Lor.
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 walls,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.

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

Lor.
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 no body 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.
A friend? 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.
I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

Lor.
He is not, nor we have not 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.

Lau.

Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola.

Lor.
Who calls?

Lau.

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

Lor.

Leave holloing, man; here.

Lau.

Sola! where? where?

Lor.

Here.

Lau.

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.
My friend Balthazar, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand:
And bring your music forth into the air. [Exit Balthazar.
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 heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines^{1 note} of bright gold.
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.— Enter Musicians.

GLEE.^{2 note}
  It was a lover and his lass,
    With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino;
  That o'er the green corn fields did pass,
    In the spring-time, the pretty spring time,
  When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding:—
  Sweet lovers love the spring.

  And therefore take the present time,
    With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino;
  For love is crowned with the prime
  In the spring-time, the pretty spring time,
  When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding:—
  Sweet lovers love the spring.

Jes.
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

Lor.
The reason is your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
If 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 spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.—Mark the music. Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance.

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. Music! hark!

Ner.
It is your music, madam, of the house.

Por.
Nothing is good, I see, without respect;^{3 note}
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Ner.
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. [Music ceases.

Por.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection!—

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

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

Lor.
Dear lady, welcome home.

Por.
We have been 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 signify their coming.

Por.
Go in, 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, Antonio, Gratiano, and their Followers.

Por.
You are welcome home, my lord.

Bas.
I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend.—
This is the man, this is Antonio,
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.

Ant.
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.^{4 note} [Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart.

Gra.
By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong;
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 to me; whose posy was

For all the world, like cutler's poetry^{5 note}
Upon a knife, ‘Love me, and leave me not.’

Ner.
What talk you of the posy, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till the hour of death:
And that it should lie with you in your grave;
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective,^{6 note} and have kept it.
Gave 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, an 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,^{7 note}
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 so 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.

Bas.
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.

Bas.
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 sight
Until I see the ring.

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

Bas.
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 contain 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.

Bas.
No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away;
Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
I was enforc'd to send it after him.
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'er 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.

Ant.
I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

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

Bas.
Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
And in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
I never more will break an oath with thee.

Ant.
I once did lend my body for his wealth;^{8 note}
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, [To Portia.
Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

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.

Bas.
By heaven it is the same I gave the doctor!

Por.
I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio.

Ner.
And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
Did give me this.

Gra.
Why this is like the mending of highways
In summer, when the ways are fair enough.

Por.
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 but e'en now return'd; I have not yet
Enter'd my house.—Antonio, 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.

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

Gra.
Were you the clerk, and I knew you not?

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 has some good comforts too for you.

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

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
Of these events at full: Let us go in;
And charge us there upon inter'gatories,^{10 note}
And we will answer all things faithfully. [Exeunt. THE END.

[History]

At a very early period, Venice had begun to trade with Constantinople and the Levant, and though subjected to formidable competition from the Pisans and Genoese, succeeded in engrossing the far largest share of the traffic of the East. The Crusades now commenced, and giving lucrative employment to their shipping in the conveyance of troops, and the munitions of war, greatly increased both their wealth and power, and enabled them to make large additions to their territory. In early times, the Doges had been elected by the popular voice, and held their office by a very precarious tenure; for, in the case of any reverse or general dissatisfaction from any other cause, they were not only deposed, but often lost their lives, either by open violence, or assassination. The disorders thus occasioned rose to such a height in the 12th century, that a change in the form of government became necessary. For this purpose the city was divided into six districts, each of which nominated two delegates, or twelve in all; these twelve nominated 470 representatives, who concentrated in themselves all the powers which had been previously exercised by the popular assemblies. At the same time, a senate was appointed, and the Doge was provided with a council of six, who were nominally to assist, but, if so disposed, could easily find means to thwart him. The 470 representatives formed the grand council, and receiving their appointments annually from 12 delegates chosen by the popular voice, continued, in fact, notwithstanding the change in form, to be dependent upon it. The next change, however, set them free. After a severe struggle, the 470, in 1319, succeeded in making their office hereditary, and thus converted what had previously been a democracy into one of the most rigid forms of aristocracy. The evils of the system soon developed themselves. The 470, now hereditary nobles, became as jealous of each other as they had formerly been of the people, and while appropriating all the great offices of the state, had recourse to various methods, many of them of the most despotic nature, to prevent anyone of the great families from acquiring a preponderating influence. Among these arrangements was the institution of a council of 10, selected from the grand council, and subsequently, in 1454, the selection of three state inquisitors from the council of 10. These inquisitors, in whom all the powers of the state were absolutely vested, justified the name which the cruel bigotry of the Romish Church has established. This rigid despotism had, however, the effect of giving a stern unity of purpose to the proceedings of government, and doubtless contributed in some degree to consolidate the various accessions of territory which had been made into one whole. At this period the Venetians were masters of the coast of Dalmatia, and the islands of Cyprus, Candia, and a great

part of the Morea, and had almost monopolized the trade of Egypt and the East. The first great attempt to humble Venice was made in the beginning of the 16th century, when the famous league of Cambrai, of which Pope Julius the Second was the real author, though the Emperor of Germany, and the kings of France and Spain were parties to it, was framed for the avowed purpose of completely subduing her, and partitioning her territories. Dissensions among the confederates more than her own valour saved her from destruction, but not before most of her possessions on the mainland had been wrested from her. A still heavier blow at her prosperity was struck, by the discovery of a new passage to the East, which carried its rich traffic into new channels, and dried up one of the main sources of her wealth and strength. The work of destruction was all but completed by the Turks, who engaged her in an expensive and ruinous warfare, during which she lost the Morea, the islands of Cyprus and Candia, and with them the ascendancy which she had long possessed in the Levant. From all these causes her decline proved as rapid as her rise had been, and though her position can hardly fail to give her a considerable coasting trade, all her maritime greatness has departed, and apparently the highest destiny to which she can now aspire, is that of being a valuable dependency to some superior power.