Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain ftraight;

The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,

And comes to his election prefently.

Enter Arragon, his train; Portia, with her's. Flourish of

cornets.

Por. Behold, there ftand the cafkets, noble prince :
If you chufe that wherein I am contain❜d,

Straight shall our nuptial rites be folemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more fpeech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:

First, never to unfold to any one

Which cafket 'twas I chofe; next, if I fail

Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Ar. And fo have PI addreft me: Fortune now To my heart's hope!-Gold, filver, and bafe lead. Who chufeth me, must give and hazard all he bath: You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.

< I addreft me :]-previously qualified myself.

"And fo have I-Address me, fortune, now,

"To my heart's hope."Aflift me in the acquifition of it.
Тоту

What

What fays the golden cheft? ha! let me fee,-
Who chufeth me, fhall gain what many men defire.
What many men defire,-That many may be meant
Of the fool multitude, that chufe by fhow,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of cafualty.
I will not chufe what many men defire,
Because I will not jump with common fpirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou filver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou doft bear:
Who chufeth me, shall get as much as he deferves;
And well faid too; For who fhall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none prefume
To wear an undeferved dignity.

O, that eftates, degrees, and offices,

Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then fhould cover, that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peafantry would then be gleaned
From the true feed of honour? and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,

To be new varnish'd? Well, but to my choice:
Who chufeth me, fhall get as much as he deferves:
I will affume defert;-Give me a key for this,
And inftantly unlock my fortunes here.

in the force]-power, reach.

• How much low peasantry]—What meanness would be found among the great, and greatness with the mean?

To be new varnish'd?]-To be restored to its primitive splendor.

Por.

Por. Too long a paufe for that which you find there. Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Prefenting me a schedule? I will read it.

How much unlike art thou to Portia !

How much unlike my hopes, and my defervings!
Who chufeth me, fhall have as much as he deferves.
Did I deferve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? are my deferts no better?
Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of oppofed natures.

Ar. What is here?

The fire feven times tried this;
Seven times try'd that judgment is,
That did never chuse amiss:
Some there be, that shadows kifs;
Such have but a shadow's blifs:
There be fools alive, "I wis,
Silver'd o'er; and fo was this.
"Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your bead:

So be gone, fir, you are sped.

Ar. Still more fool I fhall appear

By the time I linger here:

With one fool's head I came to woo,

But I go away with two.

Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,

Patiently to bear my *wroth.

Por. Thus hath the candle fing'd the moth.

O thefe deliberate fools! when they do chufe,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

[Exit.

Take what wife you will to bed,]—an escape of memory: Portia's

"I wis,]-I guess, imagine.

difappointed fuitors were never to marry.

wroth.]-mishap.

Ner.

1

Ner. The ancient faying is no heresy ;-
Hanging and wiving goes by deftiny.
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Neriffa.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. Where is my lady?

Por. Here; what would my lord?

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To fignify the approaching of his lord:
From whom he bringeth fenfible regreets;
To wit, befides commends, and courteous breath,
Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen
So likely an embaffador of love:

A day in April never came fo fweet,
To show how coftly fummer was at hand,
As this fore-fpurrer comes before his lord.
Por. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard,
Thou wilt fay anon, he is fome kin to thee,

a

Thou spend'ft fuch high-day wit in praising him.-
Come, come, Neriffa; for I long to fee

Quick Cupid's poft, that comes fo mannerly.

Ner. Baffanio, lord love, if thy will it be! [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Street in Venice.

Enter Solanio and Salarino.

Sala. Now, what news on the Rialto?

Sol. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that Anthonio

Y regreets ;]-falutations.

fay anon, &c.]-digrefs into a long tale of his being.

bigh-day wit-you commend him in fuch high-flown terms.

"he fpeaks holyday."

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, Act III, S. 2. Hoft.

hath

hath a fhip of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow feas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcafes of many a tall fhip lie buried, as they say, if my goffip report be an honest woman of her word.

Sala. I would fhe were as lying a goflip in that, as ever knapt ginger, or made her neighbours believe fhe wept for the death of a third husband: But it is true,—without any flips of prolixity, or croffing the plain high-way of talk, that the good Anthonio, the honest Anthonio,— O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!

Sol. Come the full stop.

Sala. Ha,-what say'st thou?

hath loft a fhip.

-Why the end is, he

Sol. I would it might prove the end of his loffes!

Sala. Let me fay amen betimes, left the devil cross thy prayer; for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

Enter Shylock.

How now, Shylock? what news among the merchants? Shy. You knew, none fo well, none fo well as you, of my daughter's flight.

Sol. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the taylor that made the wings fhe flew withal.

d

Sala. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledge; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam.

Shy. She is damn'd for it.

Sol. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel!

b

knapt ginger,]-for a fpiced cup-as ever spiced a bowl.

my prayer-Solanio's, made his own by faying amen to it. d complexion-nature, difpofition.

Sala.