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dance ere we are marry'd, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, music, Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife; there is no staff more reverend than one tipt with horn.

Enter Messenger. Mel. My Lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise chee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers,

[Dances. Exeant omnesa

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DUKE of Venice.

Gobbo, an old man, father Morochius, a > fuiters to Launcelot.

Moorish prince, Eto Por Leonardo, fervant to BalaPrince of Arragon, ) tia. nie. Anthonio the merchant o; Balthazar, fervants to Venice.

Stephano,

Portia, Bassanio, his friend, in love Portia, án heiress of creat with Portia.

quality and fortune. Salanio, friends to An- Nerissa, confident to Portia. Solarino, ihonio and Baf. Jessica, daughter 10 ShyGratiano, fanio.

lock. Lorenzo, in love with Jelica. Shylock, a few

Senators of Venice, officers, Tubal, a Jeru, his friend. Jailor, Servants, and oLauncelot, a clown, fervant ther Attendants.

to the Jerwo SCENE, partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the

Portia .

,

ACT I. S C Ε Ν Ε Ι.

A freet in Venice.
Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.
Anth. N 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 came 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.

Sal. Your mind is toffing on the ocean ;
There, where your Argofies with portly fail,
Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That

That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sola. 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 fits the wind
Peering in maps for ports, and feers, and roads ;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.

Sal 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 fandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of thallows and of flats;
And fee my wealthy Andrew dock'd in fand,
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 strait of dang’rous rocks;
Which, touching but my gentle vessels fide,
Would scatter all the spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my filks ;
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, bechance’d, would make me sad?
But tell not me; -- I know, Anthonio
Is fad to think upon his merchandise.

Anth. Believe 'me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore

my

merchandize makes me not fad. Sola. Why then you are in love. Anth. Fie, fie !

Sola. Not in love neither! then let's say, you're fad, Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap, and say, you're merry, Because you are not sad. “Now, by two-headed Janus, “ Nature hath fram'd frange fellows in her time: “ Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, VOL. II.

G

in And

Wherein my time, fomething too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged : to you, Anthonio,
I owe the most in money, and in love ;
And from your love I have a warranty
Tunburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Anth I

pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it:
And if it stand, as you yourself ftill do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur’d,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

Ball. In my school-days, when I had loft one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-fame flight
The felf-fame way, with more advised watch,
To'find the other forth; by vent'ring both,
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure

innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a witless youth,
That which I owe is loft; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that felf 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 reft debtor for the first
Anth. You know me well; and herein fpend but

time,
To wind about my love with circumstance ;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong.
In making question of my uttermost,
*Than if you had made waste of all I have.
Then do but fay to me, what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am press’d unto it: therefore, speak.

Bal In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wondrous virtues. Sometime from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu'd
To Cato's daughter, Brutus’ Portia.
Nor is the wide world ign’rant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors; and her funny locks

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forth;

Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strond ;
And many Jafons come in quest of her.
O my Anthonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift*,
That I fhould questionlefs be fortunate.

Anth. Thou know'ft, that all my fortunes are at fea,
Nor have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go
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 fake. [Exeunt.

S CE N E II. Changes to Belmont. Three caskets are set out, one of gold, another of silver,

and another of lead.

Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is weary. of this great world

Ner. You would be, sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet, for aught I fee, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: therefore it is no mean happiness to be seated in the mean; fuperfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Por. Good lentences, and well pronounce'd.
Ner They would be better, if well follow'd.

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor mens cottages princes' palaces. He is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than to be one of th twenty to follow my own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o’er * Thrift, for thriving, Mr. Pope,

G3

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