And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu.

Duk. Moon-fhine & Lion are left to burie the dead.
Deme. I, and Wall too.

Bot. No, I affure you, the wall is downe, that parted their Fathers. Will it pleafe you to fee the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our company?

Duk. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excufe. Neuer excufe; for when the plaiers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee that writ it had plaid Piramus, and hung himselfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it is truely, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue,
Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time.

I feare we shall out-fleepe the comming morne,
As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht.
This palpable groffe play hath well beguil'd
The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed,
A fortnight hold we this folemnity.
In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie,

Enter Pucke.

Puck Now the hungry Lyons rores, And the Wolfe beholds the Moone: Whileft the heauy ploughman fnores, All with weary taske fore-done. Now the wafted brands doe glow, Whil'ft the fcritch-owle, fcritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe, In remembrance of a fhrowd. Now it is the time of night, That the graues, all gaping wide, Euery one lets forth his spright, In the Church-way paths to glide. And we Fairies, that do runne, By the triple Hecates teame, From the prefence of the Sunne, Following darkeneffe like a dreame, Now are frollicke; not a Mouse Shall difturbe this hallowed house. I am fent with broome before, To fweep the duft behinde the doore.

Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine. Ob. Through the houfe giue glimmering light,

Exeunt.

By the dead and drowfie fier,
Euerie Elfe and Fairie spright,
Hop as light as bird from brier,

And this Ditty after me, fing and dance it trippinglie.
Tita. First rehearse this fong by roate,

To each word a warbling note.
Hand in hand, with Fairie grace,
Will we fing and blesse this place.
The Song.

Now untill the breake of day,
Through this boufe each Fairy ftray.
To the beft Bride-bed will we,
Which by us fhall blessed be:
And the ifue there create,
Euer fhall be fortunate :
So fhall all the couples three,
Euer true in louing be:
And the blots of Natures band,
Shall not in their iffue ftand.
Neuer mole,barelip, nor scarre,
Nor marke prodigious, fuch as are
Defpifed in Natiuitie,

Shall upon their children be.
With this field dew confecrate,

Euery Fairy take bis gate,

And each feuerall chamber bleffe,

Through this Pallace with fweet peace,

Euer fhall in fafety reft,

And the owner of it bleft.

Trip away, make no ftay;

Meet me all by breake of day.

Robin. If we fhadowes haue offended,
Thinke but this (and all is mended)
That you haue but flumbred heere,
While thefe vifions did appeare.
And this weake and idle theame,
No more yeelding but a dreame,
Centles, doe not reprehend.

If you pardon, we will mend.
And as I am an honest Pucke,
If we haue ynearned lucke,
Now to scape the Serpents tongue,
We will make amends ere long :
Elfe the Pucke a lyar call.

So good night vnto you all.
Giue me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin fhall reftore amends.

163

Enter Antbonio, Salarino, and Salanio.

Anthonio.

N footh I know not why I am so fad,
It wearies me: you fay it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne,

I am to learne and such a Want-wit fadneffe makes of mee,

That I haue much ado to know my selfe.

Sal. Your minde is tofsing on the Ocean,
There where your Argofies with portly faile
Like Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood,
Or as it were the Pageants of the sea,
Do ouer-peere the pettie Traffiquers
That curtfie to them, do them reuerence
As they flye by them with their wouen wings,
Salar. Beleeue me fir, had I fuch venture forth,
The better part of my affections, would
Be with my hopes abroad. I fhould be still
Plucking the graffe to know where fits the winde,
Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes:
And euery obiect that might make me feare
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me fad.

Sal. My winde cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought
What harme a winde too great might doe at sea.
I should not fee the fandie houre-glaffe runne,
But I fhould thinke of fhallows, and of flats,
And fee my wealthy Andrew docks in fand,
Vailing her high top lower then her ribs
To kiffe her buriall; should I goe to Church
And fee the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle Vessels fide
Would scatter all her fpices on the streame,
Enrobe the roring waters with my filkes,
And in a word, but euen now worth this,

And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thought
To thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thought
That fuch a thing bechaunc'd would make me fad?
But tell not me, I know Anthonio

Is fad to thinke vpon his merchandize.

Antb. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottome trufted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole eftate

Vpon the fortune of this present yeere : Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad. Sola. Why then you are in loue.

Anth. Fie, fie.

Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs fay you are fad
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easie
For you to laugh and leape, and fay you are merry
Because you are not fad. Now by two-headed Ianus,
Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time:
Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes,
And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.
And other of fuch vineger afpe&t,

That they'll not fhew their teeth in way of smile,
Though Neftor fweare the ieft be laughable.

Enter Baffanio, Lorenfo, and Gratiano.
Sola. Heere comes Bassanio,

Your moft noble Kinsman,

Gratiano, and Lorenfo. Faryewell,

We leave you now with better company.

Sala. I would haue ftaid till I had made you merry,

If worthier friends had not preuented me.

Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard.

I take it your owne bufines calls on you,

And you embrace th'occafion to depart.

Sal. Good morrow my good Lords.

(when?

Baff. Good figniors both, when fhall we laugh? fay,

You grow exceeding ftrange: muft it be fo?
Sal. Wee'll make our leyfures to attend on yours.

Exeunt Salarino, and Solanio.

Lor. My Lord Bassanio, fince you haue found Anthonia We two will leaue you, but at dinner time

I pray you haue in minde where we must meete.
Baff. I will not faile you.

Grat. You looke not well fignior Antbonio,
You haue too much respect vpon the world:
They loose it that doe buy it with much care,
Beleeue me you are maruellously chang❜d.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano,
A ftage, where euery man muft play a part,
And mine a fad one.

Grati. Let me play the foole,
With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come,
And let my Liuer rather heate with wine,
Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.
Why should a man whose bloud is warme within,
Sit like his Grandfire, cut in Alablafter?
Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies

By

By being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio,
I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes:
There are a fort of men, whofe vifages

Do creame and mantle like a fstanding pond,
And do a wilfull ftilneffe entertaine,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Of wifedome, grauity, profound conceit,
As who fhould fay, I am fir an Oracle,

And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke.
O my Antbonio, I do know of these
That therefore onely are reputed wife,

For faying nothing; when I am verie fure

If they should speake, would almoft dam thofe eares
Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles:
Ile tell thee more of this another time.
But fish not with this melancholly baite
For this foole Gudgin, this opinion:
Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while,
Ile end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time.
I must be one of these fame dumbe wife men,
For Gratiano neuer let's me speake.

Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo,
Thou shalt not know the found of thine owne tongue.
Ant. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare.
Gra. Thankes ifaith, for filence is onely commendable
In a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible.
Ant. It is that any thing now.

Exit.

Baf. Gratiano fpeakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reafons are two graines of wheate hid in two bushels of chaffe: you shall feeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the fearch.

An. Well tel me now, what Lady is the fame
To whom you swore a fecret Pilgrimage
That you to day promis'd to tel me of?

Baf. Tis not vnknowne to you Anthonio
How much I haue difabled mine eftate,
By fomething fhewing a more fwelling port
Then my faint meanes would grant continuance :
Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'd
From fuch a noble rate, but my cheefe care
Is to come fairely off from the great debts
Wherein my time fomething too prodigall
Hath left me gag'd: to you Anthonio
I owe the most in money, and in loue,
And from your loue I haue a warrantie
To vnburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get cleere of all the debts I owe.

An. I pray you good Bassanio let me know it,
And if it stand as you your felfe ftill do,
Within the eye of honour, be affur'd

My purse, my perfon, my extreamest meanes
Lye all vnlock'd to your occafions.

Baff. In my fchoole dayes, when I had loft one shaft
I fhot his fellow of the felfefame flight
The felfefame way, with more aduised watch
To finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both,
I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe,
Because what followes is pure innocence.

I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth,
That which I owe is loft: but if you please
To shoote another arrow that felfe way
Which you did fhoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the ayme : Or to finde both,
Or bring your latter hazard backe againe,

And thankfully reft debter for the firft.

An. You know me well, and herein spend but time
To winde about my loue with circumstance,
And out of doubt you doe more wrong

In making question of my vttermoft
Then if you had made waste of all I haue:
Then doe but fay to me what I should doe
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am preft vnto it: therefore speake.
Baff. In Belmont is a Lady richly left,
And the is faire, and fairer then that word,
Of wondrous vertues, sometimes from her eyes
I did receiue faire fpeechleffe meffages:
Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewd
To Cato's daughter, Brut us Portia,

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
For the foure windes blow in from euery coaft
Renowned futors, and her funny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,
Which makes her feat of Belmont Cholchos ftrond,
And many Iafons come in queft of her.
O my Anthonio, had I but the meanes
To hold a riuall place with one of them,
I haue a minde presages me fuch thrift,
That I should questionlesse be fortunate.

Anth. Thou knowft that all my fortunes are at fea, Neither haue I money, nor commodity

To raise a prefent fumme, therefore goe forth
Try what my credit can in Venice doe,
That fhall be rackt euen to the vttermoft,
To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia.
Goe presently enquire, and fo will I
Where money is, and I no queftion make
To haue it of my truft, or for my fake.

Enter Portia with her waiting woman Nerissa.

Exeunt.

Portia. By my troth Nerrissa, my little body is a wearie of this great world.

Ner. You would be fweet Madam, if your miseries were in the fame abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I fee, they are as ficke that furfet with too much, as they that ftarue with nothing; it is no smal happineffe therefore to bee feated in the meane, fuperfluitie comes fooner by white haires, but competencie liues longer.

Portia. Good fentences, and well pronounc'd.
Ner. They would be better if well followed.

Portia. If to doe were as eafie as to know what were good to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages Princes Pallaces: it is a good Diuine that followes his owne inftructions; I can easier teach twentie what were good to be done, then be one of the twentie to follow mine owne teaching the braine may deuife lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, fuch a hare is madneffe the youth, to skip ore the meshes of good counfaile the cripple; but this reafon is not in fashion to choose me a husband: O mee, the word choofe, I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I diflike, fo is the wil of a liuing daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Nerriffa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none.

Ner. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good infpirations, therefore the lotterie that hee hath deuifed in thefe three chefts of gold, filuer, and leade, whereof who chooses his meaning, choofes

chooses you, wil no doubt neuer be chofen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly loue: but what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these Princely futers that are already come?

Por. I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou namest them, I will defcribe them, and according to my defcription leuell at my affection.

Ner. First there is the Neopolitane Prince.

Por. I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing but talke of his horfe, and hee makes it a great appropriation to his owne good parts that he can fhoo him himfelfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid false with a Smyth.

Ner. Than is there the Countie Palentine.

Por. He doth nothing but frowne (as who should fay, and you will not haue me, choofe: he heares merrie tales and fmiles not, I feare hee will proue the weeping Phylofopher when he growes old, being fo full of vnmannerly fadneffe in his youth.) I had rather to be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to either of thefe: God defend me from these two.

Ner. How fay you by the French Lord, Mounfier Le Boune?

Pro. God made him, and therefore let him paffe for a man, in truth I know it is a finne to be a mocker, but he, why he hath a horse better then the Neopolitans, a better bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, he is euery man in no man, if a Traffell fing, he fals straight a capring, he will fence with his own fhadow. If I should marry him, 1 fhould marry twentie husbands: if hee would defpife me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue me to madneffe, I should neuer requite him.

Ner. What fay you then to Fauconbridge, the yong Baron of England?

Por. You know I fay nothing to him, for hee vnderftands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & fweare that I haue a poore pennie-worth in the English: hee is a proper mans picture, but alas who can conuerfe with a dumbe show? how odly he is fuited, I thinke he bought his doublet in Italie, his round hofe in France, his bonnet in Germanie, and his behauiour euery where.

Ner. What thinke you of the other Lord his neighbour?

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, for he borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Englishman, and fwore he would pay him againe when hee was able: I thinke the Frenchman became his furetie, and feald vnder for another.

Ner. How like you the yong Germaine, the Duke of Saxonies Nephew?

Por. Very vildely in the morning when hee is fober, and moft vildely in the afternoone when hee is drunke: when he is beft, he is a little worse then a man, and when he is worst, he is little better then a beast: and the worst fall that euer fell, I hope I fhall make shift to goe without him.

Ner.If he should offer to choose, and choose the right Casket, you should refuse to performe your Fathers will, if you should refuse to accept him.

Por. Therefore for feare of the worst, I pray thee fet a deepe glaffe of Reinish-wine on the contrary Casket, for if the diuell be within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will doe any thing Nerrifa ere I will be married to a fpunge.

Ner. You neede not feare Lady the hauing any of

thefe Lords, they haue acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeede to returne to their home, and to trouble you with no more fuite, vnleffe you may be won by fome other fort then your Fathers impofition, depending on the Caskets.

Por. If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will dye as chafte as Diana: vnleffe I be obtained by the manner of my Fathers will: I am glad this parcell of wooers are fo reasonable, for there is not one among them but I doate on his verie abfence and I wish them a faire departure.

:

Ner. Doe you not remember Ladie in your Fathers time, a Venecian, a Scholler and a Souldior that came hither in companie of the Marqueffe of Mountferrat?

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I thinke, so was hee call'd.

Ner. True Madam, hee of all the men that euer my foolish eyes look'd vpon, was the best deferuing a faire Lady.

Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

:

Enter a Servingman.

Ser. The foure Strangers feeke you Madam to take their leaue and there is a fore-runner come from a fift, the Prince of Moroco, who brings word the Prince his Maifter will be here to night.

Por. If I could bid the fift welcome with fo good heart as I can bid the other foure farewell, I fhould be glad of his approach: if he haue the condition of a Saint, and the complexion of a diuell, I had rather hee should fhriue me then wiue me. Come Nerrissa, firra go before; whiles wee fhut the gate vpon one wooer, another knocks at the doore. Exeunt.

Enter Baffanio with Shylocke the Iew.

Sby. Three thousand ducates, well.
Baff. I fir, for three months.
Shy. For three months, well.
Bal. For the which, as I told you,
Antbonio fhall be bound.

Shy. Anthonio fhall become bound, well.
Baff. May you fted me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answere.

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Anthonio bound.

Baff. Your anfwere to that.

Shy. Anthonio is a good man.

Baff. Haue you heard any imputation to the contrary.

Shy. Ho no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man, is to haue you vnderftand me that he is fuffient, yet his meanes are in fuppofition: he hath an Argofie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies, I vnderftand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures hee hath fquandred abroad, but fhips are but boords, Saylers but men, there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues, and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is the perrill of waters, windes, and rocks: the man is notwithftanding fufficient, three thousand ducats, I thinke I may take his bond.

Iew. I will be affured may and that I may be affured, I will bethinke mee, may I fpeake with Antbonio ?

Baff. If it please you to dine with vs.

Iew. Yes, to fmell porke, to eate of the habitation which your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuell into I will buy with you, fell with you, talke with you, walke with you, and fo following: but I will not eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you. What newes on the Ryalta, who is he comes here?

Enter Anthonio.

Baff. This is fignior Anthonio.

Iew. How like a fawning publican he lookes.

I hate him for he is a Christian :

But more, for that in low fimplicitie

He lends out money gratis, and brings downe
The rate of vfance here with vs in Venice.
If I can catch him once vpon the hip,

I will feede fat the ancient grudge I beare him.
He hates our facred Nation, and he railes
Euen there where Merchants moft doe congregate
On me, my bargaines, and my well-worne thrift,
Which he cals interreft: Curfed be my Trybe
If I forgiue him.

Baff. Shylock, doe you heare.

Shy. I am debating of my present store,
And by the neere geffe of my memorie
I cannot inftantly raise vp the groffe

Of full three thousand ducats: what of that?
Tuball a wealthy Hebrew of my Tribe
Will furnish me; but foft, how many months
Doe you defire? Reft you faire good fignior,
Your worship was the last man in our mouthes.
Ant. Shylocke, albeit I neither lend nor borrow
By taking, nor by giuing of exceffe,

Yet to fupply the ripe wants of my friend,
Ile breake a cuftome: is he yet poffeft
How much he would?

Shy. I, I, three thousand ducats.

Ant. And for three months.

Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me fo. Well then, your bond: and let me fee, but heare you, Me thoughts you faid, you neither lend nor borrow V pon aduantage.

Ant. I doe neuer vse it.

Shy. When Iacob graz'd his Vncle Labans sheepe, This Iacob from our holy Abram was (As his wife mother wrought in his behalfe) The third poffeffer; I, he was the third.

Ant. And what of him, did he take interreft? Shy. No, not take intereft, not as you would say Directly intereft, marke what Iacob did, When Laban and himselfe were compremyz'd That all the eanelings which were ftreakt and pied Should fall as Jacobs hier, the Ewes being rancke, In end of Autumne turned to the Rammes, And when the worke of generation was Betweene these woolly breeders in the act, The skilfull fhepheard pil'd me certaine wands, And in the dooing of the deede of kinde, He ftucke them vp before the fulfome Ewes, Who then conceauing, did in eaning time Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacobs. This was a way to thriue, and he was bleft:

And thrift is bleffing if men steale it not.

Ant. This was a venture fir that Iacob feru'd for, A thing not in his power to bring to paffe, But fway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heauen. Was this inferted to make interreft good? Or is your gold and filuer Ewes and Rams? Shy. I cannot tell, I make it breede as faft, But note me fignior.

Ant. Marke you this Baffanio,

The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpose,
An euill foule producing holy witneffe,
Is like a villaine with a fmiling cheeke,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.

O what a goodly outfide falfehood hath.

Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good round fum.
Three months from twelue, then let me fee the rate.
Ant. Well Shylocke, fhall we be beholding to you?
Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft
In the Ryalto you haue rated me
About my monies and my vfances :
Still haue I borne it with a patient shrug,
(For fuffrance is the badge of all our Tribe.)
You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog,
And fpet vpon my lewish gaberdine,
And all for vfe of that which is mine owne.
Well then, it now appeares you neede my helpe
Goe to then, you come to me, and you say,
Shylocke, we would haue moneyes, you say so:
You that did voide your rume vpon my beard,
And foote me as you fpurne a stranger curre
Ouer your threshold, moneyes is your fuite.
What should I fay to you? Should I not fay,
Hath a dog money? Is it poffible

A curre should lend three thousand ducats? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bond-mans key
With bated breath, and whifpring humbleneffe,

Say this Faire fir, you fpet on me on Wednesday laft;
You fpurn'd me fuch a day; another time
You cald me dog: and for these curtefies
Ile lend you thus much moneyes.

Ant. I am as like to call thee fo againe,
To fpet on thee againe, to spurne thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends, for when did friendship take
A breede of barraine mettall of his friend?
But lend it rather to thine enemie,

Who if he breake, thou maift with better face
Exact the penalties.

Shy. Why looke you how you ftorme,

I would be friends with you, and haue your loue,
Forget the shames that you haue ftaind me with,
Supplie your prefent wants, and take no doite
Of vfance for my moneyes, and youle not heare me,
This is kinde I offer.

Baff. This were kindneffe.

Shy. This kindneffe will I showe,
Goe with me to a Notarie, seale me there
Your fingle bond, and in a merrie sport
If you repaie me not on fuch a day,
In fuch a place, fuch fum or fums as are
Expreft in the condition, let the forfeite
Be nominated for an equall pound
Of your faire flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your bodie it pleaseth me.

Ant. Content infaith, Ile feale to fuch a bond,
And fay there is much kindneffe in the Iew.

Baff. You