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* This man is Pyramus, if you would know:

“My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; * This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain.

“Thy stones with lime and liair knit up in thee.' * This inan, with lime and rough-cast, doth present Pyr. 'I see a voice : now will I to the chink,

* Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder ; To spy an I can hear my Thishy's face.
“And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are con- 'Thishy !!

This. “My love! thou art my love, I think.' • To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. Pyr. “Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace ; • This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, * And like Limander am I trusty still.'

Presenteth moon-shine : for, if you will know, This. “And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.
By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn Pyr. 'Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.'
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. This. 'As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.'
This grisly beast, which by name lion hight,

Pyr. 'O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall: * The trusty Thisby, coming first hy night,

This. 'I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.' ! Did scare away, or rather did affright:

Pyr. ' Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straigtit* And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall;

• Which ljon vile with bloody mouth did stain : This. . Tide life, tide death, I come without delay' "Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,

Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so: • And finds his trusty Thisby's niantle slain : And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.' • Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,

[Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. • He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; The. Now is the mural down between the two neigh* And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,

bours. 'His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wil. 'Let Lion, Moon-shine, Wall, and lovers twain, ful to hear without warning. • At large discourse, while here they do remain. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.

[Excunt Prol. This. Lion, and Moonshine. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak.

the worst are no worse, if imagination annend them Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not many asses do.

theirs. Wall. ' In this same interlude, it doth befal,

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of " That I, one Snout by name, present a wall:

themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here "And such a wall, as I would have you think,

come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. “That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, • Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,

Enter Lion and Moonshine. * Did whisper often very secretly,

Lion. 'You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear . This loain, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show • The smallest monstrous mouse

that creeps on floor, "That I am that same wall; the truth is so:

‘May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, "And this the cranny is, right and sinister,

"When lion rough in wildest rage doth ivar. * Through which the fearsal lovers are to whisper.' Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak bet A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam:

* For if I should as lion come in strife Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 'Into this place, 'twere pity of my life.' discourse, my lord,

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence ! Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I Enter Pyramus.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. Pyr. 'O grim-look”d night! O night with hue so

The. True; and a goose for his discretion. black !

Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour cannot carry "O night, which ever art, when day is not !

his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. O night, 0 night, alack, alrck, alack,

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his val

. 'I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot! “And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,

our; for the goosej carries not the fox.

It is well: “That stand'st between her father's ground and

leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. mine;

Moon. 'This lantern doth the horned moon prem “Thou wall, O wall, O sweet, and lovely wall,

sent : "Show me thy chiuk, to blink through with mine

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. || within the circumference.

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible Thanks, courteous wall : Jove sluield thee well for this !

Moon." This lantern doth the horned moon present ; "But what sce I? No Thisby do I see.

Myself the man i' th’ moon do seem to be.' " wicked wall, through which I see no hiliss;

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest ; the "Curst be thy stones for thu, deceiving me!!

man should be put into the lantern : How is it else the The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should

man i' th' moon ?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ; for, curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Decciring

you sce, it is already in snuff.

Hip. I am a weary of this moon: Would, he would me, is Thisby's eue: she is to enter now, and I am to

change! spy ber through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you :-Yonder she conc3.

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that

he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy; in all reason, we Inter Thisbe.

must stay the time. This. 'O wall, full often last thou heard my moans Lys. Proceed, moon. * For pazting my fair Pyramus and ne:

Nicon. All that I have to say, is, to t:ll you, that the



lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn

This. "Asleep, my love! bush, my thoro-bash ; and this dog, my dog.

'What, dead, my dove? Denna Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for 'O Pyramus, arise, they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe.

"Speak, speak. Quite dumb? Enter Thisbe.

Dead, dend ? A tomb This. "This is old Ninny's Tomb: Where is my love? "Must cover thy sweet eyes. Lien. Oh-' [The Lion roars.-Thisbe runs off.

“These lily brows, Dem. Well roared, lion.

• This cherry nose, Tie. Well run, Thisbe.

"These yellow cowslip cheeks Hip. Well shoney moon.-Truly, the moon shines

Are gone, are gone: with a good grace

Lovers, make moan ! The. Well moused, lion.

'His eyes were green as leeks. [The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit.

O sisters three, Dem. And so eomes Pyramus.

"Come, come, to me, Lys. And then the moon vanishes.

"With hands as pale as milk; Enter Pyramnus.

‘Lay them in gore, Pyr. 'Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

"Since you have shore 'I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:

With shears his thread of silk. 'For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,

"Tongue, not a word :"I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.

Come, trusty sword; • But stay ;-0 spite!

"Come, blade, my breast imbrue: But mark ;-Poor knight,

And farewell, friends ;"What dreadful dole is here?

Thus Thisby ends :
Eyes, do you see?

Adieu, adieu, adieu.'

[Dics. “How can it be?

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. "O dainty duck ! O dear!

Dem. Ay, and Wall too. "Thy mantle gool,

Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that parted "What, stain'd with blood ?

their fathers. Will it plense you to see the epilogue, * Approach, ye furies fell!

or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our "O fates! come, come;

company? *Cut thread and thrum;

The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs "Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!"

no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players are The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, I all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if would go near to make a man look sad.

he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himkip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

self in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragao Pyr. 'O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame? | edy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. "Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear :

But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. Which is–no, no-which was the fairest dame,

[Here a dance of Clownde That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik’d, that look’d with Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:cheer.

1 fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, Come, tears, confound;

As much as we this night have overwatch'd. *Out, sword, and wound

This palpable-gross play hath well beguild * The pap of Pyramus:

The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed * Ay, that left pap,

A fortnight hold we this solemnity, * Where heart doth hop :

In nightly revels, and new jollity.

[Exeunt. * Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. *Now am I dead,

SCENE II.-Enter Puck. "Now am I fled;

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
My soul is in the sky:

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Tongue, lose thy light!

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
Moon, take thy flight!

All with weary task fordone.
Now die, die, die, die, die.'[Dics. Ex. Moonsh. Now the wasted brands do glow,
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud.
The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- Now it is the time of night,
Cover, and prove an ass.

That the graves, all gaping wide, Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe Every one lets forth bis sprite, comes back and finds her lover?

Io the church-way paths to glide :
The. She will find him by star-light.-Here she And we fairies, that do run
tones, and her passion ends the play.

By the triple Hecat's team,
Enter Thisbe.

From the presence of the sun,
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for

Following darkness like a dream, mueb a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief.

Now are frolie; not a mouse Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra

Shall disturb this hallow'd house: 22, which Thisbe, is the better.

I am sent, with broom, before, Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet

To sweep the dust behind the door. pyes

Enter Oberon and Titania, with their train. Demo And thus she moans, videlicet.

0!. Through this house give gliminering light, By the dead and drowsy fire:

Every fairy take his gait: Every elf, and fairy sprite,

And each several chamber bless, Hop as light as bird from brier;

Through this palace with sweet peace : And this ditty, after me,

E'er shall it in safety rest, Sing, and dance it trippingly.

And the owner of it blest. Tita. First, rehearse the song by rote:

Trip away; To each word a warbling note,

Make no stay ; Hand in hand, with fairy grace,

Meet me all by break of day, Will we sing, and bless this place.

(Exe. Ober. Tita. and train. SONG, AND DANCE.

Puck. If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, (and all is mended) 06. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray.

That you have but slumber'd here, To the best bride-bed will we,

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue, there create,

No more yielding but a dream,
Ever shall be fortunate.

Gentles, do not reprehend; So shall all the couples three

If you pardon, we will mend. Ever true in loving be:

And as I'm an honest Puck, And the blots of nature's hand

If we have unearned luck Shall not in their issue stand;

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,

We will make amends ere long : Nor mark prodigious, such as are

Else the Puck a liar call. Despised in nativity,

So, good night unto you all. Shall upon their children be

Give me your hands, if we be friends, With this field-dew consecrate,

And Robin shall restore amende. [Evit.



Duke of Venice.
Prince of Morocco,
Prince of Arragon, { suitors to Portia.
Antonio, the merchant of Venice :
Bassanio, his friend.
Salarino, friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
Lorenzo, in love with Jessica.
Skylock, a Jew :
Tubal, a Jew, his friend.
Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock.
Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot.
Salerio, a messenger from Venice.

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio.

servants to Portia.
Stephano, 3
Portia, a rich heiress.
Nerissa, her waiting-maid.
Jessica, daughter to Shylock.
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,

Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE-partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the

seat of Portia, on the continent.


SCENE 1.-Venice. A Street. Enter Antonio, Sal

arino, and Salanio.

Ix sonth, 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.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies with portly sail,-
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood,
Or, as it were the pageants of the sea, -
Dogverpeer the petty traffickers,
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sclan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plueking 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,
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 bigh-top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And the holy edifice of stone,
And not belluink me straight of dangerous roeks?

Which, touching but my gentle vessel's sider
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 thirik upon his merchandize.

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 merchandize makes me not sad.

Salan. Why then you are in love.

Fie, fie!
Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's 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 everinore 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 voblè kins

man, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; We leave you now with better company.

Salar. I would have staid 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.

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? || Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio,
Say, when?

I owe the most, in money, and in love;
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so ?

And from your love I have a warranty Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. To unburthen all my plots, and purposes,

[Exe. Salarino and Salanjo. How to get clear of all the debts I owe. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Anto- Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; nio,

And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
We two will leave you : buit, at dinner time,

Within the eye of honour, le assurd,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Bass. I will not fail you.

Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio;

Bass. In ny school-days, when I had lost one shaft, You have too much respect upon the world :

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight They lose it, that do buy it with much care.

The self-same way, with more advised watch, Believe me, you are marrellously chang'd.

To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both, Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiane ; I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, A stage, where every man must play a part, Because what follows is pure innocence. And mine a sad one.

I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,

Let me play the Fool: That which I owe is lostx but if you please
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; To shoot another arrow that self way
And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Or bring your latter hazard back again,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but une
By being peerish? I tell thee what, Antonio,– To wind about my love with circumstance;
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;-

And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, There are a sort of men, whose visages

In making question of my uttermost,
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; Than if you had made waste of all I have:
And do a wilful stillness entertain,

Then do but say to me what I should do,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion

That in your knowledge may by me be done, of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak. As who should say, I am sir Oracle,

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !

And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, O, my Antonio, I do know of these,

Of wondrous virtues; sometimes from her eyes That therefore only are reputed wise,

I did receive fair speechless messages :
For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

Her naine is Portia ; nothing undervalued
If they should speak, would almost dain those ears, To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
I'll tell thee more of this another time:

For the four winds blow in from every coast
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,

Renowned suitors: and her sumy locks For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.

Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Come, good Lorenzo:-Fare ye well, a while ; Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand,
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

And many Jasons come in quest of her.
Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner time : O my Antonio, had I but the means
I must be one of these same dumb wise men, To hold a rival place with one of them,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

I have a mind presages me such thrift,
Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, That I should questionless be fortunate.
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea i Ant. Farewell : l’H grow a talker for this gear.

Nor have I money, nor commodity
Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only commend- aise a present sum : therefore go forth,

Try what my credit can in Venice do ;
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. That shall be rnek d, even to the uttermost,

[Exeunt Gra. and Loren. | To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portin. Ant. Is that any thing now?

Go, presently inquire, and so will I, Baso. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, Where money is; and I no question make, more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are as To have it of my trust, or for my sake. two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and, when you

SCENE II.-Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Enter Portia and Nerissa. have them, they are not worth the search.

Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,

of this great world. That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,

were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: How much I have disabled mine estate,

And, yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit By something showing a more swelling port

with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is Than my faint means would grant continuance: no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd

superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but compeFrom such a noble rate; but my chief care

tency lives longer. Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Wherein my time, something too prodigal,

Ner. They would be better, if well followed.


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