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ACT V. SCENE I.

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

In such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.
Lorenzo.

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.
Jessica.

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

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

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

In such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

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

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Lorenzo. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this

bank !
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick
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 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-ey'd cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.-

Enter Musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn :
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with musick.
Jessica. I am never merry when I hear sweet musick.

Lorenzo. 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 but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of musick 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 musick: Therefore, the poet

Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But musick for a time doth change his nature :
The man that hath no musick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd by 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 musick.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA at a distance.

Portia. 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.
Nerissa. When the moon shone, we did not see the

candle.
Portia. So doth the greater glory dim the less :
A substitute shines brightly as a king
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Musick ! hark !

Nerissa. It is your musick, madam, of the house.

Portia. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Nerissa. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

Portia. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended ; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection !

Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd.
Lorenzo.

That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
Portia. He knows me, as the blind man knows the

cuckoo, By the bad voice. Lorenzo.

Dear lady, welcome home.
Portia. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare,
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return'd?
Lorenzo.

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

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.

Lorenzo. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet; We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not.

Portia. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick, It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

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Othello.
OST potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
That I have ta’en away this old man's

daughter,
It is most true ; true, I have married her ;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.

Rude am I in my speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,-
For such proceeding I am charg'd withal, -
I won his daughter with.

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