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The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade,
Their notes unto the voice attemper'd sweet;
Th' angelical soft trembling voices made
To th' instruments divine respondence meet;
The silver-sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmur of the water's fall;
The water's fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call;
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 1564-1616.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act v., sc. i. 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,
And they did make no noise: in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sigh'd his soul towards the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.

Jes.

In such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor.

In such a night
Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea-bank, and waved her love
To come again to Carthage.

Jes.
In such a night
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Æson.

Lor.

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.

In such a night

Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor.
In such a night
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

VOL. I.-C

Lor. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this

bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold :
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal souls ;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.

Enter Musicians.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress's ear,
And draw her home with music.

[Music. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet 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;
If they but hear, perchance, a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of music: Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus :
Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music.

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Enter PORTIA and NERISSA at a distance.
Por. That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams !
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Ner. When the moon shone we did not see the

candle.
Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less :
A substitute shines brightly as a king,
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as does an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark !

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house.

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended ; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection! Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awaked!

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act iii., sc. ii. Pandarus' Orchard. Tro. Oh, that I thought it could be in a woman (As, if it can, I will presume in you) To feed for aye her lamps and flames of love; To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind That doth renew swifter than blood decays!

Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
How were I then uplifted! but, alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity,
And simpler than the infancy of truth.

Cres. In that I'll war with you.
Tro.

Oh virtuous fight,
When right with right wars, who shall be most right!
True swains in love shall, in the world to come,
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes,
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
Want similes, truth, tired with iteration,
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
Asiron to adamant, as earth to the centre-
Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
As truth's authentic author to be cited,
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse,
And sanctify the numbers.
Cres.

Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing; yet let memory, From false to false, among false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said-as

false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son; Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, As false as Cressid.

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