dded to the charm of love, disguises the story of the caskets; hile that of the pound of flesh is ennobled at once by variety nd unsurpassed truth of character, by the most vigorous strokes of passion, and by a temperate judgment, which is the most admirable feature of the piece. At length the perplexities and dangers are overcome, love and hatred have both received their reward, and most poets would have dropped the curtain on their characters; but Shakespeare saw that something was still wanting. If the play had closed there, it would have deserved to be called a 'tragi-comedy' in a reproachful sense of the term: it would have been a play in which it was impossible by reflection, or by the surer test of feeling, to determine which of the two opposed aspects of life was intended to be exhibited as the prominent one. The main action of the piece in both its branches has touched the very frontier of that region within which it was designed to move. The scenes at Belmont had been prevented from becoming tragic by mere accident. The judgment scene is really and sublimely tragic in everything except the artifice which gives the turn to its catastrophe. The feeling which genuine comedy should leave on the mind, the perception of those relations of man to higher powers which make his very weakness the fountain of happiness and reconciliation, is assuredly not that which rests on the mind as we retire slowly from the piazza of St. Mark, still agitated by the perils of the trial, and perhaps not less moved by the blow which has smitten down into broken-hearted abasement Shylock's whole soul, his intellectual strength, his bitterly pregnant humor, his Hebrew devotion, and his hatred for those who have oppressed and insulted his nation and his name.

"The fifth act gradually and gently relieves the heart from its oppression. A sportive love trick introduced purposely in the preceding scene furnishes its materials; the tragic ideas removed to a distance serve but to heighten the new impression by contrast, and thus justify for themselves the place they hold; and the drama closes in music by moonlight amidst the placid gladness of rescued innocence and united love."

SCENE: Partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO.

Antonio. 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.

Salarino. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies1 with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea.2
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curtsy to them, do them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Salanio. 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.

Salarino.

My wind cooling my broth

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
I should not see the sandy hourglass3 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,

1 Argosies were large ships, generally mercantile vessels, though ships of war were sometimes so called. The derivation of the name is uncertain; possibly from "Argo," the mythical ship which carried Jason and his companions to Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece.

2

Pageants of the sea,' a comparison of Antonio's vessels to the huge images of towers, castles, ships, giants, etc., paraded in the street shows or pageants of London.

3 Watches and clocks were novelties in England, and hourglasses were still in use, at the close of the sixteenth century.

4 Andrea Doria was a famous admiral of Genoa, who died in 1560. It is not unlikely that his name, in Shakespeare's time, was in common use to designate Italian ships of the largest size and best class.

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.

Antonio. 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.
Salarino. Why, then you are in love.
Antonio.

Salarino. Not in love neither?

Fie, fie!

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,1
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 2

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor3 swear the jest be laughable.

1 This two-faced god of the Romans presided over gates and avenues. On some images he is shown with one sad and one laughing countenance. 2 This word is always accented on the latter syllable in Shakespeare's

verse.

3 A Grecian hero renowned for his wisdom, prudence, and great age.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.

Salanio. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye

well:

We leave you now with better company.

Salarino. I would have staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me.

Antonio. Your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it, your own business calls on you
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Salarino. Good morrow, my good lords.

Bassanio. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say,

when?

You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

Salarino. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.

Lorenzo. 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.
Bassanio. I will not fail you.

Gratiano. You look not well, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon1 the world:

They lose it that do buy it with much care:
Believe me, you are marvelously chang'd.

Antonio. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;.
A stage where every man must play a part,

And mine a sad one.

Gratiano.

Let me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,

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 grandsire cut in alabaster?

1 ་ Respect upon," i.e., regard for.