Shakespeare's First Folio Part 147

Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword: Come blade, my brest imbrue: And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu

Duk. Moone-s.h.i.+ne & Lion are left to burie the dead

Deme. I, and Wall too

Bot. No, I a.s.sure you, the wall is downe, that parted their Fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our company?

Duk. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Neuer excuse; for when the plaiers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee that writ it had plaid Piramus, and hung himselfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it is truely, and very notably discharg'd. but come, your Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue.

Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time.

I feare we shall out-sleepe the comming morne, As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht.

This palpable grosse play hath well beguil'd The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed.

A fortnight hold we this solemnity.

In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie.

Exeunt.

Enter Pucke.

Puck. Now the hungry Lyons rores, And the Wolfe beholds the Moone: Whilest the heauy ploughman snores, All with weary taske fore-done.

Now the wasted brands doe glow, Whil'st the scritch-owle, scritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shrowd.

Now it is the time of night, That the graues, all gaping wide, Euery one lets forth his spright, In the Church-way paths to glide, And we Fairies, that do runne, By the triple Hecates teame, From the presence of the Sunne, Following darkenesse like a dreame, Now are frollicke; not a Mouse Shall disturbe this hallowed house.

I am sent with broome before, To sweep the dust behinde the doore.

Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine.

Ob. Through the house giue glimmering light, By the dead and drowsie fier, Euerie Elfe and Fairie spright, Hop as light as bird from brier, And this Ditty after me, sing and dance it trippinglie, t.i.ta. First rehea.r.s.e this song by roate, To each word a warbling note.

Hand in hand, with Fairie grace, Will we sing and blesse this place.

The Song.

Now vntill the breake of day, Through this house each Fairy stray.

To the best Bride-bed will we, Which by vs shall blessed be: And the issue there create, Euer shall be fortunate: So shall all the couples three, Euer true in louing be: And the blots of Natures hand, Shall not in their issue stand.

Neuer mole, harelip, nor scarre, nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in Natiuitie, Shall vpon their children be.

With this field dew consecrate, Euery Fairy take his gate, And each seuerall chamber blesse, Through this Pallace with sweet peace, Euer shall in safety rest.

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away, make no stay; Meet me all by breake of day

Robin. If we shadowes haue offended, Thinke but this (and all is mended) That you haue but slumbred heere, While these Visions did appeare.

And this weake and idle theame, No more yeelding but a dreame, Gentles, doe not reprehend.

If you pardon, we will mend.

And as I am an honest Pucke, If we haue vnearned lucke, Now to scape the Serpents tongue, We will make amends ere long: Else the Pucke a lyar call.

So good night vnto you all.

Giue me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

FINIS. A MIDSOMMER Nights Dreame.

The Merchant of Venice

Actus primus.

Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio.

Anthonio. In sooth I know not why I am so sad, It wearies me: you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne, I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes of mee, That I haue much ado to know my selfe

Sal. Your minde is tossing on the Ocean, There where your Argosies with portly saile Like Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood, Or as it were the Pageants of the sea, Do ouer-peere the pettie Traffiquers That curtsie to them, do them reuerence As they flye by them with their wouen wings

Salar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections, would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the gra.s.se to know where sits the winde, Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes: And euery obiect that might make me feare Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me sad

Sal. My winde cooling my broth, Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought What harme a winde too great might doe at sea.

I should not see the sandie houre-gla.s.se runne, But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand, Vailing her high top lower then her ribs To kisse her buriall; should I goe to Church And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle Vessels side Would scatter all her spices on the streame, Enrobe the roring waters with my silkes, And in a word, but euen now worth this, And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thought To thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thought That such a thing bechaunc'd would make me sad?

But tell me, I know Anthonio Is sad to thinke vpon his merchandize

Anth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottome trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Vpon the fortune of this present yeere: Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad

Sola. Why then you are in loue

Anth. Fie, fie

Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs say you are sad Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easie For you to laugh and leape, and say you are merry Because you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ia.n.u.s, Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time: Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes, And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.

And other of such vineger aspect, That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor sweare the iest be laughable.

Enter Ba.s.sanio, Lorenso, and Gratiano.

Sola. Heere comes Ba.s.sanio, Your most n.o.ble Kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenso. Faryewell, We leaue you now with better company

Sala. I would haue staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not preuented me

Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard.

I take it your owne busines calls on you, And you embrace th' occasion to depart

Sal. Good morrow my good Lords

Ba.s.s. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

Sal. Wee'll make our leysures to attend on yours.

Exeunt. Salarino, and Solanio.

Lor. My Lord Ba.s.sanio, since you haue found Anthonio We two will leaue you, but at dinner time I pray you haue in minde where we must meete

Ba.s.s. I will not faile you

Grat. You looke not well signior Anthonio, You haue too much respect vpon the world: They loose it that doe buy it with much care, Beleeue me you are maruellously chang'd

Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A stage, where euery man must play a part, And mine a sad one

Grati. Let me play the foole, With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come, And let my Liuer rather heate with wine, Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.

Why should a man whose bloud is warme within, Sit like his Grandsire, cut in Alablaster?

Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies By being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio, I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes: There are a sort of men, whose visages Do creame and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilfull stilnesse entertaine, With purpose to be drest in an opinion Of wisedome, grauity, profound conceit, As who should say, I am sir an Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke.

O my Anthonio, I do know of these That therefore onely are reputed wise, For saying nothing; when I am verie sure If they should speake, would almost dam those eares Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles: Ile tell thee more of this another time.