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Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; all but less] expression confusing 'only less than' and 'all but equal to.' oblivious] causing oblivion.
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight;
purpose laid to make the taker mad :
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
PORTIA. Which is the merchant here, and which the
Jew ? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Portia. Is your name Shylock ? SHYLOCK.
Shylock is my name. Portia. Of a strange nature is the suit you
follow; Yet in such rule that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. You stand within his danger, do you not ? ANTONIO. Ay, so he says. Portia.
confess the bond ? ANTONIO. I do. PORTIA.
Then must the Jew be merciful. SHYLOCK. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that.
PORTIA. The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes
mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
SHYLOCK. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. ...
For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth,
your own heart
Overbrim and overflow,
would know ;
199 Ministering Angels
That blessed Angels he sends to and fro
How oft do they their silver bowers leave,
And all for love, and nothing for reward :
200 Prologue of the Attendant
Spirit in Comus' BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's Court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aëreal Spirits live insphered In Regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care Confined and pester'd in this pin-fold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Satan's First Meeting with
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, That dar’st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated Front athwart my way To yonder Gates ? through them I mean to pass That be assured, without leave ask'd of thee : Retire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heav'n.
To whom the Goblin full of wrath reply'd, Art thou that Traitor Angel, art thou he, Who first broke peace in Heav'n and Faith, till then Unbroken, and in proud rebellious Arms Drew after him the third part of Heav'n's Sons, Conjured against the highest, for which both Thou And they, outcast from God, are here condemn'd To waste Eternal days in woe and pain ? And reckonest thou thyself with Spirits of Heav'n, Hell-doom'd, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, Where I reign King, and to enrage
more, Thy King and Lord ? Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings,