And that which you did swear to keep for me, I'll not deny him any thing I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed. Lie not a night from home; watch me, like Argus: Now, by mine honor, which is yet my own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advised, How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so; let not me take him then; For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; Por. Mark you but that! In each eye one.-Swear by your double1 self, Bass. Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;2 Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other. Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. Bass. By Heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! 1 Double is here used for deceitful, full of duplicity. 2 i. e. for his advantage. Por. I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio, For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways In summer, where the ways are fair enough; What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amazed. Here is a letter; read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario; There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; You shall not know by what strange accident Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold? Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it; Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living; For here I read for certain, that my ships Are safely come to road. Por. How now, Lorenzo? My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people. Por. It is almost morning, And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied [Exeunt. with few pe Or the Merchant of Venice the style is even and easy, culiarities of diction, or anomalies of construction. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other story cannot be maintained. actions in one event is in this drama eminently happy. The union of two Dryden was much pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, I believe, the critic will find excelled by this play. JOHNSON. AS YOU LIKE IT. PRELIMINARY REMARKS. DR. GREY and Mr. Upton asserted that this play was certainly borrowed from the Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, printed in Urry's Chaucer; but it is hardly likely that Shakspeare saw that in manuscript, and there is a more obvious source from whence he derived his plot, viz. the pastoral romance of "Rosalynde, or Euphues' Golden Legacy," by Thomas Lodge, first printed in 1590. From this he has sketched his principal characters, and constructed his plot; but those admirable beings, the melancholy Jaques, the witty Touchstone, and his Audrey, are of the poet's own creation. Lodge's novel is one of those tiresome (I had almost said unnatural) pastoral romances, of which the Euphues of Lyly and the Arcadia of Sidney were also popular examples. It has, however, the redeeming merit of some very beautiful verses interspersed; and the circumstance of its hav * The following beautiful stanzas are part of what is called "Rosalynd's Madrigal," and are not unworthy of a place even in a page devoted to Shakspeare :— Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast; And yet he robs me of my rest Ah, wanton, will ye? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes a pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; He music plays, if so I sing; He lends me every lovely thing; Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting. |