order to my servants, that they take [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick, It looks a little paler; 'tis a day, Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, Gratiano, and their followers, Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me; But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord, Bass. I thank you, madam; give welcome to my friend. • A flourish on a trumpet. This the man, this ts Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sense be much bound to For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. [Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value? Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you; Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begged mine: And neither man, nor master, would take aught But the two rings. Por. What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you received of me. I would deny it; but you see, my finger Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth, Ner. Nor I in yours,. Bass. Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, I was beset with shame and courtesy ; The ring of ine to give the worthy doctor. Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, I'll not deny him any thing I have, Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advised, How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so; let not me take him then; For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quar. rels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; And, in the hearing of these many friends, I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself, Por. Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: Bass. Nay, but hear me: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, And bid him keep it better than the other. Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high ways In summer, where the ways are fair enough: It comes from Padua, from Bellario: Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? For here I read for certain, that my ships I was enforced to send it after him; • Verbal complimentary form. + Regardful. • Advantage. Per. How now, Lorenzo ? My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Por. It is almost morning, And yet, I am sure, your are not satisfied And charge us there upon Intergatories, [Exeunt. ACT I. SCENE 1.-An Orchard, near OLIVER's House. Oli. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot Adam. Sweet masters be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeath'd me:-By will, but a poor thou-Sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he sand crowns; and as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept: for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his annuals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Enter OLIVER. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Oli. Now, Sir! What make you here? Orl. Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, Sir, be better employ'd, and be naught awhile. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury Oli. Know you where you are, Sir? Orl. O, Sir, very well: here in your orchard. Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me: the courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. • What do you here? Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, Sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. word. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master? He would not have spoke such a [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oli. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou Hola, Dennis! sand crowns neither. Enter DENNIS. Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. loving lords have put themselves into voluntary | thy father, so thou hadst been still with me, I exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banish'd with her father. Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her,-being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have follow'd her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter: and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like old Robin Hood of England: they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke! Cha. Marry, do I, Sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, Sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall: to-morrow, Sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some Lroken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loth to foil him, as I must for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means labour'd to dissaade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow ef France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous Contriver against me, his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: and thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, er i he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by Some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainou this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more and so, God keep your worship! Exit. Oli. Farewell good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learn'd; full of noble device; of all sorts tenchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duxx's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Res. Dear Celia, I shew more mirth than I am istress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish'd father you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Ces. Herein, I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy baash'd father, had banish'd thy uncle, the duke + Frolicsome fellow. A ready assent. Of all ranks. could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love? Cel. Marry, I pry'thee, do, to make sport with all but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Portune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestow'd equally. Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true for those, that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE. Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature may she not by fortune fall into the fire ?Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? Whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ross. Where learn'd you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! Speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have, makes, a great show. Here comes monsieur Le Beau. Enter LE BEAU. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. • Satire. |