Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake; And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more; And you in love shall not deny me this. Bass. This ring, good Sir,-alas, it is a trifle! I will not shame myself to give you this. Por. I will have nothing else but only this; And now methinks I have a mind to it. Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, Por. I see, Sir, you are liberal in offers: Bass. Good Sir, this ring was given me by my wife; And, when she put it on, she made me vow For. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. An if your wife be not a mad woman, And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou canst, Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste. [Exit GRATIANO. In such a night Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Slander her love, and he forgave it her. Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter STEPHANO. Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Steph. A friend. Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend. Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word, My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. Lor. Who comes with her? Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.--- But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Enter LAUNCElot. Laun. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! Lor. Who calls? Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo and mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola! Lor. Leave hollaing, man:-here. Laun. Sola! where? where? Lor. Here. Laun. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news: my master will be here ere morning. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter:-why should we go in?— My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, [Exit STEPHANO. Enter Musicians. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. [Music. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection!Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak'd! Lor. [Music ceases. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice. Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. For. This night methinks is but the daylight sick; It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord. Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend; This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,-A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: I could not for ny heart deny it him. Por. You were to blame,—I must be plain with you, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; Bass. [Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear I lost the ring defending it. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine: And neither man nor master would take aught But the two rings. Por. What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, I would deny it; but you see, my finger Hath not the ring upon it,-it is gone. Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed Until I see the ring. Ner. Till I again see mine. Bass. Nor I in yours, Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, When naught would be accepted but the ring, me, Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforc'd to send it after him: I was beset with shame and courtesy; So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; Had you been there, I think you would have begg’d Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you; I'll not deny him any thing I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus: Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him, then; For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Por. Mark you but that! Bass. Give him And bid him keep it better than the other. ring. Bass. By heaven! it is the same I gave the doctor! Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways In summer, when the ways are fair enough: What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv'd it? Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario: There you shall find that Portia was the doctor; Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo, here, Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, And even but now return'd; I have not yet Enter'd my house. -Antonio, you are welcome; And I have better news in store for you Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; There you shall find, three of your argosies Are richly come to harbour suddenly: You shall not know by what strange accident I chanced on this letter. I am dumb. Ant. Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: When I am absent, then, lie with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; For here I read for certain that my ships Are safely come to road. Of these events at full. Let us go in; Gra. Let it be so: the first inter'gatory [Exeunt. SCENE,-First, near OLIVER's House; afterwards, in the Usurper's Court, and in the Forest of ARDEN. ACT I. SCENE I.-An Orchard near OLIVER's House. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion,-bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Ori. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER. Oli. Now, Sir! what make you here? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar you then, Sir? Orl. Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, Sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are, Sir? Orl. O, Sir, very well: here in your orchard. Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. Oii. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois: he was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. [Coming forward.] Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at ac cord. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, Sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. |