But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst! Proteus, struck to the heart, exclaims: 66 My shame and guilt confound me. Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender it here; I do as truly suffer, As e'er I did commit." Valentine nobly replies: "Then I am paid; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth; for these are pleased; Next comes the pairing communion of Helena and Hermia, so inimitably described by the former, when shrinking from a threatened breach: "Is all the counsel that we two have shared, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, For parting us, All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? Have with our neelds created both one flower, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. And will you rend our ancient love asunder?" A still more charming instance of female friendship "whose loves were dearer than the natural bond of sisters" is that which joins Celia and Rosalind in "As You Like It." When Oliver asks "if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished with her father," Charles answers, "O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her." A delicious, confidential dialogue follows between the two friends. "Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind; Cupid have mercy! Not a word? "Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. "Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. The usurper now comes in, full of anger. "Duke. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court. "Ros. "Duke. Me, uncle? You, cousin. "Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. "Duke. Ay, Celia; we stayed her for your sake, "Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay; Why, so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together; Still we went coupled and inseparable. "Duke. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, When she is gone. Then open not thy lips." It is beautiful to see how utterly the detestable meanness of this appeal fails of its intended effect on the noble and indignant Celia. As soon as the Duke retires, she embraces her friend, and cries: "O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. "Ros. I have more cause. "Cel. Thou hast not, cousin : Prythee, be cheerful. Know'st thou not, the Duke Hath banished me, his daughter? "Ros. That he hath not. "Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth me that thou and I am one: Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl? Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee." In the "Merchant of Venice," the friendship of the sad, noble, good, old Antonio, and the bright, graceful, high, young Bassanio, is every way rich in beauty; but there is nothing connected with it more delightful, than the manner in which it is reflected in the bearing and remarks of those around. Although entirely unobtrusive, it is so profound, exerts such a charm, that they all unconsciously become mirrors of it. And the exhibition of their direct relation and intercourse may challenge comparison with anything else of the kind in literature. Not a word is above or below the moderation of nature and life, and every line seems to breathe the very fragrance of truth and love into the soul of the reader. How finely their first appearance and conversation, at the close of the first scene, prepare us for what is to come! Through the aid of Antonio, Bassanio gets an outfit from Shylock, and goes to Belmont. He is fortunate, and wins the hand of Portia. In the midst of his joy, Salerio brings a letter from Antonio. Bassanio eagerly cries to him: "Ere I ope his letter, I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth." Gratiano converses with Salerio, and Portia watches Bassanio while he reads. "Portia. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper, That steal the color from Bassanio's cheek: Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man. What, worse and worse? And I must freely have the half of anything That this same paper brings you. "Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? In doing courtesies; and one in whom Than any that draws breath in Italy. Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; What, no more? Bassanio then reads the letter from Antonio, pathetic enough to distil tears out of stones: "Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter." Well might Portia burst forth : แ "O love, despatch all business, and be gone." VOL. LXXIII. - 5TH S. VOL. XI. NO. II. - 19 In the next scene Antonio says: "These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, After Bassanio's departure with the money, Lorenzo says to Portia : "Madam, knew you to whom you show this honor, How dear a lover of my lord your husband, She replies, most becomingly : "I never did repent for doing good, Nor shall not now; for in companions That do converse and waste the time together, Must needs be like my lord." In the trial scene, ere the fatal sentence falls, the disguised Portia asks Antonio : "Come, merchant, have you anything to say? "Ant. But little; I am armed, and well prepared. To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, Say, how I loved you; speak me fair in death: |