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Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken : My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,1 Hath sent you here this ring; and doth entreat 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 show my youth old Shylock's house. Gra. That will I do.

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you:[To Portia.] I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,

Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. Por. Thou may'st I warrant: We shall have old swearing,

That they did give the rings away to men;
But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.
Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will
tarry.

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

Act Fifth. SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

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 toward 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-banks, and way'd her love To come again to Carthage.

1 Reflection.

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L. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Ste. A friend. [you, friend? L. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray Steph. 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? Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

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

Enter Launcelot.

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola!
Lor. Who calls?

Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo,
and mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola!
Lor. Leave hollaing, 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. [Exit.

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.

And yet no matter;-Why should we go in?
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your musick forth into the air.--
[Exit Stephano.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick
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 patines1 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-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.-
Enter Musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
- 1 Plates.

With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with musick.

Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet musick. [Musick. 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 musick touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of musick: Therefore, the
poet
[floods;
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But musick for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no musick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd 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 musick.

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 doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Musick! hark!

Ner. It is your musick, 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 awak'd! [Musick ceases. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows By the bad voice. [the cuckoo, Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare,

Lor.

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,
To signify their coming.
Por.
Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;
Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor you.

[A tucket1 sounds.

1 A flourish on a trumpet.

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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; You are welcome home, my lord.

B. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend.→→→ To whom I am so infinitely bound. [him. P. You should in all sense be much bound to For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant1 this breathing2 courtesy.

[Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. G. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.

Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me; whose posy was For all the world, like cutler's poetry 3 Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not.

Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death;
And that it should lie with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective, and have
kept it.

Gave it a judge's clerk!-but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that
Gra, He will, an if he live to be a man. [had it.
Ner. Ay, if a woman 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;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee;
I could not for my heart deny it him.

P.You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted so with faith upon 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, Gratiano,
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.

1 Spare. 8 Formerly inscribed on knives by aqua2 Verbal 4 Particular. [fortis.

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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 dis-
pleasure.

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 the ring.
B. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had, 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 hiin;
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
begg'd

[lady?

The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my

: house:

Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,

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 mine 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 wealth1: Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, [To Portia. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord Will never more break faith advisedly.

P. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other. Ant. Here, lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the 1 doctor.

Por. I had it of him.-You are all amazed: 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 returned; 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.

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B. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? 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 living;

For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.
How now, Lorenzo?

Por.

And that which you did swear to keep for me, My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

I will become as liberal as you:

I'll not deny him any thing I have,
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:

Lie not a night from home; watch me, like
If
you do not, if I be left alone, [Argus:
Now, by mine honour, which is yet my 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. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome notwithstanding.

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 died 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
And charge us there upon inter gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

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[Exeunt.

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The Scene lies, first, near Oliver's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden.

Act First. SCENE I.

AN ORCHARD, NEAR OLIVER'S HOUSE.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeath'd me: By will, but a poor thousand 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 animals 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. Nothing: I am not taught to make any Oli. What mar you then, sir? [thing. 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.
Oli. Know you before whom, sir?

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.

Oli. What, boy!

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

Orl. I am no villain1: I am the youngest scn of Sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other hand pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast railed on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord.

Oli. Let me go, I say.

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 trained 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 allowme such exercises as may become agentleman, orgive me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. 1 Playing on the double meaning of the word,-worthless fellow-and a man of low extraction.

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.

Örl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 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 word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Denuis! Enter Dennis.

Den. Calls your worship?

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 good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter Charles.

a

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court?

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary 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 banished with her father?

C. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed 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 the 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 disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, 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, 1 Design.

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 laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles,-it is the stubbornest young fellow of 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 lief1 thou didst break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practice against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is some indirect means or other; for, not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should! anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

assure

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, heaven keep your worship!

[Exit.

Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester2: 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 learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly 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 DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure,

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy banished father, had banish'd thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I 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.

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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 8 Ranks.

1 Rather.

2 Frolicsome fellow.

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