Lorenzo.
The moon shines bright.—In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan wall;
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay, that night.

Jes.
In such a night,
Did Thisbe fearfully o'er-trip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismayed away.

Lor.
In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.

Jes.
In such a night,
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs,
That did renew old Æson.

Lor.
In such a night,
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.

Jes.
And in such a night,
Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor.
And in such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, (like a little shrew)
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jes.
I would out-night you, did nobody come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter Balthazar.

Lor.
Who comes so fast, in silence of the night?

Bal.
A friend.

Lor.
What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?

Bal.
Balthazar is my name, and I bring word,
My mistress will, before the break of day,
Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about,
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays,
For happy wedlock hours.

Lor.
Who comes with her?

Bal.
None, but a holy hermit and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet returned?

Lor.
He is not, nor have we yet heard from him.
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Enter Launcelot.

Laun.

Sola, sola, wo, ha, ho, sola, sola!

Lor.

Who calls?

Laun.

Sola, did you see master Lorenzo and mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola!

Lor.

Leave hollowing, man: here.

Laun.

Sola! Where! where?

Lor.

Here.

Laun.

Tell him, there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news. My master will be here, ere morning.

Lor.
Sweet love, let's in, and there expect their coming.* ^note

And yet no matter. Why should we go in?
My friend, Balthazar, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; Exit Bal.
And bring your music forth into the air.
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music,
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of Heav'n,
Is thick inlay'd with pattens of bright gold.
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still choiring to the young-ey'd cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal sounds!
But whilst this musty vesture of decay,
Doth grosly close us in, we cannot hear it.
Come, hoa, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.
Song, by Lorenzo.

I.
To keep my gentle Jesse,
What labour wou'd seem hard,
Each toilsome task how easy!
Her love the sweet reward.

II.
The Bee thus, uncomplaining,
Esteems no toil severe,
The sweet reward obtaining,
Of honey, all the year.

Jes.
I'm never merry, when I hear sweet music.

Lor.
The reason is, your spirits are attentive?
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,

Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
(Which is the hot condition of their blood:)
If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand;
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music, for the time, doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils:
The motions of his spirits are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.* ^note Mark the music. Enter Portia and Nerissa.

Por.
That light we see, is burning in my hall:
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner.
When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

Por.
So doth the greater glory dim the less.

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

Por.
He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckow.
By the bad voice.

Lor.
Dear lady, welcome home.

Por.
We have been praying for our husbands healths,
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they returned?

Lor.
Madam, they are not, yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.

Por.
Go, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. A Trumpet sounds.

Lor.
Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet;
We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. Enter Bassanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their followers.

Por.
You are welcome home, my lord.

Bass.
I thank you, madam, give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Anthonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.

Por.
You should, in all sense, be much bound to him;
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

Anth.
No more than I am well acquitted of.

Por.
Sir, you are very welcome to our house;
It must appear in other ways than words;
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

Gra.
By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong; [To Nerissa.
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.
Would he were hang'd that had it, for my part,
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

Por.
A quarrel, ho, already! What's the matter?

Gra.
About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring,
That she did give me, whose poesy was
For all the world like cutler's poetry,
Upon a knife; Love me, and leave me not.

Ner.
What talk you of the poesy, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death,
And that it should lye with you in your grave:
Tho' not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Give it a judge's clerk! but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face, that had it.

Gra.
He will, and if he live to be a man.

Ner.
Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Gra.
Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth;
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.

Por.
You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it; and here he stands,
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

Bass.
Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it. Aside.

Gra.
My lord Bassanio gave his ring away,
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
And neither man nor master would take aught,
But the two rings.

Por.
What ring gave you, my lord?
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.

Bass.
If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

Por.
Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By Heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.

Ner.
Nor I in yours,
Till I again see mine.

Bass.
Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,

And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

Por.
If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to retain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to have defended it,
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.

Bass.
No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor;
Ev'n he that did uphold the very life
Of my dear friend.
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me, to give the worthy doctor.

Por.
Let not that doctor e're come near my house;
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you;
I'll not deny him any thing I have,
No, nor my body, nor my husband's bed.
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.
Lye not a night from home; watch me, like Argus:
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

Ner.
And I, his clerk; therefore, be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.

Gra.
Well, do you so; let me not take him then;
For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.* ^note

Anth.
I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels.

Por.
Sir, grieve not you, you are welcome, notwithstanding.

Bass.
Pardon this fault, and by my soul, I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.

Anth.
I once did lend my body, for his weal;
Which but for him, that had your husband's ring, [To Portia.
Had quite miscarry'd. I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

Por.
Then thou shalt be his surety. Give him this,
And bid him keep it better than the other.

Anth.
Here, lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring,

Bass.
By Heav'n, it is the same I gave the doctor.

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 lye with me.

Gra.
Why, this is like the mending of high-ways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough.
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?

Por.
Speak not so grosly. You are all amaz'd.
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario.
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa, there, her clerk. Lorenzo, here,
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
And even but now return'd: I have not yet
Enter'd my house. Anthonio, you are welcome:
And I have better news in store for you,
Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon,
There you shall find, three of your Argosies,
Are richly come to harbour, suddenly.
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.

Anth.
I am dumb.

Bass.
Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?

Gra.
Were you the clerk, that is to make me a 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 lye with my wife.

Anth.
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.

Ner.
Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
There do I give to you and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possest of.

Lor.
Fair ladies, you drop Manna in the way
Of starved people.

Por.
It is almost morning,
And yet, I'm sure, you are not satisfy'd
Of these events at full. Let us go in,
And charge us there, upon interr'gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra.
Let it be so: the first interr'gatory,
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is,
Whether till the next night, she had rather stay,
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day.
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
'Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing,
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt Omnes.* ^note End of the Fifth Act.

^note CYMBELINE.* [Footnote: 1Kb]