But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honour:
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awaked them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below
him,

He used as creatures of another place,

And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times;
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them

But goers

now

backward.

Bertram. His good remembrance, sir,

King.

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;

So in approof lives not his epitaph,

As in your royal speech.

Would I were with him! He would always

say

(Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive

words

He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear,)—Let me not
live,-

Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments

are

Mere fathers of their garments; whose constan-
cies

Expire before their fashions:-This he wish'd;
I, after him, do after him wish too,

Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.

PORTIA TO LORENZO.

OR THE MUTUAL

SYMPATHY AND RESEMBLANCE

OF

FRIENDS.

I never did repent for doing good,

Nor shall not now: for in companions

That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,

There must be needs a like proportion

E

Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me think, that this Antonio
Being the bosom lover of my lord,

Must needs be like my lord: If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow'd
In purchasing this semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish misery!

These lines refer to Portia's noble offer by which she would release the worthy merchant Antonio from the grasp of Old Shylock, the cruel, revengeful, unrelenting Jew.

PORTIA ON THE DIFFICULTY OF PRACTICE.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor man'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. 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.

THE JEW'S COMMANDS

TO JESSICA, HIS

DAUGHTER.

Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,

Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street,
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces;
But stop my house's ears-I mean my casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house.

LORENZO'S LOVE FOR JESSICA.

Beshrew me, but I love her heartily,
For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath proved herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Notwithstanding Shylock's precautions, Jessica escapes from the Jew's sober house, and that too, in company with a Christian. How galling was this circumstance to poor old Shylock, will abundantly appear from the very amusing extract which follows. Of what value to a worshipper of Mammon is the life of his daughter? How are the finer feelings of humanity blunted or destroyed by that inordinate passion for gold to which the Shylocks of our age, whether Christian or Jewish, abandon themselves!

Conference between Shylock and Tubal.

Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? hast thou found my daughter?

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other precious, precious jewels.-I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No news of them?-Why, so: and I know not what's spent in the search: Why thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring, but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs, but of my breathing; no tears, but of my shedding.

Tub.

Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, as I heard in Genoa,

Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

Shy. I thank God, I thank God: Is it true? Is it true?

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ;-Good news, good news ha ha!-Where? in Genoa?

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one night, fourscore ducats!