The Works of Shakespeare

Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway ?"

This. "Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay.” Wall. "Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus wall away doth go."

[Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the wall' down between the two neighbours.

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and not theirs.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True, and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour, for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;' Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is not crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present; Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be."

The

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest. 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.

Lys. 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.

This. "This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?"

Lion. "Oh-" [The Lion roars.-THISBE runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion.

The. Well run, Thisbe.

Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. [The Lion tears THISBE's mantle, [and exit.

The. Well mouthed3, 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,
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.

But stay;-0 spite! [Seeing THISBE's mantle.*
But mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,

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 on 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 deflour'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;
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus :

Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop:-

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus!
Now am I dead,

Now am I fled

My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light!

[Stabs himself [as often.

Moon, take thy flight! [Exit Moonshine." Now die, die, die, die, die.”

[Dies. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead; he is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and yet 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 for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet

1 mural: in f. e. 2 A lion fell in f. e. B. Field suggested this correction also. in f. e. 6 This direction not in f. e. 7 in f. e. : this direction is given at the next line.

Are gone, are gone.

3 moused: in f. e. 4 This direction not in f. e. 5 and:

8 These lily lips: in f. e. 9 Nose.

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 Bergomask1 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 Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone.

[A dance. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.Lovers, to bed: 't is almost fairy time.

I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,

As much as we this night have overwatch'd.

This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd

The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.A fortnight hold we this solemnity,

In nightly revels, and new jollity.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Enter Puck, with a broom on his shoulder. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night,

That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide:

And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team,

Following darkness like a dream,

From the presence of the sun

Now are frolic; not a mouse

Shall disturb this hallow'd house: I am sent with broom before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train. Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire;

Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;

And this ditty after me

Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, To each word a warbling note:

Hand in hand with fairy grace

Will we sing, and bless this place.

THE SONG.

Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;

And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand:
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be,3

With this field-dew consecrate.

Every fairy take his gait,

And each several chamber bless,

Through this palace with sweet peace;
Ever shall it safely* rest,

And the owner of it blest.
Trip away; make no stay;

Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train.

Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear;
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,

If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long,
Else the Puck a liar call:

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

[Exit.

1 So called, from the place in Italy it was derived from. 2 The rest of this direction not in f. e. Puck is thus represented in an old wood3 f. e. all have a period instead of a comma.

cut.

4 in safety.

SCENE I-Venice. A Street.
Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO.
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me: you say, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 't is made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
There, where your argosies' with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

ACT I.

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me sad.

Salar.
My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,

1 Vessels of about two hundred tons.

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
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,
That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad?
But, tell not me: I know, Antonio

Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

Ant. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Salan. Why, then you are in love.

Ant.

Fie, fie!

Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you

are sad,

Because you are not merry; and 't were as easy
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are 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 other of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and Gratiano.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins-
man,

Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well:
We leave you now with better company.
Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it, your own business calls on you,

And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.

[when?

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say,

Enter Old GOBBO, with a Basket. Gob. Master, young man, you; I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's ?

Laun. [Aside.] O heavens! this is my true begotten father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not :-I will try confusions1 with him. Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's sonties', 't will be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no?

Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ?-[Aside.] Mark me now; now will I raise the waters.-[To him.] Talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man; and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun.. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot ?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot. Talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning), is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven.

Gob. Marry, God forbid the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.

Laun. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovelpost, a staff, or a prop?-[To him.] Do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day: I know you not, young gentleman. But, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How agree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master's a very Jew give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his service: you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground.-O rare fortune! here comes the man: —to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and Followers. Bass. You may do so;-but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit Laun. To him, father. [a Servant.

Gob. God bless your worship!

Bass. Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me!
Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, sir,—as my father shall specify.

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire,-as my father shall specify. Gob. His master and he (saving your worship's reverence), are scarce cater-cousins.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, —as my father, being, I hope, an old man, shall fructify unto you.

Gob. I have here a dish of doves," that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is,

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your lordship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor man, my father.

Bass. One speak for both.--What would you?
Laun. Serve you, sir.

Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass. I know thee well: thou hast obtained thy suit.

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.
Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might | Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day,
fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows
his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news
of your son. [Kneels.] Give me your blessing: truth
will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's
son may, but in the end truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. Laun. I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord! worshipp'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my fill3-horse has on his tail.

Laun. [Rising.] It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail, than I have of my face, when I last saw him.

Gob. Lord! how art thou changed! How dost thou

And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment,
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between
my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace
of God, sir, and he hath enough.
[son.-

Bass. Thou speak'st it well.-Go, father, with thy
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
My lodging out.—Give him a livery [To his followers.
More guarded than his fellows' see it done.

Laun. Father, in.-I cannot get a service,-no; I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well; [Looking on his palm;] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book.-I shall have good fortune.-Go to; here's a simple line of life! here's a small trifle of wives: alas! fifteen wives is nothing: eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple coming in for one man; and then, to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed: here are simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt LAUNCELOT and Old GOBBO. Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.

1 One of the quartos reads: "conclusions." 2 Saints. 3 f. e. phill, same as thill, or shaft-horse. 4 Not in f. e. 5 A common Italian present. Some argue from this and other similar references, that Shakespeare visited Italy. 6 Laced, or ornamented.

Gra. You must not deny me. I must go with you to Belmont.

Bass. Why, then you must; but hear thee, Gratiano.
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ;-
Parts, that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults:

But where thou art not known, why, there they show
Something too liberal.-Pray thee, take pain

To allay with some cold drops of modesty

Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour,
I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

Gra.

Signior Bassanio, hear me:
If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen;
Use all the observance of civility,

Like one well studied in a sad ostent

To please his grandam, never trust me more.

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing.

Disguise us at my lodging, and return,
All in an hour.

Gra. We have not made good preparation.
Salar. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers.
Salan. 'T is vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,
And better, in my mind, not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
To furnish us.-

Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter.

Friend Launcelot, what's the news? Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. [Giving a letter Lor. I know the hand: in faith, 't is a fair hand, And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ.

Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to
sup to-night with my new master, the Christian.
Lor. Hold here, take this.-Tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her:-speak it privately;
Go.-Gentlemen,
[Exit LAUNCELot.
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
Salan. And so will I.

Lor.

Meet me, and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
Salar. 'T is good we do so. [Exeunt SALAR. and Salan.
Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed,
How I shall take her from her father's house;

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gage me What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with ;
By what we do to-night."

Bass.

No, that were pity.

I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment. But fare you well,
I have some business.

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest;
But we will visit you at supper-time.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in SHYLOCK'S House.
Enter JESSICA and LAUNCelot.

Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness
But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Give him this letter: do it secretly,

And so farewell. I would not have my father
See me in talk with thee.

Laun. Adieu !—tears exhibit my tongue.-Most beautiful pagan,--most sweet Jew! If a Christian did not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived; but, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu!

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.-
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo!
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street.
Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO.
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,

What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake;
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me: peruse this, as thou goest.
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-The Same. Before SHYLOCK'S House.
Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT.

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—
What, Jessica!-Thou shalt not gormandize,
As thou hast done with me!--What, Jessica!—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out.-
Why, Jessica, I say!

Laun.

Why, Jessica!

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, that I
could do nothing without bidding.
Enter JESSICA.

Jes. Call you? What is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica :
There are my keys.-But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian.-Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house :-I am right loath to go,
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,

For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspired together :-I will not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then

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