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And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont; come,


Re-enter Portia and Nerissa.
Por. Enquire the few's house out, give him this

And let him fign it; we'll away to night,
And be a day before our husbands home:
This Deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Fair Sir, you are well o'erta'en :
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,
Hath sent

you here this ring, and doth intreat Your company at dinner.

Por. That cannot be.
This ring I do accept most thankfully,
And so, I pray you, tell him ; furthermore,

I pray you, shew my Youth old Shylock's house.

Gra. That will I do.

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you.
I'll see if I can get my husband's ring: To Por.
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.
Por. Thou may'st, I warrant. We shall have old

That they did give the rings away to men;
But we'll out-face them, and out-swear them too:
Away, make hafte, thou know'ft

. where I will tarry. Nér. Come, good Sir, will you lhew me to this house?


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А сту. S CE N E., I.

B E L M 0 N T.
A Grove, or green Place, before Portia's House.

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.

НЕ moon shines bright: In such a night as

THE this

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When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise ; in such a night,
Troylus, methinks, mounted the Trojan wall;
And figh'd his foul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cresid lay that night.

Jef. In such a night,
Did Thisbe fearfully o'er-trip the dew ;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismayed away.

Lor. In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea-banks, and way'd her love
To come again to Carthage.

Jef. In such a night,
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs,
That did renew old Æfon.

Lor. In such a night,
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy few,
And with an unthrift love did run from l'enice,
As far as Belmont.

Jef. And in such a night,
Did young Lorenzo swear, he lov d her well;
Stealing her soul with many. vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor. And in such a night,
Did pretty Jesica, (like a little shrew)
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.



Jef. I would out-night you, did no body come: But hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Enter Stephano. Lor. Who comes so fast, in silence of the night? Mef. A friend. Lór. What friend? your name, I pray you,


friend? Mes. Stephano is my name, and I bring word, My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about By holy Crosses, where she kneels, and prays, For happy wedlock hours.

Lor. Who comes with her ?

Mes. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

Lor. He is not, nor have we yet heard from him: But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house.


Enter Launcelot.
Laun. Sola, fola, wo ha, ho, fola, fola!
Lor. Who calls ?
Laun. Sola! did


see master Lorenzo and mistress Lorenza? fola, sola!

Lor. Leave hollowing, man: here.
Laun. Sola! where? where ?
Lor. Here.

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news. My master will be here ere morning. Lor. Sweet love, let's in, and there expect their

coming And

yet no matter: why should we go in ? My friend Stephano, fignify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand;

[Exit Stephano.


And bring your music forth into the air.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we fit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft ftillness, and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heav'n
Is thick inlay'd * with patens of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel fings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims;
+ Such harmony is in immortal founds!
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grofly close us in, we cannot hear it.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.
Fef. I'm 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) If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound, Or any

air of music touch their ears,

* with patterns of bright gold] We should read Patens : a round broad Plate of Gold born in Heraldry : The cover of the Sacramental-Cup.

+ Such harmony is in immortal souls ;] But the Harmony here de fcribed is that of the Spheres, so much celebrated by the Ancients.. He says, the smallest Orb fings like an Angel; and then subjoins, such Harmony is in immortal Souls : But the Harmony of Angels is not here meant, but of the Orbs. Nor are we to think, that here the Poct alludes to the Notion, that each Orb has its Intelligence or Angel to dire& it; for then with no Propriety could he say, the Orb sung like an Angel: He should rather have said, the Angel in the Orb fung. We must therefore corre& the Line thus ;

Such harmony is in immortal sounds : i. e. in the Music of the Spheres.


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You shall perceive them make a mutual stand;
Their savage eyes turn'd 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 mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, Itratagems, 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.

Enter Portia and Nerissa.
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 fhone, we did not see the

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 doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music, hark ! [Music.

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

Por. Nothing is good, I fee, without refpect :
Methinks, it founds much sweeter than by day.

Ner. Silence bestows the virtue on it, Madam.

Por. The crow doth fing 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 ! how the moon sleeps with Endimion,
And would not be awaked!

[Music ceases.



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