Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter STEPHANO. 25 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend? Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word My mistress will before the break of day 30 Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. 35 40 45 Lor. Who comes with her? Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 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. Laun. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! Lor. Who calls? Laun. Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! Lor. Leave hollaing, 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. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 50 And yet no matter: why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, [Exit STEPHANO. Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night 60 There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 70 Enter Musicians. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn : Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, [Music. By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 90 How far that little candle throws his beams! Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. A substitute shines brightly as a king 95 Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark! Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, [Music ceases. That is the voice, Or I am much deceived, 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' healths, 115 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Give order to my servants, that they take 120 No note at all of our being absent hence; Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. Por. This night methinks is but the daylight sick; 125 It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers. Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 130 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me: But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord. Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, 135 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: 140 It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 145 Gra. [To Ner.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me, whose posy was For all the world like cutler's poetry Upon a knife, "Love me, and leave me not." Ner. What talk you of the posy or the value? 150 You swore to me, when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 160 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, 175 An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. Bass. [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear I lost the ring defending it. |