dismissed from our thoughts.
present, contemplate her in the description presented by her lover. Bassanio's Portia, our readers will perceive, is likened to Cato's daughter.
BASSANIO'S DESCRIPTION OF PORTIA.
In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues; sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia :
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors; and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
And many persons come in quest of her.
The lady's suitors are more particularly noted in the following passage which we may quote as illustrative of that already presented.
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint:
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia ;
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of Heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits; but they come,
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
BASSANIO ON PORTIA'S PICTURE.
(Opening the leaden casket.)
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes,—
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfurnished.
Portia is present, and Bassanio, gazing upon her, thus proceeds:—
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance.
FROM ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.'
I am undone; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.
FROM THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.'
What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
Would I not undergo for one calm look?
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved,
When women cannot love where they're beloved.
In this connexion the following passage, which, in some respects, reminds us of the modest speech of Portia to Bassanio, inserted elsewhere, may not inappropriately be produced here.
HELENA'S LOVE FOR BERTRAM.
FROM 'ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.'
Here on my knee, before high Heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high Heaven,
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him,
That he is loved of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do: but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose,
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
These exquisite lines were addressed by the despairing Helena to the Countess of Rousillon, the mother of the loved, but cruel Bertram.
THE CHARACTER OF BERTRAM'S FATHER.
As delineated by the King of France.
FROM ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.'
King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
Frank Nature, rather curious than in haste,
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Bertram. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now,
As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
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