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shall find that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa there, her clerk ; Lorenzo here
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
And but e'en now returned ; I have not yet

my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ;
And I have better news in store for you
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon ;
There you shall find, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.

I am dumb.
Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not ?

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living ;
For here I read for certain, that
Are safely come to road.

How now, Lorenzo ?
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
There do I give to you and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possessed of.

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starvèd people.

It is almost morning.
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full: Let us go in;
And charge us there upon intergatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.


my ships



1. How many scenes does this act contain ? 2. How is this act necessary to the development of the plot? 3. In what does the beauty of the passage beginning How sweet the

moonlightconsist? 4. What other beautiful passages might be quoted from this act ? 5. Which, on the whole, may be considered the finest act in this drama? 6. Quote some particularly fine examples of harmonious versification from

the whole play? 7. Which may be called the leading character in this play? 8. State some of the various points for criticism in a drama. 9. In which of these points does Shakspere more particularly excel ? 10. When did the dramatic form of literature first flourish in England ?





Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,

Fair Venus' train', appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers

And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler 2 pours

her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note ;

The untaught harmony of Spring, While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs, through the clear blue sky,

Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch

A broader, browner shade ;
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech

O'er-canopies the glade ;
Beside some water's rushy brink,
With me the Muse shall sit, and think

(At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud,

How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care,

The panting herds repose ; Yet hark! how through the peopled air The busy m

rmur glows!

2 The nightingale.

1 The Hours, the attributes of Spring, are represented by the poets as adorning Aphrodite (Venus), as she rose from the sea.

The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,

And float amid the liquid noon.
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily-gilded trim,

Quick glancing to the sun.

To contemplation's sober eye,

Such is the race of Man :
And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay,
But flutter through life's little day,

In fortune's varying colours drest,
Brushed by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chilled by age, their airy dance

They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,

The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou ?

A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone —

We frolic, while 'tis May.



Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores,

Her Henry's holy shadel;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights, the expanse below,

1 King Henry VI. founded Eton College.


grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way!


Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade

Ah, fields beloved in vain!
Where once my careless childhood strayed,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.
Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margent green,

The paths of pleasure trace ;
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?

The captive linnet which enthrall ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball ?
While some, on earnest business bent,

Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry;

, as they run, they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possessed ; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast :

Their's buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer, of vigour born.
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly the approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

No cares beyond to-day.
Yet see how, all around them, wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey the murderous band !

Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury Passions tear,

The vultures of the mind ; Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' altered eye,

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild,

Amid severest woe..

Lo! in the vale of years beneath,

A grisly troop are seen,

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