Medley: Air.—“Nelly Bligh.”
Vainly I cast my eye everywhere to see
If my fair anywhere waiting is for me!
That girl I love her like a dove a cooing in a tree,
But it strikes me she likes to make a goose of me!

Air.—“O Santa Melodia.” I. Martiri.
If I could only see-e her,
  To cheer me t'would go far,
To whisper in her e-e-ar,
  “Pray tell me how you are?”
I have never known no peace of mind,
  Since that auspicious day. (high note—air changes to)

Air.—“Low Back'd Car.”
When first I saw Nerissa 'twas up at Highbury Barn
Says I that's just the sort of girl that should my stockings darn,
Affix the buttons to my shirts, and be a wife most dear,
To a flunky with two suits of clothes and fifteen pounds a-year—

But to me she pays small regard,
Though none, as I know, retard
My suit—if there is
I'll damage the phiz
And head of that low blackguard! Enter Nerissa, R.

Ner.
There'll be a row and I shall have my share on't
If thus you make your little airs apparent!

Grat.
Nerissa dear, I'm sure I'd not have hummed if
I'd thought you'd think my air, an air presumptive.
Nay—fly not yet—

Ner.
Oh! nonsence!

Grat.
If you knew
How you've already cut my heart in two,
You'd not be angry, nor desire, I'm sure,
My lass irate, to lac-erate me more!
Behold your beau in supplication bent,

Ner
Marry in haste they say, and then repent.

Grat.
A false old saying that deluded me once,
But now I know an old saw's an old grievance,
Which sure you'll not let saw our love it twain;
Here William Gratiano doth remain (kneels)
Until you say you'll have him—yes, until
You take him up as your accepted Bill!

Ner.
At my age such an act would be a rash'un.

Grat.
Your tender (r)age! think of my tender passion!

Ner.
What would my mistress say though, I forgot,
To marriage with a footman?

Grat.
Oh, think not
Of my extraction, but extract the dart
That's quivering in my love-tormented heart;
The pangs of Cupid I the first time knows 'em,
His bows and arrows pierced my harrowed bo-sum.
Let's off to night—there's no chance of diskivery
With me, dear, put up and don't stand at livery.
Blush not that I'm a flunky, I implores;
Let not my plushes be the cause of yours.
You to the eyes—but, though more difficulter,
I to the knees plush as the knee plush ultra.

Ner.
I scarce know what to say—

Grat.
Make me your choice!

Ner.
I rather think I heard my mistress' voice!

Duett: Air.—“To the West, to the West.”

Ner.
You had best, you had best, while you can, get off free,
For mighty Miss Portia's objections will be
To a man, when he can, coming after me so,
And to me she will give a month's warning to go!

Grat.
If so be, then, with me, is your pathway through life,
I don't want a month's warning to make you my wife;
For the rest, I'm the best sort of choice you can make,
I'm a sober young man and was never a rake. Together.

Ner. Grat.
You had best, you had best, while you can, get off free,
At the best, at the best, what matters to me.

Ner. Grat.
For mighty Miss Portia's objections will be
What mighty Miss etc.

Ner. Grat.
To a man, when he can, be coming after me/you so,

Ner.
I'm sure I shall have a month's notice to go!

Grat.
I wish she'd give me a month's warning to go! (he snatches a kiss and is retreating when Enter Portia, R.

Por.
Nerissa! I'm ashamed of you, Nerissa!
I do believe, sir, you'd the face to kiss her!

Grat.
She has the face to be kissed!

Por.
I don't doubt it—
The saucy minx—well, say no more about it,
I don't think you intended to be rude.
But, mind, Nerissa, that a maiden should
Of kisses to a bearded man be chary.

Ner.
Such a salute, ma'am, must be salute-hairy.

Grat.
We hope to gain from you, ma'am, truth to tell,
Your kind approval of our nuptials—

Por.
Well—
You have my free consent.

Grat.
Thanks, madam, so
Having your leave I'll take my leave and go.
The marriage contract we'll draw up apace,
Till it's contracted in the smallest space.

Trio: Air.—“The One Horse Shay.” Por.
Since wedded life you want,
Proper reasons see I can't
Why I should say you shan't
  Be married when you may. Ner.
Oh! really, thank you, ma'am,
For our love it is no sham. Grat.
And to keep her sure I am,
  In a decent way. Por.
May you rub along at ease, Ner.
I'll my husband never tease, Grat.
I'll do whate'er you please
  And your wish obey. Together.
With such a prospect clear
Who'd hesitate that's here
So prefer the double harness to the one-horse shay? Exit Gratiano, L.

Por.
What a sad fate is hers who may not choose
Where most she loves, nor where she likes, refuse!
It is a shame, whatever you may say,
My father's will won't give me my own way.

Ner.
Why yes—I own, ma'am, it's disgusting rather
A living daughter checked by a dead father;
Prap's one you like may prove the happy man,
What say you to the young Neopolitan?
Come—he's a prince.

Por.
You could'nt choose a worse,
He constantly is talking of his horse.

Ner.
Such constancy would shew, though, I presume,
He to his bride 'll prove a stable groom.

Por.
Marriage with him! I tremble while I think of it,
And yet, who knows? I may be on the brink of it.

Ner.
The German Count?

Por.
From him I've always shrunk
E'en in the morning when he's not quite drunk.
Rather than wed him I'll unmarried go!

Ner.
The Scottish Laird? Were getting on—

Por.
Too slow.

Ner.
Well, the young English yachting man?

Por.
Too fast!

Ner.
I've hit the right nail on the head at last!

Of course, the young Venetian, Bassanio?
I see I'm right—

Por.
Nerissa! don't—how can you?

Ner.
Well, after all, there's little cause for fright,
When at the caskets all have ta'en a sight,
It's ten to one not one will choose the right.

Por.
But, if Bassanio the wrong one chose?

Ner.
No fear of that, ma'am, for not one of those
Can with him in discrimination cope;
He'll ope the lead.

Por.
That's what I'm led to 'ope.

Duett: Air.—“Brindisi.” Lucrezia Borgia.

Ner.
There's a chance tho' to make you feel easy,
Although I confess it's no joke,
If the man you detest most should seize ye,
And you buy the wrong pig in a poke! Por.
Knocked down to the luckiest bidder! Consider—
If Morocco should pitch upon me! Ner.
In that case a disconsolate widder—his widder
I soon would endeavour to be!

Por.
  Well—we shall see!

Ner.
  Yes—we shall see!

Por.
In that case a disconsolate widder,

Both
I/You soon must endeavour to be! (music, very piano heard without)

Ner.
Here comes the suitors, ma'am, by your direction.

Por.
Let's step aside then while they make election. (flourish—Portia seats herself R. H. Enter the Princes of Morocco and Arragon, Bassanio, Lords, Ladies, &c.

Mor.
Sweet Portia, we've ventured, as you see,
To take our chances in love's lottery.

Por.
Your sable highness knows I can't refuse
On the conditions—if you right do choose,
I'm yours—if not, you understand, you cut it?

Mor.
One can't fail, ma'am, so forcibly you put it.
Now to my choice— (Ethiopian melody, very piano, as he examines caskets)
Gold! silver! lead! let's see, (aside)
I choose the gold! (he throws and knocks down the gilt casket)

Por.
Then here, my lord's the key! (he opens casket takes out scroll and reads)

Mor.

“All that glitters is not gold,
And like poor Uncle Tom, you'll find you're sold.”

Nay—let me not thus throw my chance away,
Sweet Portia, hear me on my knees I pray!
Open my heart! (kneels, she repulses him)

Por.
You've opened, sir, your chest,
That's quite enough—now make room for the rest.

Mor.
Perhaps I'd better; for I feel, I own,
Though black before, now done extremely brown. Exit L.

Arra.
Now to my prayers if love to listen deigns,
I'll broach the cask-et which your broach contains!
Folks praise the “happy medium” yet I ween,
The golden mesne must here the silver mean!
Yet that again's a puzzler, for, to me
The lead appears the meanest of the three!
Now be the maid my choice! my choice is made (aside)
I choose the silver. (throws and knocks down silver casket which he opens)
What is this inlaid?
'Tis not her portrait! No—it is a balker,
In shape of one word, which one word is “Walker.” Exit L.

Por. (to Bass.)
Bassanio, now 'tis your turn to declare
Which casket holds my form secreted there;
By their discomfitures you're clearly told,
It isn't in the silver or the gold!

Bass.
It is a point which, in my estimation,
Demands a deal of calm deliberation.
I venture for the lady, not her fortune,
Though Portia portionless should be my portion,
I never did the poor shun, and I will
Love her till death, and none shall rob the till!
Now to my task—it really is distressing
That I should be so very bad at guessing.

Yet, as it seems, the caskets are but three,
Two must be wrong—those two are found to be
The silver and the gold—why then, instead,
I should'nt wonder if it's in the lead! (he throws and knocks down the leaden casket—all express signs of astonishment)

Por.
Oh! wise, discriminating youth, to choose
The very one you saw the rest refuse!
By your wise choice I see your views weren't sordid,
And thus your modest merit is rewarded! (gives him her hand)
I'm yours, and though your choice, the truth to speak,
Some possibly might stigmatise as weak,
Preferring lead—yet it has proved, you see,
If weak in you a fort'n't one to me!

Bass.
Then we'll be married, if you please, to-morrow!

Por.
I fain would wait— Enter Gratiano, L. with a letter

Grat.
It is with unfeigned sorrow
I interrupt your billing with a billet—
A person waits without— (gives letter)

Bass.
Without what, silly?
If without coming in, admit him straight.

Grat.
He says he is Antonio's delegate.

Por.
Not over delicate. I think, you mean,
To break thus rudely on a lover's scene! Bass. (reads)
“Bassanio, I'm done up and done brown!
My chance is up—my ships, alas, gone down,
And all my fortune lost upon the rocks!
We'd better far have sunk it in the Stocks.
The ship at first caught fire, and after then
Received a great and registered stove-in,
Thus to upset her on her homeward way
Took but of wind a ‘cap full' as they say,
Yet sometimes I can't help, howe'er I tries,
Swearing at the unfortunate caps-ize,
So, if with power to aid me you're invested,
Haste—for the Jew won't rest till I'm arrested;
I've little hope of finding Shylock lenient,
So come to Venice, ven it's quite convenient!”

Por.
Well, though the debt were multiplied by twenty,
To pay it off I'll furnish you with plenty!

Post on your pony. love and love postpone
Till you come back; although I frankly own
I'd rather entertain you in these halls,
Your friend's ship's sunk, so go where friendship calls!

Bass.
Thanks, gentle Portia, aided by your pelf,
I'll pay him in his bond and out himself. Gratiano, who has been conversing apart with Nerissa, now comes forward and sings.

Air.—“Lord Lovel.” Grat.
Lord love you, I'll bring to the garden gate,
  And saddle your milk white stee-eed! Bass.
That's right, Gratiano, before it's too late,
  Antonio, he must be freed indeed, (hopping)
    Antonio he must be freed. Chorus: (hopping)
Be freed, etc. Exit Gratiano, L Por.
Since it seems you must leave your fancy belle,
  Say, how long away will you be-e? (hopping) Bass.
Upon my honour, dear, I can't tell,
  But no longer than necessarie-arie,
    No longer than necessarie! Chorus: (hopping)
Sarie, etc. Exit Bassanio, L. hopping Por.
Now, hark ye, Nerissa, I've hit on a plan,
  And a capital plan it will be-e;
With me for the master and you for the man,
  We'll puzzle them confoundedlee-dedlee Chorus: (hopping)
Ded lee, etc. Ner.
Of course, my dear mistress, I'm yours at command,
  So, of course you may reckon on me— (hopping)
Whether's man or as woman I'm wanted, you'll find,
    I always was ripe for a spree-ee-ee!
      I always was ripe for a spree! Chorus: (repeat and exeunt with Portia hopping)

Nerissa, Sings: Air.—“A Master I Have.”
A mistress I have and I am her maid,
  A sensible modest one!
A mistress I have, &c. (repeat)
And she for old Shylock a nice trap has laid,
Which will slightly the plans, discompose, I'm afraid,
  Of the musty, fusty—dusty, crusty;
  Fawning, pawning—snivelling, drivelling,
    Bag-bearing son of a gun!
So now off to Venice at top of our speed,
  Galloping—glorious fun!
So now off, &c. (repeat)
For she vows that Bassanio's friend shall be free'd,
And the old Jew shall shiver and shake like a reed,
  Like a nosey, clothesy—stingy, cringy;
  Carneying, blarneying—supplicate, duplicate,
    Pledge-taking son of a gun! Exit Nerissa, R.

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