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well;

Anth. Fy, fy !

Sola. Not in love neither! Then let's say you're sad, Because you are not merry; and 'cwere 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 strange fellows, in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots at a bag piper; And others of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not thew their teeth in way of smile, Though Neftor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter BASSANIO, Lorenzo, and GRATIANO.

Sal. Here comes Bafanio, your most noble kinsman, Grariano and Lorenzo. Fare

ye We leave you now with better company.

Sola. I would have ftuid till I had made you merry, If worthier, friends had not prevented me.

Anth. Your worth is very dear in my regard.:
I take it your cwn business calls on you,
And you embrace th' occasion to depart.

Sal. Good-morrow, my good lords.
Baj: Goud figniors both, when shall we laugh?

Say, when?
You grow exceeding frange. Must it be fo?

Sal. We'll make our leifures to attend on yours.
Sola. My lord Balanio, since you've found Anthonio,
We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time,
I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
Bal. I will not fail you. [Exeunt Solar, and Sala.

Gra. You look not well, lignior Anthonio,
You have too much respect upon the world ;
'They loose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe sne, you are marvellously chang'd.

Anih. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A ftage, where every man must play his part,
And mine's a sad one.

Gra. Let me play the fool.
With mirih and laughter let old wrinkles come ;

* This is a very pleasant fignificant satirical rhapsody, rather difficule to speak with propriety, the ideas C inveyed in ic being obscure, and the file of expression peculiar.

And

A 3

And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandfire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish! I tell thee what, Anthonio,
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks)
There are a fort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond,
And do a wilful ftilnefs entertain,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion,
Of wildom, gravity, profound conceit ;
As who hould say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O my Anthonio, I do know of those,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing.
J'll tell thee more of this, another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo; fare ye well, a while,
I'll end my exhortation, after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then, 'rill dinner. I must be one of these fame dumb wise men; [time. For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue,

Anth. Farewel ; I'll grow a talker. for this gear.
Gre. Thanks, i'faith; for filence is only com-

mendable, In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.

[Exeunt Gra. and Loren. Antb. Is that any thing, now?

Bal. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat, hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek, all day, ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.*

* Baffanio's remark of the grains of wheat and chaff, is compactly pregnant with just satire, upon all those who prate much very little purpose.

Antb.

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Aneb. Well, tell me now, what lady is the samer
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of ?

Bal. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By shewing something a more swelling port,
Than my faint means would grant continuance -
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care
Is to come fairly off from the great debts,
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,
T'onburden all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.+

Anib. I pray you, good Bafanio, let me know it
And if it stand, as you yourself ftill do,
Within the eye of honour, be assurd,
My purse, my person, my extremeit means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. I

Ball. In my school days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow, of the self same Alight, The self-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 wilful youth, That which I owe is loft ; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self 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 firt.*

Anth You know me well; and herein spend but To wind about my love with circumstance ; [time,

+ Bastanio's method of opening his case to Anthonio, is mo deftly sensible, well conceived, and prettily vorded,

I This ready and generous ftretch of credit, to serve a friend, gives us a mott amiable idea of Anchonio's character, and leads on to the plot, agreeably.

• The idea of fhurting one arrow at random, to find another that has been lott, though buyish, is introduced here with much care and propriety of application.

And

2

And out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uitermott,
Than if you had made waste of all I have.
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prelt unto it: therefore speak.

Ball. In Belmont is a lady, richly left,
And the is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues. Sometime, from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages;
Her name is Porria, nothing undervalu'd
To Caro's daughter, Brutus Portia :-
Nor is the wide world ign'rant of her worth ;
· For the four winds blow in from ev'ry coast,
Renowned fuitors.
O, my Anibonio, had I but the means,
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me fuch thrift,
That I should questionless be furtunate.

Anth. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at Nor have money, nor commodity,

[sea, To raise a present fum ; therefore, go forth ; Try what my credit can in l'enice do ; That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermot, To furnith thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and so will l, Where money is; and I no question make, To have it of my trust, or for my sake. {Exeunt. SCEN E changes to Portia's House in Belmont.

A grand Saloon. Three Caskers are set out, one of Gold, another of Silver,

and another of Lead.

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

Ner. You would besweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance; as your good fortunes“? are; and yet, for ought I fee, they are as fick, that Surfeit with too much, as they that starve with no...

thing i

thing; therefore, it is no mean happiness to be seated in the mean. Superfluity comes fooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounc'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 men's 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 the twenty to follow my own teaching. But this reasoning is not in fashion, to chule me a husband. O me, the word, chule! I may neither chuse whom I would, nor refuse whom I dillike; fo is the will of a living daughter, curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerija, that I cannot chufe one, nor refufe none ?

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations : therefore the lottery that he hath deviled, in thefe thrée chests of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chufes his meaning, chuses you) will no doubt never be chosen by any, rightly, but one who shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affe&tion towards any of these princely suitors, that are al. ready come?

Por. I pray thee, over-name them, and as thou nam'it them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection.

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Por. Ay, that's a dolt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can thoe him, himfelf; I am much afraid, my lady, his mother, play'd false with a smith.

Ner. Then, there is the count Palatine.

Por. He doth nothing bụt frown, as who hould fay, if you will not have me, chuse: he hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher, when he grows old, being fo fuil of unmannerly ladness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his

mouth,

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