When after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
Mean time let wonder feem familiar,
And to the chappel let us prefently.

Bene. Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice?
Beat. I anfwer to that name; what is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. Why, no; no more than reason.

Bene. Why then your uncle and the Prince, and Claudio Have been deceiv'd; for they did fwear you did,

Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene, Troth, no, no more than reason.

Beat. Why, then my coufin, Margaret and Urfula Are much deceiv'd; for they did fwear you did.

Bene. They fwore you were almoft fick for me.

Beat, They fwore you were well-nigh dead for me.
Bene. 'Tis no matter; then you do not love me?
Beat. No truly, but in friendly recompence.

Leon. Come, coufin, I am fure you love the gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be fworn upon't that he loves her,
For here's a paper written in his hand,

A halting fonnet of his own pure brain,

Fafhion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another,

Writ in my coufin's hand, ftolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts; come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would now deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great perfuafion, and partly to fave your life; for as I was told, you were in a confumption.

Bene. Peace, I will ftop your mouth.

[Kiffes ber. Pedro. How doft thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour: doft thou think I care for a fatyr, or an epigram? no: if a man will be beaten with brains, he fhall wear nothing handsome about him; in brief, fince I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can fay against it ;

and

and therefore never flout at me, for what I have faid against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu. fion; for thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruis'd, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgell'd thee out of thy fingle life, to make thee a double dealer, which out of queftion thou wilt be, if my coufin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends; let's have a dance ere we are marry'd, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore play, mufick. Prince, thou art fad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife; there is no ftaff more reverend than one tipt with horn.

Enter Meffenger.

Me. My Lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him 'till to-morrow: I'll devife thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, Pipers. [Dance.

[Exeunt omnes.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

DUKE of Venice.

MOROCHIUS, a Moorish Prince, Suiters to Portia.
Prince of ARRAGON,

ANTHONIO, the Merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO, bis Friend, in love with Portia.

SALANIO,

SOLARINO,

Friends to Anthonio and Baffanio.

GRATIANO,

LORENZO, in love with Jeffica.

SHYLOCK, a Jew.

TUBAL, a Jew, bis Friend.

LAUNCELOT, a Clown, Servant to the Jew.

GOBBO, an old Man, Father to Launcelot.
LEONARDO, Servant to Baffanio.

BALTHAZAR, Servant to Portia.

PORTIA, an Heiress of great Quality and Fortune.
NERISSA, Confident to Portia.

JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock,

Senators of Venice, Officers, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.

SCENE partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia upon the Continent.

THE

THE

Merchant of VENICE.

Anth.

ACTI.

SCENE I.

Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.
N footh I know not why I am fo fad :
It wearies me; you fay it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn

I

And fuch a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know my self.

Sal. Your mind is toffing on the ocean.
There where your Argbhies with portly fail,
Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do over-peer the petty traffickers

That curtfie to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sola. Believe me, Sir, had I fuch ventures forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes aboard. I fhould be still
Plucking the grafs, to know where fits the wind,
Prying in maps for ports, and peers, and roads ;
And every object that might make me fear

Misfortune