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Jef. I would out-night you, did no body come: But hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Enter Stephano.

Lor. Who comes fo faft, in filence of the night? Mef. A friend.

Lor. What friend? your name, I pray you, friend?
Mef. Stephano is my name, and I bring word,
My mistress will before the break of day

Be here at Belmont: she doth ftray about
By holy Croffes, where fhe kneels, and prays,
For happy wedlock hours.

Lor. Who comes with her?

Mes. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my mafter yet return'd?

Lor. He is not, nor have we yet heard from him: But go we in, I pray thee, Jeffica,

And ceremoniously let us prepare

Some welcome for the miftrefs of the house..

Enter Launcelot.

Laun. Sola, fola, wo ha, ho, fola, fola!

Lor. Who calls?

Laun. Sola! did you see mafter Lorenzo and mistress Lorenza? fola, fola!

Lor. Leave hollowing, man: here.

Laun. Sola! where? where ?

Lor. Here.

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my mafter, with his horn full of good news. My mafter will be here ere morning.

Lor. Sweet love, let's in, and there expect their

coming.

And yet no matter: why fhould we go in?
My friend Stephano, fignify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;

[Exit Stephano.

And

And bring your music forth into the air.

How fweet the moon-light fleeps upon this bank !
Here will we fit, and let the founds of mufic
Creep in our ears; foft ftillness, and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

*

Sit, Jeffica: look, how the floor of heav'n
Is thick inlay'd with patens of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel fings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims;
+ Such harmony is in immortal founds!
But whilft this muddy vefture of decay
Doth grofly close us in, we cannot hear it.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With fweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with mufic.

Jef. I'm never merry, when I hear sweet mufic.
[Mufic.
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 perchance but hear a trumpet found,
Or air of mufic touch their ears,

any

with patterns of bright gold] We should read Patens : a round broad Plate of Gold born in Heraldry: The cover of the Sacramental-Cup.

+ Such harmony is in immortal fouls;] But the Harmony here described is that of the Spheres, fo much celebrated by the Ancients. He fays, the malleft Orb fings like an Angel; and then fubjoins, such Harmony is in immortal Souls: But the Harmony of Angels is not here meant, but of the Orbs. Nor are we to think, that here the Poet alludes to the Notion, that each Orb has its Intelligence or Angel to direct it; for then with no Propriety could he fay, the Orb fung like an Angel: He should rather have said, the Angel in the Orb fung. We must therefore corre& the Line thus ;

Such harmony is in immortal sounds:

i. e. in the Mufic of the Spheres.

You

You shall perceive them make a mutual stand;
Their favage eyes turn'd to a modeft gaze,

By the sweet power of mufic. Therefore, the Poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, ftones, and floods;
Since nought fo stockish, hard and full of rage,
But mufic for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, ftratagems, and fpoils;
The motions of his fpirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no fuch man be trufted-Mark the music.

Enter Portia and Neriffa.

Por. That light we fee, is burning in my hall:
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So fhines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner. When the moon fhone, we did not see the candle.

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less;
A substitute shines brightly as a King,
Until a King be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music, hark!

[Mufic.

Ner. It is the mufic, Madam, of your houfe. Por. Nothing is good, I fee, without refpect: Methinks, it founds much sweeter than by day. Ner. Silence beftows the virtue on it, Madam. Por. The crow doth fing as fweetly as the lark, When neither is attended; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should fing by day, When every goofe is cackling, would be thought No better a mufician than the wren. How many things by feafon feafon'd are To their right praise, and true perfection? Peace! how the moon fleeps with Endimion, And would not be awaked!

[Mufic ceafes.

Lor.

Lor. That is the voice,

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.

Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckow,

By the bad voice.

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home.

Por. We have been praying for our husband's healths,

Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd?

Lor. Madam, they are not yet;

But there is come a messenger before,
To fignify their coming.

Por. Go, Neriffa,

Give order to my fervants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;

Nor you, Lorenzo; Jeffica, nor you. [A Tucket founds.
Lor. Your hufband is at hand, I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, Madam, fear you not.

Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light fick; It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,

Such as the day is when the fun is hid.

Enter Baffanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their followers.

Baff. We fhould hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in abfence of the fun.

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband; And never be Bassanio fo from me;

But God fort all! you're welcome home, my lord. Baff. I thank you, Madam: give welcome to my friend;

This is the man, this is Anthonio,

To whom I am fo infinitely bound.

Por. You should in all fenfe be much bound to

him;

For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

Anth.

Anth. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house; It must appear in other ways than words; Therefore I fcant this breathing courtesy.

Gra. By yonder moon, I fwear, you do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. [To Neriffa. Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Since you do take it, love, fo much at heart. Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring, That fhe did give me, whose poesy was For all the world like cutler's poetry Upon a knife; Love me, and leave me not.

Ner. What talk you of the poefy, or the value? You fwore to me, when I did give it you,

your.

That would wear it 'till
you
hour of death,
And that it should lie with you in your grave:
Tho' not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been refpective, and have kept it.
Gave it a Judge's clerk! but well I know,
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 thyfelf, the Judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part fo flightly with your wife's first gift;
A thing ftuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted with faith unto your flesh.

I gave my love a ring, and made him fwear
Never to part with it; and here he stands,
I dare be fworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world mafters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,

You

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