Laun. I beseech you, Sir, go; my young mafter doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have confpired together, I will not fay, you shall fee a mafk; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nofe fell a bleeding on black monday laft, at fix a-clock i'th' morning, falling out that year on Afh-Wednesday was four in the afternoon.

Shy. What are there mafks? hear you me, Jeffica. Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, And the vile fqueaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the cafements then, Nor thrust your head into the publick street, To gaze on chriftian fools with varnish'd faces: But stop my houfe's ears; I mean, my cafements; Let not the found of fhallow foppery enter My fober houfe. By Jacob's ftaff, I fwear, I have no mind of feafting forth to-night: But I will go; go you before me, firrah: Say, I will come.

Laun. I will go before, Sir.

Mistress, look out at window, for all this;
There will come a christian by,

Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

1

[Exit Laun Shy. What fays that fool of Hagar's offspring? ha? Jef. His words were, farewel, miftrefs; nothing else. Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder: Snail-flow in profit, but he fleeps by day

More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me,
Therefore I part with him; and part with him
To one, that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purfe. Well, Jeffica, go in;
Perhaps, I will return immediately;
Do, as I bid you.-

Shut the doors after you; faft bind, faft find;

A proverb never ftale in thrifty mind.

[Exit.

Jef. Farewel; and if my fortune be not croft,

I have a father, you a daughter lost.

[Exit.

SCENE,

Gra.

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Gratiano and Salanio in maskerade.

TH

HIS is the pent-houfe, under which Lorenzo defired us to make a stand.

Sal. His hour is almost past.

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Sal. O, ten times fafter Venus' pigeons fly (12)
To feal love's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds. Who rifeth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he fits down?
Where is the horfe, that doth untread again
His tedious measures with th' unbated fire,
That he did pace them firft? all things that are,
Are with more fpirit chafed than enjoy'd.
How like a younker, or a prodigal,

The fkarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embrac'd by the ftrumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth fhe return,

(12) 0, ten times fafter Venus' Pigeons fly] This is a very odd image, of Venus's pigeons flying to feal the bonds of love. The fenfe is obvious, and we know the dignity due to Venus's pigeons. There was certainly a joke intended here, which the ignorance or boldness, of the first tranfcribers have murder'd: I doubt not, but Sbak:fpeare wrote the line thus ;

O, ten times fafter Venus' widgeons fly
To feat, &c.

The

For widgeon is not only the filly bird fo call'd, but fignifies likewise, metaphorically, a filly fellow, as goofe, or gudgeon, does now. joke confifts in the ambiguity of the fignification, and to call the votaries of love Venus's widgeons has, I think, fomething very pretty. But the tranfcribers finding widgeon in the text, and knowing nothing of its figurative fignification, fubftituted pigcon as a more ufual, or (perhaps, better founding) word. Butler has made the very fame joke upon the prefbyterians. Canto ift. pt. 1. v. 231.

Th' apoftles of this fierce religion,

Like Mahomet's were afs, and widgeon.

The monks, in their fabulous account of Mahomet, faid, he taught a pigeon to pick peas out of his ear for the ends of his impofture.

Mr. Warburton.

With over-weather'd ribs and ragged fails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the ftrumpet wind!

Enter Lorenzo.

Sal. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter. Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ; Not I, but my affairs have made you wait; When you fhall please to play the thieves for wives, I'll watch as long for you then; come, approach; Here dwells my father Jew. Hoa, who's within ? Jeffica above, in boy's cloaths.

Jef. Who are you? tell me for more certainty, Albeit I'll fwear, that I do know your tongue. Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jef. Lorenzo certain, and my love, indeed; For who love I fo much? and now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor. Heav'n and thy thoughts are witness, that thou art.
Jef. Here, catch this cafket, it is worth the pains.
I'm glad, 'tis night, you do not look on me;
For I am much asham'd of my exchange;
But love is blind, and lovers cannot fee
'The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himfelf would bluth
To fee me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Defcend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Jef. What, muft I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themfelves, goodfooth, are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
And I fhould be obfcur'd.

Lor. So are you, fweet,

Ev'n in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once

For the clofe night doth play the run-away,
And we are ftaid for at Baffanio's feast.

Jef. I will make fat the doors, and gild myfelf
With fome more ducats, and be with you ftrait.

[Ex. from above. Gra. Now by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.

Lor.

Lor. Befhrew me, but I love her heartily;
For fhe is wife, if I can judge of her;
And fair fhe is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true fhe is, as the hath prov'd herself;
And therefore like herself, wife, fair, and true,
Shall he be placed in my conftant foul.

Enter Jeffica, to them.

What, art thou come on, gentlemen, away;
Our mafquing mates by this time for us ftay.
Enter Anthonio..

Anth. Fie, Grationo, where are all the reft ?
'Tis nine o'clock, our friends all stay for you;
No mafque to-night; the wind is come about,
Bajanio prefently will go aboard;

I have fent twenty out to feek for you.
Gra. I'm glad on't; I defire no more delight
Than to be under fail, and gone to-night.

SCENE changes to Belmont.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

Enter Portia with Morochius, and both their trains.

Por.

G

The fev'ral cafkets to this noble Prince. Now make your choice. [Three Cafkets are difcovered. Mor. The first of gold, which this infcription bears, Who chufeth me, fall gain what many men defire. The fecond filver, which this promife carries, Who chufeth me, shall get as much as he deferves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, Who chufeth me, must give and hazard all he hath. How fhall I know, if I do chufe the right?

Por. The one of them contains my picture, Prince; If you chufe that, then I am yours withal.

Mor. Some God direct my judgment! let me fee, I will furvey the infcriptions back again : What fays this leaden casket?

Who

Who chufeth me must give and hazard all he hath.
Muft give, for what? for lead? hazard for lead ?
This casket threatens, men, that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages:

A golden mind ftoops not to fhows of drofs;
I'll then not give, nor hazard, ought for lead.
What fays the filver, with her virgin hue?
Who chujeth me, shall get as much as he deferves.
As much as he deterves ? paule there, Morochius ;
And weigh thy value with an even hand.
If thou be'it rated by thy eftimation,
Thou doft deferve enough; and yet enough
May not extend fo far as to the lady;
And yet to be afraid of my deferving,
Were but a weak difabling of myfeit.

As much as I deferve? -why, that's the lady:
I do in birth deferve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more than thete, in love I do deferve.
What if I ftray'd no farther, but chofe here?
Let's fee once more this faying grav'd in gold.
Who chufeth me, shall gain what many men defire.
Why, that's the lady; all the world defires her:
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this fhrine, this mortal breathing faint.
Th' Hyrcanian deferts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as thorough-fares now,
For Princes to come view fair Portia.
The wat'sy kingdom, whofe ambitious head:
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To ftop the foreign fpirits; but they come.
As o'er a brook, to fee fair Portia.

One of these three contains her heav'nly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her? 'twere damnation,
To think fo bafe a thought; it were too grofs
To rib her fearcloth in the obfcure grave.
Or fhall I think, in filver fhe's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalu'd to try'd gold ?
O finful thought, never fo rich a gem

Was fet in worse than gold! they have in England

A