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Pyr. “Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight
The. Well mouthed,
Dem. And then came Pyramus.
Enter PYRAMUS. And, being done, thus wall away doth go.”'
Pyr. “Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny [Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE.
beams; The. Now is the wall' down between the two neigh- I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright, bours.
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. to hear without warning.
But stay ;-0 spite! [Seeing THISBE's mantle.' Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard.
But mark, poor knight, The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the
What dreadful dole is here! worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.
Eyes, do you see? Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and not How can it be? theirs.
O dainty duck! O dear! The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of Thy mantle good, themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here
What! stain'd with blood ? come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.
Approach, ye furies fell !
O fates! come, come;
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, The. This passion on the death of a dear friend, When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
would go near to make a man look sad. Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. A lion's felí,» nor else no lion's dam :
Pyr. “O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame, For, if I should as lion come in strife
Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear? Into this place, 't were pity on your life."
Which is no, no --which was the fairest dame, The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. That liv'd, that lov’d, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
The pap of Pyramus: The. True, and a goose for his discretion.
Ay, that left pap, Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry
Where heart doth hop:his discretion, and the fox carries the goose.
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus! [Stabs himself The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his
Now am I dead,
[as ofteno. valour, for the goose carries not the fox. It is well:
Now am I fled; leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. My soul is in the sky: Moon. “This lantern doth the horned moon present;"
Tongue, lose thy light! Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.
Moon, take thy flight! [Exit Moonshine.? The. He is not crescent, and his horns are invisible Now die, die, die, die, die.”
Dies. within the circumference.
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. Moon. “This lantern doth the horned moon present; Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead; he is Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be."
nothing. The. This is the greatest error of all the rest. The The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet reman should be put into the lantern: how is it else the cover, and yet prove an ass. man i' the moon ?
Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, comes back and finds her lover ? you see, it is already in snuff.
The. She will find him by starlight. Here she Hip. I am aweary of this moon: would, he would comes, and her passion ends the play. change!
Enter THISBE. The. It appears by his small light of discretion, Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all such a Pyramus :'I hope she will be brief. reason, we must stay the time.
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, Lys. Proceed, moon.
which Thisbe, is the better : he for a man, God warMoon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the rant us; she for a woman, God bless us. lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog. eyes.
Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.
Asleep, my love ?
What, dead, my dove ?
Speak, speak! Quite dumb ? Lion. “Oh-.” [The Lion roars.—THISBE runs off.
Dead, dead? A tomb Dem. Well roared, lion.
Must cover thy sweet eyes. The. Well run, Thisbe.
This lily lip, Hip. Well shone, moon. Truly, the moon shines
This cherry tip, with a good grace. [The Lion tears THISBE's mantle, These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone.
3 moused: in f. e. 4 This direction not in f. e. 5 and : 1 mural : in f. e. 2 A lion fell : in f. e. B. Field suggested this correction also. in f. e.
9 Nose, 6 This direction not in f. e. 7 in f. e. : this direction is given at the next line. 8 These lily lips : in f. e.
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;
Hop as light as bird from brier;
Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote,
Lovers, make moan:
Ó! sisters three,
Come, come to me,
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
Tongue, not a word :
Come, trusty sword;
And farewell, friends.
Thus Thisby ends :
[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
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.
Now, until the break of day,
[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train. Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
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, From the presence of the sun
Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic; not a mouse
i 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 woodcut. 3 f. e. all have a period instead of a comma.
4 in safety.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Prince of Morocco; } Suitors to Portia.
Duke of Venice.
OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot.
LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio.
Servants to Portia.
Portia, a rich Heiress.
NERISSA, her Waiting-woman.
JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock.
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of
Justice, Jailors, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont.
SCENE I.-Venice. A Street.
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
That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad ? But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
But, tell not me: I know, Antonio What stuff 't is made of, whereof it is born,
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. I am to learn;
Ant. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it, And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, That I have much ado to know myself.
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
Upon the fortune of this present year: There, where your argosies? with portly sail,
Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Salan. Why, then you are in love. Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Ant. Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
Salan. Not in love neither ? Then let's say, you That curt’sy to them, do them reverence,
are sad, As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Because you are not merry; and 't were as easy Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, The better part of my affections would
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And every object that might make me fear
And other of such vinegar aspect, Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
That they ’ll not show their teeth in way of smile, Would make me sad.
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Salar,
My wind, cooling my broth, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.
man, I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well: But I should think of shallows and of flats,
We leave you now with better company. And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
If worthier friends had not prevented me. To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. And see the holy edifice of stone,
I take it, your own business calls on you, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. when? Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say,
1 Vessels of about two hundred tons.
Enter Old GOBBO, with a Basket.
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. Gob. Master, young man, you ; I pray you, which How agree you now? is the way to master Jew's ?
Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have Laun. (Aside.] O heavens ! this is my true begotten set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel run some ground. My master's a very Jew: give him blind, knows me not :-I will try confusions with him. a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his ser
Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which vice : you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. is the way to master Jew's ?
Father, I am glad you are come : give me your present Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new ing, but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far as God at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn has any ground.–O rare fortune! here comes the man: down indirectly to the Jew's house.
to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew Gob. By God's sonties?, 't will be a hard way to hit. any longer. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and Followers. with him, dwell with him, or no ?
Bass. You may do so ;--but let it be so hasted, that Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ?- Aside.] supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. Mark me now; now will I raise the waters.-[To him.] See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, Talk you of young master Launcelot ?
and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his father, Laun. To him, father.
[a Servant. though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man; and, Gob. God bless your worship ! God be thanked, well to live.
Bass. Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me! Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, of young master Launcelot.
Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. that would, sir, -as my father shall specify.
Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would you, talk you of young master Launcelot ?
say, to serve Gob. Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership. Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot. Talk not of master Jew, and have a desire,-as my father shall specify. Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according Gob. His master and he (saving your worship’s reveto fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters rence), are scarce cater-cousins. three, and such branches of learning), is, indeed, de- Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew ceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to having done me wrong, doth cause me, -as my father,
being, I hope, an old man, shall fructify unto you. Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow of my age, my very prop.
upon your worship; and my suit is, Laun. (Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel- Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to mypost, a staff, or a prop ?--[To him.] Do you know me, self, as your lordship shall know by this honest old father?
man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor Gob. Alack the day: I know you not, young gentle- man, my father. man. But, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God rest Bass. One speak for both.--What would you ? his soul !) alive, or dead ?
Laun. Serve you, sir. Laun. Do you not know me, father?
Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. Bass. I know thee well: thou hast obtained thy suit.
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 And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment, his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news To leave a rich Jew's service, to become of your son. [Kneels.] Give me your blessing : truth The follower of so poor a gentleman. will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between son may, but in the end truth will out.
my master Shylock and you, sir : you have the grace Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are of God, sir, and he hath enough.
[son. not Launcelot, my boy.
Bass. Thou speak’st it well.-Go, father, with thy Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, Take leave of thy old master, and inquire but give me your blessing : I am Launcelot, your boy My lodging out.-Give him a livery [To his followers. that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. Gob. I cannot think you are my son.
Laun. Father, in.-I cannot get a service,--no; I Laun. I know not what I shall think of that; but I have ne'er a tongue in my head. -Well; [Looking on am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery, his palm ;] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, your wife, is my mother.
which doth offer to swear upon a book.--I shall have Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, good fortune. Go to; here's a simple line of life! if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and here's a small trifle of wives : alas ! fifteen wives is blood. Lord! worshipp'd might he be! what a beard nothing: eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, coming in for one man; and then, to 'scape drowning than Dobbin my fills-horse has on his tail.
thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a Laun. [Rising: 4] It should seem, then, that Dobbin's feather-bed: here are simple 'scapes ! Well, if fortail grows backward : I am sure he had more hair of tune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. his tail, than I have of my face, when I last saw Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the him.
twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt LAUNCELOT and Old GOBBO. Gob. Lord ! how art thou changed! How dost thou Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
5 A common Italian
1 One of the quartos reads : " conclusions." 2 Saints. 3f. e.: phill, same as thill, or shaft-horse. 4 Not in f. e. present. Some argue froin this and other similar references, that Shakespeare visited Italy. Laced, or ornamented.
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, Disguise us at my lodging, and return,
All in an hour.
Gra. We have not made good preparation. Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Salar. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. Enter GRATIANO.
Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, Gra. Where is your master ?
And better, in my mind, not undertook. Leon.
Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit LEONARDO. Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours Gra. Signior Bassanio !
To furnish us.Bass. Gratiano.
Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter. Gra. I have a suit to you.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news? Bass.
You have obtain'd it. Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it Gra. You must not deny me. I must go with you shall seem to signify.
[Giving a letter to Belmont,
Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 't is a fair hand , Bass. Why, then you must; but hear thee, Gratiano. And whiter than the paper it writ on Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;
Is the fair hand that writ. Parts, that become thee happily enough,
Love-news, in faith. And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ;
Laun. By your leave, sir. But where thou art not known, why, there they show Lor. Whither goest thou ? Something too liberal.---Pray thee, take pain
Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to To allay with some cold drops of modesty
sup to-night with my new master, the Christian. Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour, Lor. Hold here, take this.--Tell gentle Jessica, I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
I will not fail her:-speak it privately; And lose my hopes.
[Exit LAUNCELOT. Gra.
Signior Bassanio, hear me: Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? If I do not put on a sober habit,
I am provided of a torch-bearer. Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely';
Salan. And so will I. Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Meet me, and Gratiano, Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen;
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. Use all the observance of civility,
Salar. ’T is good we do so. (Excunt SALAR. and SALAN. Like one well studied in a sad ostent
Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? To please his grandam, never trust me more.
Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed, Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing.
How I shall take her from her father's house ;
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; Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends And never dare misfortune cross her foot, That purpose merriment. But fare you well,
Unless she do it under this excuse, I have some business,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; Come, go with me: peruse this, as thou goest. But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Esceunt. SCENE III.--The Same. A Room in SHYLOCK's House./ SCENE V.--The Same. Before SHYLOCK'S House. Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT.
Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT. Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio. Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness
What; Jessica !--Thou shalt not gormandize, But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee. As thou hast done with me !--What, Jessica !-And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out.-Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Why, Jessica, I say Give him this letter: do it secretly,
Why, Jessica ! And so farewell. I would not have my father
Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. See me in talk with thee.
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, that I Laun. Adieu !-tears exhibit my tongue.-Most could do nothing without bidding. beautiful pagan,--most sweet Jew! If a Christian did
Enter JESSICA. not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived; Jes. Call you? What is your will ? but, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : manly spirit: adieu !
[Exit. There are my keys.---But wherefore should I go? Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.
I am not bid for love; they flatter me: Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon To be asham'd to be my father's child !
The prodigal Christian.--Jessica, my girl, But though I am a daughter to his blood,
Look to my house : -I am right loath to go. I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo !
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit. Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master
doth expect your reproach. SCENE IV.--The Same. A Street.
Shy. So do I his. Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Laun. And they have conspired together :-I will Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then