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Shy. I am bid* forth to supper, Jessica ;
There are my keys:-But wherefore should I go;
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
But yet l'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house:- I am right loath to go;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money bags to-night.

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i'the morning, falling out that year on Ash-wednesday was four year in the afternoon. Shy. What! are there masques? Hear you me,

Jessica : Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry.neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street, To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces: But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements; Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear, I have no niind of feasting forth to-night: But I will go.-Go you before me, sirrah; Say, I will come. Laun.

I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this;

There will come a Christian by,

Will be worth a Jewess' eye. (Exit Laun, Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress; nothing

else. Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder,

* Invited.

Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild cat; drones bive not with me;
Therefore I part with him; and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse.—Well, Jessica, go in;
Perhaps, I will return immediately;
Do, as Į bid you,
Shut doors after you: Fast bind, fast find;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Erit.

Jes. Farewell: and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.



The same. :

Enter Gratiano and Salarino, mashed. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Desir'd us to make stand. Salar.

His hour is almost past. Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont, To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds: Who riseth from a feast, With that keen appetite that he sits down? Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that are Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker, or a prodigal, The scarfed* bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind !

• Decorated with flags.

How like the prodigal doth she return,
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind !

Enter Lorenzo Salar. Here comes Lorenzo;-more of this here.

after. Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long

abode; Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait; When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, I'll watch as long for you then.--Approach; Here dwells my father Jew:-Ho! who's within ?

Enter Jessica abode, in boy's clothes. Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tougue.

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed; For who love I so much? And now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that

thou art. Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much asham'd of my exchange : But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscur'd.

So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once;

For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

[Erit, from above. Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.

Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily:
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in iny constant soul.

Enter Jessica, below.

What, art thou come ?-On, gentlemen, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

Exit with Jessica and Salarino.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio? . Ant. Fy, fy, Gratiano? where are all the rest ? 'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you: No masque to-night; the wind is come about, Bassauio presently will go aboard: I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight, Than to be under sail, and gone to-night.


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Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the prince

of Morocco, and both their trains.

Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince:Now make your choice. Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription

bears; Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men de

sire. The second ; silver, which this promise carries; Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warping all as blunt;Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he

hath, How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince; If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Mor. Some god direct my judgement! Let me see, I will survey the inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket? Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he

hath. Must give-For what? for lead ? hazard for lead ? This casket threatens: Men, that hazard all, Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. What says the silver, with her virgin hue? Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves, As much as he deserves ?-Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand:

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