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.
_Portia._ Ay, for the state; not for Antonio.
_Shylock._ 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.
_Portia._ What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
_Gratiano._ A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.
_Antonio._ 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:
Two things provided more,--that, for this favor,
He presently become a Christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.
_Duke._ He shall do this; or else I do recant
The pardon that I late pronounced here.
_Portia._ Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?
_Shylock._ I am content.
_Portia._ Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
_Shylock._ I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
I am not well: send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
_Duke._ Get thee gone, but do it.
_Gratiano._ In christening thou shalt have two godfathers;
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [_Exit Shylock._
_Duke._ Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.
_Portia._ I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet I presently set forth.
_Duke._ I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.
[_Exeunt omnes._
FOOTNOTES:
[A] As an introduction read "The Merchant of Venice," FOURTH READER,
page 311.
IV. OF BOLDNESS.
LORD BACON.--1561-1626.
_From_ ESSAYS.
It is a trivial grammar-school text, but yet worthy a wise man's
consideration: question was asked of Demosthenes, what was the chief
part of an orator? He answered, action: what next? action: what next
again? action. He said it that knew it best, and had by nature himself
no advantage in that he commended. A strange thing, that that part of an
orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a player,
should be placed so high above those other noble parts, of invention,
elocution, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it were all in all.
But the reason is plain. There is in human nature generally more of the
fool than of the wise; and therefore those faculties by which the
foolish part of men's minds is taken, are most potent. Wonderful like is
the case of boldness in civil business; what first? boldness: what
second and third? boldness. And yet boldness is a child of ignorance and
baseness, far inferior to other parts: but, nevertheless, it doth
fascinate, and bind hand and foot those that are either shallow in
judgment or weak in courage, which are the greatest part; yea, and
prevaileth with wise men at weak times; therefore we see it hath done
wonders in popular states, but with senates and princes less; and more,
ever upon the first entrance of bold persons into action, than soon
after; for boldness is an ill keeper of promise. Surely, as there are
mountebanks for the natural body, so are there mountebanks for the
politic body--men that undertake great cures, and perhaps have been
lucky in two or three experiments, but want the grounds of science, and
therefore cannot hold out. Nay, you shall see a bold fellow many times
do Mahomet's miracle. Mahomet made the people believe that he would call
a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the
observers of his law. The people assembled: Mahomet called the hill to
come to him again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never
a whit abashed, but said, "If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet
will go to the hill." So these men, when they have promised great
matters, and failed most shamefully, yet, if they have the perfection of
boldness, they will but slight it over, and make a turn, and no more
ado. Certainly, to men of great judgment, bold persons are sport to
behold; nay, and to the vulgar also boldness hath somewhat of the
ridiculous: for, if absurdity be the subject of laughter, doubt you not
but great boldness is seldom without some absurdity; especially it is a
sport to see when a bold fellow is out of countenance, for that puts his
face into a most shrunken and wooden posture, as needs it must--for in
bashfulness the spirits do a little go and come--but with bold men, upon
like occasion, they stand at a stay; like a stale at chess, where it is
no mate, but yet the game cannot stir: but this last were fitter for a
satire than for a serious observation. This is well to be weighed, that
boldness is ever blind, for it seeth not dangers and inconveniences:
therefore it is ill in counsel, good in execution; so that the right use
of bold persons is, that they never command in chief, but be seconds,
and under the direction of others; for in counsel it is good to see
dangers, and in execution not to see them, except they be very great.
* * * * *
_He that cannot see well, let him go softly._
BACON.
V. TO DAFFODILS.
ROBERT HERRICK.--1594-1674.
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
* * * * *
_Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty._
RICHARD LOVELACE.--1618-1658.
VI. OF CONTENTEDNESS IN ALL ESTATES AND ACCIDENTS.
JEREMY TAYLOR.--1613-1667.
_From_ HOLY LIVING.
Virtues and discourses are, like friends, necessary in all fortunes; but
those are the best, which are friends in our sadnesses, and support us
in our sorrows and sad accidents: and in this sense, no man that is
virtuous can be friendless; nor hath any man reason to complain of the
Divine Providence, or accuse the public disorder of things, or in his
own infelicity, since God hath appointed one remedy for all the evils in
the world, and that is a contented spirit: for this alone makes a man
pass through fire, and not be scorched; through seas, and not be
drowned; through hunger and nakedness, and want nothing. For since all
the evil in the world consists in the disagreeing between the object and
the appetite, as when a man hath what he desires not, or desires what he
hath not, or desires amiss; he that composes his spirit to the present
accident, hath variety of instances for his virtue, but none to trouble
him, because his desires enlarge not beyond his present fortune: and a
wise man is placed in the variety of chances, like the nave or centre of
a wheel, in the midst of all the circumvolutions and changes of posture,
without violence or change, save that it turns gently in compliance with
its changed parts, and is indifferent which part is up, and which is
down; for there is some virtue or other to be exercised, whatever
happens, either patience or thanksgiving, love or fear, moderation or
humility, charity or contentedness, and they are every one of them
equally in order to his great end and immortal felicity: and beauty is
not made by white or red, by black eyes and a round face, by a straight
body and a smooth skin; but by a proportion to the fancy. No rules can
make amiability; our minds and apprehensions make that: and so is our
felicity; and we may be reconciled to poverty and a low fortune, if we
suffer contentedness and the grace of God to make the proportions. For
no man is poor that does not think himself so: but if, in a full
fortune, with impatience he desires more, he proclaims his wants and his
beggarly condition. But because this grace of contentedness was the sum
of all the old moral philosophy, and a great duty in Christianity, and
of most universal use in the whole course of our lives, and the only
instrument to ease the burdens of the world and the enmities of sad
chances, it will not be amiss to press it by the proper arguments by
which God hath bound it upon our spirits; it being fastened by reason
and religion, by duty and interest, by necessity and conveniency, by
example, and by the proposition of excellent rewards, no less than peace
and felicity.
Contentedness in all estates is a duty of religion; it is the great
reasonableness of complying with the Divine Providence, which governs
all the world, and hath so ordered us in the administration of his great
family. He were a strange fool that should be angry because dogs and
sheep need no shoes, and yet himself is full of care to get some. God
hath supplied those needs to them by natural provisions, and to thee by
an artificial: for he hath given thee reason to learn a trade, or some
means to make or buy them, so that it only differs in the manner of our
provision: and which had you rather want, shoes or reason? and my
patron, that hath given me a farm, is freer to me than if he gives a
loaf ready baked. But, however, all these gifts come from him, and
therefore it is fit he should dispense them as he pleases; and if we
murmur here, we may, at the next melancholy, be troubled that God did
not make us to be angels or stars. For if that which we are or have do
not content us, we may be troubled for every thing in the world which is
beside our being or our possessions.
God is the master of the scenes; we must not choose which part we shall
act; it concerns us only to be careful that we do it well, always
saying, "If this please God, let it be as it is:" and we, who pray that
God's will may be done in earth as it is in heaven, must remember that
the angels do whatsoever is commanded them, and go wherever they are
sent, and refuse no circumstances; and if their employment be crossed by
a higher decree, they sit down in peace, and rejoice in the event; and
when the angel of Judea could not prevail in behalf of the people
committed to his charge, because the angel of Persia opposed it, he only
told the story at the command of God, and was as content, and worshipped
with as great an ecstasy in his proportion, as the prevailing spirit. Do
thou so likewise: keep the station where God hath placed you, and you
shall never long for things without, but sit at home, feasting upon the
Divine Providence and thy own reason, by which we are taught that it is
necessary and reasonable to submit to God.
For is not all the world God's family? Are not we his creatures? Are we
not as clay in the hand of the potter? Do we not live upon his meat, and
move by his strength, and do our work by his light? Are we any thing but
what we are from him? And shall there be a mutiny among the flocks and
herds, because their lord or their shepherd chooses their pastures, and
suffers them not to wander into deserts and unknown ways? If we choose,
we do it so foolishly that we cannot like it long, and most commonly not
at all: but God, who can do what he pleases, is wise to choose safely
for us, affectionate to comply with our needs, and powerful to execute
all his wise decrees. Here, therefore, is the wisdom of the contented
man, to let God choose for him; for when we have given up our wills to
him, and stand in that station of the battle where our great General
hath placed us, our spirits must needs rest while our conditions have
for their security the power, the wisdom, and the charity of God.
Contentedness in all accidents brings great peace of spirit, and is the
great and only instrument of temporal felicity. It removes the sting
from the accident, and makes a man not to depend upon chance and the
uncertain dispositions of men for his well-being, but only on God and
his own spirit. We ourselves make our fortunes good or bad; and when God
lets loose a tyrant upon us, or a sickness, or scorn, or a lessened
fortune, if we fear to die, or know not to be patient, or are proud or
covetous, then the calamity sits heavy on us. But if we know how to
manage a noble principle, and fear not death so much as a dishonest
action, and think impatience a worse evil than a fever, and pride to be
the biggest disgrace, and poverty to be infinitely desirable before the
torments of covetousness; then we who now think vice to be so easy, and
make it so familiar, and think the cure so impossible, shall quickly be
of another mind, and reckon these accidents amongst things eligible.
But no man can be happy that hath great hopes and great fears of things
without, and events depending upon other men, or upon the chances of
fortune. The rewards of virtue are certain, and our provisions for our
natural support are certain; or if we want meat till we die, then we die
of that disease--and there are many worse than to die with an atrophy or
consumption, or unapt and coarser nourishment. But he that suffers a
transporting passion concerning things within the power of others, is
free from sorrow and amazement no longer than his enemy shall give him
leave; and it is ten to one but he shall be smitten then and there where
it shall most trouble him; for so the adder teaches us where to strike,
by her curious and fearful defending of her head. The old Stoics, when
you told them of a sad story, would still answer, "_What is that to
me?_" Yes, for the tyrant hath sentenced you also to prison. Well, what
is that? He will put a chain upon my leg; but he cannot bind my soul.
No; but he will kill you. Then I will die. If presently, let me go, that
I may presently be freer than himself: but if not till anon, or
to-morrow, I will dine first, or sleep, or do what reason or nature
calls for, as at other times. This, in Gentile philosophy, is the same
with the discourse of St. Paul, "I have learned, in whatsoever state I
am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know
how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed, both to be
full and to be hungry; both to abound and suffer need."
We are in the world like men playing at tables; the chance is not in our
power, but to play it is; and when it is fallen we must manage it as we
can: and let nothing trouble us, but when we do a base action, or speak
like a fool, or think wickedly,--these things God hath put into our
powers; but concerning those things which are wholly in the choice of
another, they cannot fall under our deliberation, and therefore neither
are they fit for our passions. My fear may make me miserable, but it
cannot prevent what another hath in his power and purpose; and
prosperities can only be enjoyed by them who fear not at all to lose
them; since the amazement and passion concerning the future takes off
all the pleasure of the present possession. Therefore, if thou hast lost
thy land, do not also lose thy constancy; and if thou must die a little
sooner, yet do not die impatiently. For no chance is evil to him that is
content: and to a man nothing is miserable unless it be unreasonable. No
man can make another man to be his slave unless he hath first enslaved
himself to life and death, to pleasure or pain, to hope or fear: command
these passions, and you are freer than the Parthian kings.
VII. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.
RICHARD LOVELACE.--1618-1658.
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, too, shall adore,--
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honor more.
VIII. ANGLING.
IZAAK WALTON.--1593-1683.
_From_ THE COMPLETE ANGLER.
_Venator._--O my good master, this morning walk has been spent to my
great pleasure and wonder; but I pray, when shall I have your direction
how to make artificial flies, like to those that the trout loves best,
and also how to use them?
_Piscator._--My honest scholar, it is now past five of the clock; we
will fish till nine, and then go to breakfast. Go you to yon
sycamore-tree, and hide your bottle of drink under the hollow root of
it; for about that time, and in that place, we will make a brave
breakfast with a piece of powdered beef, and a radish or two, that I
have in my fish-bag: we shall, I warrant you, make a good, honest,
wholesome, hungry breakfast, and I will then give you direction for the
making and using of your flies; and in the meantime, there is your rod
and line, and my advice is, that you fish as you see me do, and let's
try which can catch the first fish.
_Venator._--I thank you, master; I will observe and practise your
direction as far as I am able.
_Piscator._--Look you, scholar, you see I have hold of a good fish: I
now see it is a trout. I pray put that net under him, and touch not my
line, for if you do, then we break all. Well done, scholar! I thank you.
Now for another. Trust me, I have another bite: come, scholar, come, lay
down your rod, and help me to land this as you did the other. So now we
shall be sure to have a good dish for supper.
_Venator._--I am glad of that; but I have no fortune: sure, master,
yours is a better rod and better tackling.
_Piscator._--Nay, then, take mine; and I will fish with yours. Look you,
scholar, I have another. Come, do as you did before. And now I have a
bite at another. Oh me! he has broke all: there's half a line and a good
hook lost.
_Venator._--Ay, and a good trout too.
_Piscator._--Nay, the trout is not lost; for pray take notice, no man
can lose what he never had.
_Venator._--Master, I can neither catch with the first nor second angle:
I have no fortune.
_Piscator._--Look you, scholar, I have yet another. And now, having
caught two brace of trouts, I will tell you a short tale as we walk
towards our breakfast. A scholar, a preacher I should say, that was to
preach to procure the approbation of a parish that he might be their
lecturer, had got from his fellow-pupil the copy of a sermon that was
first preached with great commendation by him that composed it; and
though the borrower of it preached it, word for word, as it was at
first, yet it was utterly disliked as it was preached by the second to
his congregation; which the sermon borrower complained of to the lender
of it; and thus was answered: "I lent you, indeed, my fiddle, but not my
fiddle-stick; for you are to know, that every one cannot make music with
my words, which are fitted to my own mouth." And so, my scholar, you are
to know, that as the ill pronunciation or ill accenting of words in a
sermon spoils it, so the ill carriage of your line, or not fishing even
to a foot in a right place, makes you lose your labor; and you are to
know, that though you have my fiddle, that is, my very rod and tacklings
with which you see I catch fish, yet you have not my fiddle-stick, that
is, you yet have not skill to know how to carry your hand and line, nor
how to guide it to a right place; and this must be taught you; for you
are to remember, I told you angling is an art, either by practice or a
long observation, or both. But take this for a rule: when you fish for a
trout with a worm, let your line have so much and not more lead than
will fit the stream in which you fish; that is to say, more in a great
troublesome stream than in a smaller that is quieter; as near as may be,
so much as will sink the bait to the bottom, and keep it still in
motion, and not more.
But now let's say grace and fall to breakfast. What say you, scholar, to
the providence of an old angler? does not this meat taste well? and was
not this place well chosen to eat it? for this sycamore-tree will shade
us from the sun's heat.
_Venator._--All excellent good, and my stomach excellent good too. And
now I remember and find that true which devout Lessius says: "That poor
men, and those that fast often, have much more pleasure in eating than
rich men and gluttons, that always feed before their stomachs are empty
of their last meal, and call for more; for by that means they rob
themselves of that pleasure that hunger brings to poor men." And I do
seriously approve of that saying of yours, "that you would rather be a
civil, well-governed, well-grounded, temperate, poor angler, than a
drunken lord." But I hope there is none such: however, I am certain of
this, that I have been at many very costly dinners that have not
afforded me half the content that this has done, for which I thank God
and you.
And now, good master, proceed to your promised direction for making and
ordering my artificial fly.
_Piscator_.--My honest scholar, I will do it; for it is a debt due unto
you by my promise....
... Look how it begins to rain!--and by the clouds, if I mistake not, we
shall presently have a smoking shower, and therefore sit close: this
sycamore-tree will shelter us; and I will tell you, as they shall come
into my mind, more observations of fly-fishing for a trout....
... And now, scholar, my direction for fly-fishing is ended with this
shower, for it has done raining: and now look about you, and see how
pleasantly that meadow looks; nay, and the earth smells as sweetly too.
Come, let me tell you what holy Mr. Herbert says of such days and
flowers as these; and then we will thank God that we enjoy them, and
walk to the river and sit down quietly, and try to catch the other brace
of trouts.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave;
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
Thy music shows ye have your closes;
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives;
But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
_Venator._--I thank you, good master, for your good direction for
fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of the pleasant day, which is
so far spent without offence to God or man; and I thank you for the
sweet close of your discourse with Mr. Herbert's verses, who, I have
heard, loved angling; and I do the rather believe it, because he had a
spirit suitable to anglers, and to those primitive Christians that you
love and have so much commended.
_Piscator._--Well, my loving scholar, and I am pleased to know that you
are so well pleased with my direction and discourse.... And now, I think
it will be time to repair to our angle-rods, which we left in the water
to fish for themselves: and you shall choose which shall be yours; and
it is an even lay, one of them catches.
And, let me tell you, this kind of fishing with a dead rod, and laying
night-hooks, are like putting money to use; for they both work for the
owners, when they do nothing but sleep, or eat, or rejoice; as you know
we have done this last hour, and sat as quietly, and as free from cares
under this sycamore, as Virgil's Tityrus and his Meliboeus did, under
their broad beech tree. No life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and
so pleasant, as the life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer
is swallowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing or
contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and
possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams,
which we now see glide so quietly by us. Indeed, my good scholar, we may
say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, "Doubtless, God
could have made a better berry, but doubtless, God never did;" and so,
if I might be judge, "God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent
recreation than angling."
IX. ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.
(1629).
JOHN MILTON.--1608-1674.
I.
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
II.