Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy : and so it is truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve :Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.

I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have over-watch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd

The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.-
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity.

SCENE II.

Enter PUCK.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,

That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their train.

Obe. Though the house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:

[Exeunt.

Hand in hand with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

SONG and DANCE.

Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be:
And the issue there create,
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;

And the blots of nature's hand.
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.

With this field-dew consecrate,

Every fairy take his gait;

And each several chamber bless,

Through this palace with sweet peace;

Ever shall in safety rest,

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;

Make no stay:

Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERÓN, TITANIA, and train.

Puck. If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, (and all is mended,)

That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend ;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If he have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends, ere long:
Else the Puck a liar call.

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

[Exit.

SOLANIO,

PORTIA, a rich heiress.

NERISSA, her waiting-maid.

SALARINO, friends to Antonio and JESSICA, daughter to Shylock.

GRATIANO,

Bassanio.

TUBAL, a Jew, his friend.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to SCENE.-Partly at VENICE; and partly

Shylock.

Old GOBBO, father to Launcelot.

at BELMONT, the Seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.

Ant.

ACT I.

SCENE I-Venice. A Street.

Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SOLANIO.
In sooth, 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 't is 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 on 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.

Solan. 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
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 think 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.
Why then you are in love.

Salar.

Ant.

Fye, fye!

Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say, you are sad Because you are not merry: an 't were 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 evermore peep through their eyes,

And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper:

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.
Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
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.

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt SALARINO and SOLANIO. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you; but at dinner-time

I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail you.

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.

Ant.. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Gra.

Let me play the Fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,—
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;-
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, 'I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark !'
O, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise

For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.

I'll tell thee more of this another time:

But fish not with this melancholy bait,

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

Come, good Lorenzo:-Fare ye well, a while;

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:

I must be one of these same dumb wise men,

For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Ant.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra. Thanks, i' faith; for silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.

[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO.