Moon. "This lantern doth the hornèd moon present; Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be." The. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i the moon? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it is already in snuff. Hip. I am aweary of this moon: would he would change! The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lvs. Proceed, moon. Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. The pap of Pyramus : Where heart doth hop:--Thus die I, thus, thus, thus ! Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky : (Exit Moonshine Now die, die, die, die, die." [Dies. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. [dead; he is nothing. Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass. Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? The. She will find him by starlight.-Here she comes; and her passion ends the play. Enter Thisbe. Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one This. "This is old Ninny's tomb. Where for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. is my love?" Lion. [Roaring.] "Oh-." Dem. Well roared, lion. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better; he for [Thisbe runs off. a man, God warrant us, she for a woman, God bless us. Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. [The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. The. Well moused, lion. Dem. And then came Pyramus. Lys. And so the lion vanished. Enter Pyramus. Pyr. "Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright; [streams, For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering But stay,-O spite !- What dreadful dole is here! Eyes, do you see? How can it be? O dainty duck! O dear! What, stain'd with blood? Approach, ye furies fell! O fates, come, come, Cut thread and thrum; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. "O wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame? Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear: Which is no, no-which was the fairest dame That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. Come, tears, confound; Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet: This. " Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove? O Pyramus, arise! Speak, speak. Quite dumb? Must cover thy sweet eyes. This cherry nose, These yellow cowslip cheeks, Come, come to me, With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word: Come, trusty sword: Come, blade, my breast imbrue : And farewell, friends: Thus Thisby ends : Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and Wall too. Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company? The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in A fortnight hold we this solemnity, SCENE II. Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, [Exeunt. And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, In remembrance of a shroud. That the graves, all gaping wide, In the church-way paths to glide : By the triple Hecate's team, Obe. Through the house give glimmering By the dead and drowsy fire: [light, Every elf, and fairy sprite, Hop as light as bird from brier; And this ditty, after me, Sing, and dance it trippingly. Obe. Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, And the blots of nature's hand Shall upon their children be. Every fairy take his gait ; And each several chamber bless, And the owner of it blest. [Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train. Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, Launcelot Gobbo, a Clown, servant to Shylock. Balthazar, Servants to Portia. Portia, a rich Heiress. Salanio, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Salarino, Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attend ants. SCENE,-Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. ACT I. SCENE I-Venice. A Street. And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; That court'sy to them, do them reverence, The better part of my affections would Salar. 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, Is sad to think upon his merchandise. ¡it, Janus, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well: Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on We too will leave you: but, at dinner-time, Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; A stage, where every man must play a part, Gra. Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the I shot his fellow of the self-same flight jaundice The self-same way, with more advised watch, both, By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,-To find the other forth; and by adventuring Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till din- I must be one of these same dumb wise men, I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time, To wind about my love with circumstance; Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And many Jasons come in quest of her. Ant. Thou knowest that all my fortunes are Scene 2. Try what my credit can in Venice do: [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Belmont. A Room in Portia's Mansion. Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. should say, "An you will not have me, choose." He hears merry tales, and smiles not: fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these:-God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon? Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he !-why, he hath a horse Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad miseries were in the same abundance as your habit of frowning than the count Palatine: he good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, is every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as falls straight a capering: he will fence with If I should marry him, I If he would they that starve with nothing: it is no mean his own shadow. happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; should marry twenty husbands. superfluity comes sooner by white hairs; but despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. competency lives longer. Ner. What say you, then, to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England? Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. You know I say nothing to him; for Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, he understands not me, nor I him he hath and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you is a good divine that follows his own in- will come into the court and swear that I have structions: I can easier teach twenty what a poor penny-worth in the English. He is a were good to be done, than be one of the proper man's picture; but, alas, who can conThe verse with a dumb show? How oddly he is twenty to follow mine own teaching. brain may devise laws for the blood; but a suited! I think he bought his doublet in hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree: such a Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in hare is madness, the youth, to skip o'er the Germany, and his behaviour everywhere. meshes of good counsel, the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband:-O me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.-Is it not bard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was able: I think the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under for another. Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew? Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good inspiraPor. Very vilely in the morning, when he is tions: therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when lead (whereof who chooses his meaning, he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse An the worst fall that chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen than a man; and when he is worst, he is little by any rightly, but one whom you shall rightly better than a beast. love. But what warmth is there in your af-ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go withfection towards any of these princely suitors out him. that are already come? Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest 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 colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, am much that he can shoe him himself. afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then is there the county Palatine. Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for, if the devil be within, and that temptation without, I know he will I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I choose it. will be married to a sponge. Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations, which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with |