MacMillan's Reading Books Part 36

The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste: He shall have nothing but the penalty.

_Gra_. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

_Por_. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.

Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more Or less than a just pound, be it but so much As makes it light or heavy in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

_Gra_. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!

Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.

_Por_. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

_Shy_. Give me my princ.i.p.al, and let me go.

_Ba.s.s_. I have it ready for thee; here it is.

_Por_. He hath refused it in the open court: He shall have merely justice and his bond.

_Gra_. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

_Shy_. Shall I not have barely my princ.i.p.al?

_Por_. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

_Shy_. Why, then the devil give him good of it!

I'll stay no longer question.

_Por_. Tarry, Jew: The law hath yet another hold on you.

It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That by direct or indirect attempts He seek the life of any citizen, The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive Shall seize one half his goods; the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state; And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.

In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st; For it appears, by manifest proceeding, That indirectly and directly too Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd The danger formerly by me rehea.r.s.ed.

Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.

_Gra_. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

_Duke_. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

_Por_. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

_Shy_. Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live.

_Por_. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

_Gra_. A halter gratis; nothing else, for G.o.d's sake.

_Ant_. So please my lord the duke, and all the court To quit the fine for one half of his goods; I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use, to render it, Upon his death, unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter.

_Por_. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

_Shy_. I am content.

SHAKESPEARE.

[Notes: _Merchant of Venice. Obdurate_, with the second syllable long, which modern usage makes short.

_Frellen_--agitated. A form of participial termination frequently found in Shakespeare, as _strucken_, &c. It is preserved in _eaten, given, &c._

_Within his danger_ = in danger of him.

_Which humbleness may drive unto a fine_ = which with humility on your part may be commuted for a fine.]

IL PENSEROSO.

Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly, without father bred!

How little you bestead, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!

Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams.

Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.

But hail, thou G.o.ddess, sage and holy!

Hail, divinest Melancholy!

Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue: Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended; Yet thou art higher far descended; Thee bright-haired Vesta, long of yore To solitary Saturn bore; His daughter she; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain: Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train And sable stole of cyprus lawn, Over thy decent shoulders drawn.

Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes; There, held in holy pa.s.sion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast, Thou fix them on the earth as fast; And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with G.o.ds doth diet.

And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Gently o'er the accustomed oak; --Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy; Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; And missing thee, I walk unseen, On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering Moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way; And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off Curfew sound Over some wide-watered sh.o.r.e, Swinging slow with sullen roar.

Or, if the air will not permit, Some still, removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm.

Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen on some high lonely tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds, or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptered pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Enn.o.bled hath the buskined stage.

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made h.e.l.l grant what Love did seek!

Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife That owned the virtuous ring and gla.s.s; And of the wondrous horse of bra.s.s On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys and of trophies hung, Of forests and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear.

Thus Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear.

Not tricked and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kerchiefed in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves.

And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, G.o.ddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.

There in close covert by some brook Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from Day's garish eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such concert as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep: And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids laid: And as I wake sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood.