Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.
Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a Paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God? Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain too, too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you [Exit. the peace of mind, most royal couplement !

King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus. And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other [five. Biron. There is five in the first show. King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy :-

Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world again, Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein. King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes

amain.

[Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worthies. Enter Costard armed, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,~

Boyet.

You lie, you are not he.

Cost. I Pompey am,-
Boyet.
With libbard's head on knee.
Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be
friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,-
Dum. The great.

foe to sweat :

Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the great; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my [chance; And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of

France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey. I had Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. [done.

Cost. "Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect I made a little fault in, great.

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel armed, for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander: [ing might: By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquerMy 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right. [smelling knight. Biron, Your nose smells, no, in this, most tenderPrin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander. [commander: Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the great,

Cost.

Your servant, and Costard. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali

sander.

Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax; he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis; a little o'erparted :-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort. Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes armed, for Judas, and Moth
armed, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, [canus ; Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus

Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an
Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.
Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

And now, forward; for we have put thee in counte
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer;

Hol. You have put me out of countenance. [nance.
Biron. False; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.

Biren. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name. [as, away.
Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him.-Jud-
Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not bumble.
Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows dark,
he may stumble.
[baited!
Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been
Enter Armado armed, for Hector.
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector
in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King, Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector.
Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet, No, he is best indued in the small.
Biron. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the alGave Hector a gift.

Dum. A gilf nutmeg.
Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace.

[mighty,

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,-

Dum.

Long.

That mint.

That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [To the Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector, we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone ; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonise me among potentates! thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta

Dum. Most rare Pompey ! Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes

pey Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

stir them on! stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword:-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.
Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me I will not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you for't? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour.

Enter Mercade.

Mer. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: 1 have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies.

King. How fares your majesty ? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I say.I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits: If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow jastle it

From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends, but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not: my griefs are double. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;

And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,

Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Your favours, the embassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast, and as lining to the time: But more devout than this, in our respects, Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment. Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than Long. So did our looks. [ jest. Ros. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.

Prin.

A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore, this,-
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do anght, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning;
If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love:
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!

Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick.

Dum. But what to me, my love! but what to me? Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty ; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord ;-a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Come when the, king doth to my lady come, Then, it I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria?

Mar.

At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye. What humble suit attends thy answer there; Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit: To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, Without the which I am not to be won,) You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse, With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit:

To enforce the painted impotent to smile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?

It cannot be; it is impossible; Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,

Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befall what will be fall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the King.

King. No, madam: we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy.

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelve month and a day, And then will end.

Biron.

That's too long for a play.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,---
Prin. Was not that Hector?

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plongh for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogne that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm. Holla! approach.

Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others.

This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.

SONG.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo, then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
III.

Winter. When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,"
To-who;

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
IV.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw',
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way.

[Exeunt.

Gratiano,

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica.

Shylock, a Jew.

Tubal, a Jew, his Friend.

Launcelot Gobbo, a Clown, Servant to Shylock.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street.
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio.
Ant. IN sooth, I know not why I am so sad;
It wearies me; you say, it wearies you;
But how 1 caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, where 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 siguiors and rich burghers of the flood,
Or, as it were the pageants of the sea,-
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Salan. 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.

Salar.
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 high-top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,

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,