Auf. I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd When he did stand for consul, which he lost Auf. That I would have spoke of: 1 Con. So he did, my lord: And, in the last, The army marvell'd at it. Auf. There was it; For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action: therefore shall he dic, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! [drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people. 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise. 2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats With giving him glory. [tear, 8 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body, Lords. We have. 1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. What faults he made before the last, I think, Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver, Auf. Read it not, noble lords; Cor. Traitor!-how now?— Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; dost not think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name, Coriolanus in Corioli? You, lords and heads of the state, perfidiously Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf Name not the god, thou boy of tears,— Con. Let him die for't. [several speak once. Cit. [speaking promiscuously.]Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son;-my daughter;he killed my cousin Marcus;--he killed my father.2 Lord. Peace, ho:-no outrage;-peace. The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o'the earth. His last offence to us Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. Cor. O, that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! Auf. Insolent villain! Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufidius stands on him. Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold. Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. O Tullus, rage, Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger 1 Lord. Bear from hence his b body And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse, that ever herald Did follow to his urn. 2 Lord. His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Auf. My rage is gone, Take him up: And I am struck with sorrow. SCENE,-partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET. ACT L Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; 1t wearies me; you say, it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 1 am to learn; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; I should be still Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, {are sad, Sulan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now,by two-headed Janus. Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some, that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And other of such vinegar aspéct, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: fare you well; Salar. I would have staid till I had made you If worthier friends had not prevented me. [merry, Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world · They lose it, that do buy it with much care. Gra. Let me play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; [fools. If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner time: [more, Gra. Well, keep me company but two years Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Ant. Is that any thing now? Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one [time, Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, [sea; Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at SCENE II. BELMONT. A ROOM IN PORTIA'S HOUSE. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: it is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, aud Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done. than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is madness, the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel, the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come? Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them: and, according to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, 'An if you will not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales, and smiles not. I fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ? when he was able. I think the Frenchman became bis surety, and sealed under for another. Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew? Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast; and the worst fall that ever fell, 1 hope, I shall make shift to go without him. Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket: for, if the devil be within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; they have acquainted me with their determinations: which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets. Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of the marquis of Moutferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. Por. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise.-How now! what news? Enter a servant. Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave; and there is a fore-runner come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a siu to be a mocker: but, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the count Palatine; he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for, if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.dition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England? Por. You know, I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture; but, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again, Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the con had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa.-Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [exeunt. SCENE III. VENICE. A PUBLIC PLACE. Enter Bassanio and Shylock. Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure Shall I know your answer? [me? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound. |