By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu:

And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
Give him direction for this merry bond,

And I will go and purse the ducats straight:
See to my house, left in the fearful guard

Of an unthrifty knave; and presently

I will be with you.

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew.

[Exit Shylock.

This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on, in this there can be no dismay :
My ships come home a month before the day.

V.-SHYLOCK JUSTIFYING HIS REVENGE.

(SHAKSPERE.)

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million! laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies! And what's his reason? I am a Jew! Hath not

a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands? organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is? If you stab us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that! If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a

Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villany you teach me I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.

VI.-ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS.

Vent. Are you Antony?

(DRYDEN.)

I'm liker what I was, than you to him

I left you last.

Ant. I'm angry.

Vent. So am I.

Ant. I would be private: leave me.

Vent. Sir, I love you,

And therefore will not leave you.

Ant. Will not leave me!

Where have you learned that answer? Who am I?
Vent. My emperor; the man I love next heaven:
If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin.
You're all that's good and god-like.

Ant. All that's wretched.

You will not leave me, then?

Vent. 'Twas too presuming

To say I would not; but I dare not leave you:
And 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence
So soon, when I so far have come to see you.

Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied?
For if a friend, thou hast beheld enough;

And if a foe, too much.

Vent. Look, emperor; this is no common dew;

[Weeping.

I have not wept this forty years; but now

My mother comes afresh into my eyes.

I cannot help her softness.

Ant. By Heaven, he weeps! poor, good old man, he weeps!

The big round drops course one another down

The furrows of his cheeks.-Stop them, Ventidius,

Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame,
That caused them, full before me.

Vent. I'll do my best.

Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends:
See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not
For my own griefs, but thine.-Nay, father!
Vent. Emperor.

Ant. Emperor! why, that's the style of victory;
The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds,
Salutes his general so; but never more
Shall that sound reach my ears.

Vent. I warrant you.

Ant. Actium, Actium! oh!

Vent. It sits too near you.

Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day, And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, The hag that rides my dreams.

Vent. Out with it; give it vent.

Ant. Urge not my shame.

I lost a battle,

Vent. So has Julius done.

Ant. Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou

think'st;

For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly;

But Antony

Vent. Nay, stop not.

Ant. Antony-

Well, thou wilt have it-like a coward, fled,

Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.

Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave.

I know thou cam'st prepared to rail.

Vent. I did.

Ant. I'll help thee: I have been a man, Ventidius.
Vent. Yes, and a brave one; but-

Ant. I know thy meaning.

But I have lost my reason, have disgraced
The name of soldier, with inglorious ease.
In the full vintage of my flowing honours,
Sat still, and saw it prest by other hands.
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it,

And purple greatness met my ripened years.
When first I came to empire, I was borne
On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs;
The wish of nations; and the willing world
Received me as its pledge of future peace.
I was so great, so happy, so beloved,

Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains

And worked against my fortune, chid her from me,
And turned her loose: yet still she came again.
My careless days and my luxurious nights
At length have wearied her, and now she's gone,
Gone, gone, divorced for ever. Help me, soldier,
To curse this madman, this industrious fool,
Who laboured to be wretched. Pr'ythee curse me.
Vent. No.

Ant. Why?

Vent. You are too sensible already

Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings;
And, like a scorpion, whipt by others first

To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge.

I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds,
Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes.
Ant. I know thou wouldst.

Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune.
Ant. I have to the utmost.

perate

Dost thou think me des

Without just cause? No; when I found all lost

Beyond repair, I hid me from the world,

And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do
So heartily, I think it is not worth

The cost of keeping.

Vent. Cæsar thinks not so:

He'll thank you for the gift he could not take.

You would be killed like Tully, would you? Do,
Hold out your throat to Cæsar, and die tamely.
Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve.

Vent. I can die with you too, when time shall serve; But fortune calls upon us now to live,

To fight, to conquer.

Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.

Vent. No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy.

Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you,
And long to call you chief. By painful journeys
I led them, patient both of heat and hunger,
Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile.
"Twill do you good to see their sunburnt faces,

Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands: there's virtue in them.

They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates

Than your trim bands can buy.

Ant. Where left you them? Vent. I said in Lower Syria. Ant. Bring them hither; There may be life in these.

Vent. They will not come.

Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised

aids,

To double my despair? They're mutinous.

Vent. Most firm and loyal.

Ant. Yet they will not march

To succour me. Oh trifler!

Vent. They petition

You would make haste to head them.

Ant. I'm besieged.

Vent. There's but one way shut up. How came I hither? Ant. I will not stir.

Vent. They would, perhaps, desire

A better reason.

Ant. I never used

My soldiers to demand a reason of

My actions. Why did they refuse to march?

Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra.