And riveted so with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it; and here he stands :
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratianc,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

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 begg'd 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 receiv'd of me.
Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.

Ner. Nor I in yours,

Till I again see mine.

Bass. Sweet Portia,

If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to contain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't, but some woman had thé 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,
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away;
Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet
I was enforc'd to send it after him;

[lady?

I was beset with shame and courtesy;
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it.- Pardon me, good lady;
For, by these blessed candles of the night,
Had you been there, I think, you would have
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. [begg'd
Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, [house:
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you;
I'll not deny him any thing I have,
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed:
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:

Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
If you do not, if I be left alone,

Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd 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 quarrels. 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,
In each eye, one :-swear by your double self,
And there's an oath of credit.

Bass. Nay, but hear me :

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
[to Por.

Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

Por. Then you shall be his surety: give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other. [ring. Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this 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 highways In summer, where the ways are fair enough: What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?

Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario: There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, And but even now return'd; I have not yet Enter'd my house.—Antonio, you are welcome; And I have better news in store for you, Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; There you shall find, three of your argosies Are richly come to harbour suddenly: You shall not know by what strange accident I chanced on this letter.

[not?

Ant. I am dumb.
Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you
Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me
cuckold?

Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, Unless he live until he be a man.

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and For here I read for certain that my ships [living; Are safely come to road.

Por. How now, Lorenzo?

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.

There do I give to you and Jessica
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people.

Por. It is almost morning,

And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full. Let us go in;
And charge us there upon inter'gatories,

And we will answer all things faithfully.
Gra. Let it be so. The first inter'gatory,
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is,
Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
Or go to bed now, being two hours to-day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk-
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [exeunt.

SCENE I. A PUBLIC PLACE.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with swords and bucklers.

Sam. GREGORY, o'my word, we'll not carry coals.
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves

me.

Gre. To move, is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand to it: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou ru'nst away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand:

I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant; when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Enter Abram and Balthasar.. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? [it. Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say—ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?

Abr. Quarrel sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter Benvolio, at a distance.

Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remem

[they fight.

Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [beats down their swords. Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart less hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.—
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast
shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke, rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire, sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea, nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along; And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!—
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom. A right good marksman! And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; [hit And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. That she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge

waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beautics.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call her's, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair;
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[exeunt.

SCENE II. A STREET.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as 1, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before. My child is yet a stranger in the world, She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. [made. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early

made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
As she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last; the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-in good time.

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning;

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp, by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-
man is: