Shakespeare's First Folio Part 161

Mes. Stephano is my name, and I bring word My Mistresse will before the breake of day Be heere at Belmont, she doth stray about By holy crosses where she kneeles and prayes For happy wedlocke houres

Loren. Who comes with her?

Mes. None but a holy Hermit and her maid: I pray you is my Master yet return'd?

Loren. He is not, nor we haue not heard from him, But goe we in I pray thee Iessica, And ceremoniously let vs prepare Some welcome for the Mistresse of the house, Enter Clowne.

Clo. Sola, sola: wo ha ho, sola, sola

Loren. Who calls?

Clo. Sola, did you see M[aster]. Lorenzo, & M[aster]. Lorenzo, sola, Lor. Leaue hollowing man, heere

Clo. Sola, where, where?

Lor. Heere?

Clo. Tel him ther's a Post come from my Master, with his horne full of good newes, my Master will be here ere morning sweete soule

Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming.

And yet no matter: why should we goe in?

My friend Stephen, signifie pray you Within the house, your Mistresse is at hand, And bring your musique foorth into the ayre.

How sweet the moone-light sleepes vpon this banke, Heere will we sit, and let the sounds of musicke Creepe in our eares soft stilnes, and the night Become the tutches of sweet harmonie: Sit Iessica, looke how the floore of heauen Is thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold, There's not the smallest orbe which thou beholdst But in his motion like an Angell sings, Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins; Such harmonie is in immortall soules, But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grosly close in it, we cannot heare it: Come hoe, and wake Diana with a hymne, With sweetest tutches pearce your Mistresse eare, And draw her home with musicke

Iessi. I am neuer merry when I heare sweet musique.

Play musicke.

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentiue: For doe but note a wilde and wanton heard Or race of youthful and vnhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their bloud, If they but heare perchance a trumpet sound, Or any ayre of musicke touch their eares, You shall perceiue them make a mutuall stand, Their sauage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of musicke: therefore the Poet Did faine that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods.

Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But musicke for time doth change his nature, The man that hath no musicke in himselfe, Nor is not moued with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoyles, The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections darke as Erobus, Let no such man be trusted: marke the musicke.

Enter Portia and Nerrissa.

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall: How farre that little candell throwes his beames, So s.h.i.+nes a good deed in a naughty world

Ner. When the moone shone we did not see the candle?

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the lesse, A subst.i.tute s.h.i.+nes brightly as a King Vntill a King be by, and then his state Empties it selfe, as doth an inland brooke Into the maine of waters: musique, harke.

Musicke.

Ner. It is your musicke Madame of the house

Por. Nothing is good I see without respect, Methinkes it sounds much sweeter then by day?

Ner. Silence bestowes that vertue on it Madam

Por. The Crow doth sing as sweetly as the Larke When neither is attended: and I thinke The Nightingale if she should sing by day When euery Goose is cackling, would be thought No better a Musitian then the Wren?

How many things by season, season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection: Peace, how the Moone sleepes with Endimion, And would not be awak'd.

Musicke ceases.

Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiu'd of Portia

Por. He knowes me as the blinde man knowes the Cuckow by the bad voice?

Lor. Deere Lady welcome home?

Por. We haue bene 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 signifie their comming

Por. Go in Nerrissa, Giue order to my seruants, that they take No note at all of our being absent hence, Nor you Lorenzo, Iessica nor you.

A Tucket sounds.

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I heare his Trumpet, We are no tell-tales Madam, feare you not

Por. This night methinkes is but the daylight sicke, It lookes a little paler, 'tis a day, Such as the day is, when the Sun is hid.

Enter Ba.s.sanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their Followers.

Bas. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walke in absence of the sunne

Por. Let me giue light, but let me not be light, For a light wife doth make a heauie husband, And neuer be Ba.s.sanio so for me, But G.o.d sort all: you are welcome home my Lord

Ba.s.s. I thanke you Madam, giue welcom to my friend This is the man, this is Anthonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound

Por. You should in all sence be much bound to him, For as I heare he was much bound for you

Anth. No more then I am wel acquitted of

Por. Sir, you are verie welcome to our house: It must appeare in other waies then words, Therefore I scant this breathing curtesie

Gra. By yonder Moone I sweare you do me wrong, Infaith I gaue it to the Iudges Clearke, Would he were gelt that had it for my part, Since you do take it Loue so much at hart

Por. A quarrel hoe alreadie, what's the matter?

Gra. About a hoope of Gold, a paltry Ring That she did giue me, whose Poesie was For all the world like Cutlers Poetry Vpon a knife; Loue mee, and leaue mee not

Ner. What talke you of the Poesie or the valew: You swore to me when I did giue it you, That you would weare it til the houre of death, And that it should lye with you in your graue, Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You should haue beene respectiue and haue kept it.

Gaue it a Iudges Clearke: but wel I know The Clearke wil nere weare haire on's face that had it

Gra. He wil, and if he liue to be a man

Nerrissa. I, if a Woman liue to be a man

Gra. Now by this hand I gaue it to a youth, A kinde of boy, a little scrubbed boy, No higher then thy selfe, the Iudges Clearke, A prating boy that begg'd it as a Fee, I could not for my heart deny it him

Por. You were too blame, I must be plaine with you, To part so slightly with your wiues first gift, A thing stucke on with oathes vpon your finger, And so riueted with faith vnto your flesh.

I gaue my Loue a Ring, and made him sweare Neuer to part with it, and heere he stands: I dare be sworne for him, he would not leaue it, Nor plucke it from his finger, for the wealth That the world masters. Now in faith Gratiano, You giue your wife too vnkinde a cause of greefe, And 'twere to me I should be mad at it

Ba.s.s. Why I were best to cut my left hand off, And sweare I lost the Ring defending it

Gra. My Lord Ba.s.sanio gaue his Ring away Vnto the Iudge that beg'd it, and indeede Deseru'd it too: and then the Boy his Clearke That tooke some paines in writing, he begg'd mine, And neyther man nor master would take ought But the two Rings

Por. What Ring gaue you my Lord?

Not that I hope which you receiu'd of me

Ba.s.s. If I could adde a lie vnto a fault, I would deny it: but you see my finger Hath not the Ring vpon it, it is gone

Por. Euen so voide is your false heart of truth.