My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,1

Hath sent you here this ring; and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.

Por.

That cannot be :

This ring I do accept most thankfully,

And so, I pray you, tell him: Furthermore,
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.
Gra. That will I do.

Ner.

Sir, I would speak with you :I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. Por. Thou may'st, I warrant: We shall have old swearing,

That they did give the rings away to men; But we'll'outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?>> [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I-Belmont. Avenue to Portia's house. Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.

Lor. The moon shines bright:-In such a night as this,

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.

Jes.

In such a night,

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor.

In such a night,

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand

(1) Reflection.

Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.

Jes.
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old son.

Lor.

In such a night,

In such a night,

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew:

And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,

As far as Belmont.

Jes.

And in such a night,

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor.

And 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. 1 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.

aun. 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,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your music forth into the air.-
[Exit Stephano.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;

But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.→

Enter musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

1 Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music.

[Music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd,

(1) A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist.

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 nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music 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, stratagems, and spoils ;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music.

Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance.
Por. That light we see, is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Ner. When the moon shone, 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!

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house.
Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect;
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.
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, hoa! 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. Are they return'd?

Lor.

Madam, they are not yet;

But there is come a messenger before,

To signify their coming.

Por. Go in, Nerissa, Give order to my servants, that they take No note at all of our being absent hence ;Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor you. [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband 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 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.

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun.

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

But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord. Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend.

(1) A flourish on a trumpet.