This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show
That I am that same wall; the truth is so ;

And this the cranny is, right and sinister.

Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

THE. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? DEM. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.

THE. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

Enter PYRAMUS.

PYR. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!

O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night! O night! alack, alack, alack!

I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot.
And thou, O wall! O'sweet! O lovely wall!

That stand'st between her father's ground and mine;

Thou wall, O wall! O sweet, and lovely wall!

Show me thy chink to blink through with mine eyne.
[WALL holds up his fingers.
Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
O wicked wall! through whom I see no bliss;
Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me!

THE. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

PYR. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me," is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.

Enter THISBE.

THIS. O wall! full often hast thou heard my moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me:

My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,

Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
PYR. I see a voice: now will I to the chink,
To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.

Thisby !

THIS. My love! thou art my love, I think.
PYR. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;

And, like Limander, am I trusty still.

THIS. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

PYR. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
THIS. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

PYR. O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
THIS. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.

PYR. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway? THIS. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay [Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBE. WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go

Enter LION and MOONSHINE.

LION. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam:

For, if I should as lion come in strife

Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.

THE. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. MOON. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present; Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.

[Exit.

THE. This is the greatest error of all the rest. The man should be put into the lanthorn: how is it else the man i̇’ the moon?

HIP. I am aweary of this moon: would he would change ! Lys. Proceed, Moon.

MOON. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thornbush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.

DEM. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

Enter THISBE.

THIS. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?

LION. (Roaring). Oh-.

DEM. Well roared, lion.

THE. Well run, Thisbe.

[THISBE runs off.

HIP. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.

[The LION tears THISBE's mantle, and exit.

THE. Well moused, Lion.

DEM. And then came Pyramus.

Lys. And so the lion vanished.

Enter PYRAMUS.

PYR. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright,

For by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.

But stay, O spite!
But mark, poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,

What stain'd with blood!
Approach, ye Furies fell!

O Fates, come, come,

Cut thread and thrum;

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

THE. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

HIP. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
PYR. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear?

Which is no, no-which was the fairest dame

That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.
Come tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound:

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead,

[Stabs himself.

Now am I fled;

My soul is in the sky:

Now die, die, die, die, die.

Tongue, lose thy light!

Moon, take thy flight!

[Exit MOONSHINE.

[Dies.

THE. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover,

and yet prove an ass.

HIP. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

THE. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

Re-enter THISBE.

THIS. Asleep, my love?

What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus, arise!

Speak, Speak! Quite dumb?

Dead, dead! A tomb

Must cover thy sweet eyes.

These lily lips,

This cherry nose,

THE. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEM. Ay, and Wall too,

BOT. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company?

THE. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no

excuse.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

ACT I.

Scene II.-Belmont. A Room in PORTIA'S House.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

POR. By my truth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary 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, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good 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. 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 curbed 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.

S.R.

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