The Complete Works of Shakespeare

Touch. Truly young gentlemen, though there | was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.

1 Page. You are deceived, sir; we kept time, we lost not our time.

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and Celia.

[not;

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? Oli. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do As those that fear,-they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the DUKE. You will bestow her on Orlando here?

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? [To ORLANDO. Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? [To PHEBE. Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd. P'he. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? [To SIL. Si. Though to have her and death were both one thing.

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;

You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:-
Keep you your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me;
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her,
If she refuse me:-and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even. [Ex. Ros. and CEL.
Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born;
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of inany desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all! Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How, seventh cause?-Good my lord, like this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. God, ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; according as marriage binds, and blood breaks: A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine no man else will: Rich honesty dwells like a miser, own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed;-Bear your body more seeming, Audrey:-as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: This is called the "Retort courteous." If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: This is called the "Quip modest." If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: This is called the "Reply churlish." If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: This is called the "Reproof valiant." If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie: This is called the "Countercheck quarrelsome;" and so to the "Lie circumstantial,* and the "Lie direct."

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut?

Touch. I durst go no further than the "Lie circumstantial," nor he durst not give me the "Lie direct:" and so we measured swords and parted.

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, "If you said So, then I said so;" and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If.

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at anything, and yet a fool

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

Enter HYMEN, leading ROSALIND and CELIA.

Still Music.

Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
Atone together.

Good duke, receive thy daughter
Hymen from heaven brought her

Yea, brought her hither;

That thou mightst join her hand with his,
Whose heart within her bosom is.

Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [TO DUKE S. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [TO ORLANDO. Duke 8. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. [Rosalind.

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Phe. If sight and shape be true, Why, then, my love, adieu!

Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he:

[To DUKE S.
I'll have no husband, if you be not he. [To ORL.
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. To PHE.
Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
'Tis I must make conclusion
Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands,
To join in Hymen's bands,

If truth holds true contents.
You and you no cross shall part:
[To ORL. and Ros.
You and you are heart in heart:
[To OLI. and CEL.
You [to PHE.] to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord:-
You and you are sure together,

[To TOUCH. and AUD.

As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.
SONG.

Wedding is great Juno's crown;

O blessed bond of board and bed!
'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
High wedlock then be honoured;
Honour, high honour and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town!

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me;

Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.

Phe. I will not eat my word; now thou art mine, Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To SIL.

Enter JAQUES DE BOIS.

Duke S.
Welcome, young man ;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brother's wedding:
To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well begot:
And after, every of this happy number,
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry:

Play, music;-and you brides and bridegrooms all
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience; If I heard you rightly
The duke hath put on a religious life,
And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
Jaq. de B. He bath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.You to your former honour I bequeath;

[TO DUKE 8. Your patience and your virtue, well deserves it:You [to ORLANDO] to a love that your true faith [allies:

doth merit:

You [to OLIVER] to your land, and love, and great
You [to SILVIUS] to a long and well-deserved bed:-
And you [to TOUCHSTONE] to wrangling; for thy
loving voyage
[pleasures;
Is but for two months victuall'd:-So to your
I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay..

Jaq. To see no pastime I:-what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these

rites,

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue: but it is no more unhandsome, than to wine needs no bush," 'tis true, that a good play see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that “good needs no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better for the help of good epilogues What a case am I in

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot

two;

I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly:
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here, and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ;
Where, meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted
Both from his enterprise, and from the world:
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all their lands restor'd to them again
That were with him exil'd: This to be true,
I do engage my life.

insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is, to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them), that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

[Exeunt

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock.
Old GOBBO, father to Launcelot,
LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio.
BALTHAZAR, servant to Portia.
STEPHANO, servant to Portia.

PORTIA, a rich heiress. NERISSA, waiting-maid to Portia.
JESSICA, daughter to Shylock.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler,

Servants, and other Attendants.

SCENE-Partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SOLANIO.

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 'tis 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.

ACT I.

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.
Solan. 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.

My wind, cooling my broth,
Salar.
Would blow me to an ague when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
[ 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,
go to church,
To kiss her burial. Should I
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;
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.

Salar. Why, then you are in love.
Ant.

Fie, fie!
Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say

you are sad,

Because you are not merry: and 'twere 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 bagpiper:
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.
Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; [kinsman,
Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you
We leave you now with better company.

merry,

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt SALARINO and SOLANIC.
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found
Antonio,

We two will leave you; but at dinner-time
I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail you.

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

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra
A stage where every man must play a part, [tian;
And mine a sad one.

Let me play the Fool:
Gra.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;

Ant. Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it, And let my liver rather heat with wine,

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.

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice

By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!"
O, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those
[fools.
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers
I'll tell thee more of this another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

ears

Come, good Lorenzo:-Fare ye well, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

[time:

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

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O, my Antonio! had I but the means
To hold & r'val place with one of them,

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-I have a mird presages me such thrift,
I must be one of these same dumb wise men, That I sho'd questionless be fortunate.
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

[more, Gra. Well, keep me company but two years Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell! I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i' faith; for silence is only commendable

In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO.
Ant. Is that anything now?
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are
two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff;
you shall seek all day ere you find them; and
when you have them they are not worth the
search.

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

Bass. "Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance ;
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 gag'd: To you Antonio,
I owe the most in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

Ant. Thou know'st that all fortunes are &
sea

Neither have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Belmont. A Room in Portia's
House.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great world.

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are; And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no small happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good

divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done,

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; than be one of the twenty to follow mine own

And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

[shaft

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way, with more advised watch
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost; but if you please
To shoot 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 rest debtor for the first.
Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but
To wind about my love with circumstance;

[time,

teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the 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 hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their death have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead (whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?

Por. I pray thee, overname 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 that he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid my lady his mother played false with a smith.

suit; unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the

caskets.

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I wish them a fair departure.

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, "An you will not have me, choose:" he hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather to be married to a death's head with bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Mon-him worthy of thy praise. sieur le Bon?

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think so was he called.

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 better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing he falls straight a capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him I should marry twenty husbands: If he would despise me I would forgive him: for if he love me to madness I shall never requite him.

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England?

Por. You know I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture. But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere

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?

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst he is little better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

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 choose it. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I 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 no more

Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

Por. I remember him well; and I remember

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The four strangers seek you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco; who brings word the prince, his master, will be here to-night.

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach if he have the condition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.

Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another
knocks at the door.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III-Venice. A public Place.
Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK.
Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well.
Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months,-well.

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

Shy. Antonio shall become bound,—well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound.

Bass. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.
Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the
contrary?

Shy. Oh no, no, no, no;-my meaning in saying he is a good man is, to have you understand me that he is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad, But ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and landthieves-I mean, pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks: The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient;-three thousand ducats;-I think I may take his bond.

Bass. Be assured you may.

Shy. I will be assured I may; and that I may be assured I will bethink me: May I speak with Antonio?

Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

Shy. Yes, to smell pork! to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into! I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following;

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The Complete Works of Shakespeare: With a Critical Biography