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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 fad. 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 Basanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well; We leave you now with better company.

Sola. I would have staid 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 own business calls on you,

embrace th' occafion to depart.
Sal. Good-morrow, my good lords.
BafGood figniors both, when shall we laugh?

Say, when
You grow exceeding strange. Must it be fo?' :

Sal. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
Sola. My lord Balsanio, fince you've found Anthonio,
We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time,
pray you

have in mind where we must meet. Bal. I will not fail you.. [Exeunt Solar. and Sala.

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

Anth. 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 mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come“;

* This is a very pleasant fignificant satirical rhapsody, rather difficult to speak with propriety, the ideas conveyed in it being obscure, and the file of expression peculiar.


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 alabafter?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish! I tell thee what, Antbonio,
(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 stilness entertain,
With purpose to be dreft in an opinion,
Of wildom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who thould say, I am Sir Orucle,
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 noihing.
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,
l'll end iny exhortation, after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then, 'till dinnerI must be one of these same 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.
Gra. 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. Anib. Is that any thing, now?

Baf. 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 buhels 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 compa&tly pregnant with just satire, upon all those who prace much 10 very little purpose,


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

Bil. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By thewing something a more livelling port,
Than my faint means would grant continuince.
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, something 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’unburden all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.+

Anih. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself itill do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. I

Bal. In my school days, when I had lost one shaft, I shoc his fellow, of the self same fight, The self-same 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


I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth, ..
That which I owe is loit; but if

you please
To Thoot 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 first.*

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

† Bassanio's method of opening his case to Anthonio, is modeftly sensible, well conceived, and pretcily worded,

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

The idea of shooting one arrow at random, to find another that has been loft, though bagish, is introduced here with'much care and propriety of application.


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And out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uttermoft,
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 prett unto it: therefore speak.

Baj. 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 Portia, nothing undervalu'd
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia :
Nor is the wide world ign'rant of her worth ;
For the four winds blow in from ev'ry coatt,
Renowned suitors.
O, my Anthonio, had I but the means,
To hold a sival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.

Anth. Thou know't, that all my fortunes are at Nor have I money, nor commodity,

[fea, To raise a present fum; therefore, go forth ; Try what my credit cap in Venice do ; That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermoft, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and fo will I, Where money is ; and I no question make, To have it of my truft, or for my

sake. (Exeunt. SCENE changes to PORTIA's House in Belmont.

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

and another of Lead.

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

Ner You wouid be, fweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance, as your good fortunes are; and yet, tor ought I see, they are as fick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with no

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

Por. Good sentences, and we l pronounc'd.
Ner. They would be better, if well fullov’d.

Por. If to do, were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had be·n churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. He is a good divine, that follows his own initructions; I can easier teach (wenty what were good to be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching. But this reasoning is not in fahion, to chuse me a husband. Ome, the word, chuse! I may neither chufe whom I would, nor refuse whoin idinike ; so is the will of a living daughter, curb’d by the will of a dead futher. Is it not hur?, Nerila, that I cannot chale one, nor refuse none?

Ner. Your father wa ever virtuous, and holy men, at their death, have goud inspirations : therefore the lottery that he hath devised, in these three chests of gold, filver, and lead, (whereof who chuses 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 affection towards

any of these princely suitors, that are alreidy come?

Por. I pray thee, over-name them, and as thounam'st 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 hoe him, nimself; I am much afraid, my lady, his mother, play'd false with a finish.

Ner. Then, there is the count Palatine.

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say, if you will not have me, chuse: he hears merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weep. ing 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


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