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Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio,
Shy. Three thousand ducats !—’tis a good round sum. Three months from twelve-then, let me see-the rate.
Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you?
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,
Ant. I am as like to call thee so again,
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
Why, look you how you storm! I would be friends with
and have your love,
This were kindness.
Ant. Content, in faith: I'll seal to such a bond,
Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me: I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
Ant. Why, fear not, mân; I will not forfeit it:
Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are,
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s;
the ducats straight-
Hie thee, gentle Jew.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay,
When I think of myself as existing through all future ages_as surviving this earth, and that sky—as exempted from every imperfection and error of my present being,— as clothed with an angel's glory—as comprehending with my intellect, and embracing in my affections, an extent of creation, compared with which the earth is a point;—when I think of myself—as looking on the outward universe, with an organ of vision that will reveal to me a beauty, and harmony, and order, not now imagined—and as having an access to the minds of the wise and good, which will make them in a sense my own;—when I think of myself -as forming friendships with innumerable beings, of rich and various intellect, and of the noblest virtue-as intro
duced to the society of heaven-as meeting there the great and excellent, of whom I have read in history—as joined with the “just made perfect,” in an ever-enlarging ministry of benevolence--as conversing with Jesus Christ, with the familiarity of friendship—and especially, as having an immediate intercourse with God, such as the closest intimacies of earth dimly shadow forth;—when this thought of my future being, comes upon me,—whilst I hope, I also fear, the blessedness seems too great; the consciousness of present weakness and unworthiness, is almost too strong for hope.
But when, in this frame of mind, I look round on the creation, and see there the marks of an Omnipotent Goodness, to which nothing is impossible, and from which every thing may be hoped—when I see around me, the proofs of an Infinite Father, who must desire the perpetual progress of his intellectual offspring—when I look, next, at the human mind, and see what powers a few years have unfolded, and discern in it the capacity of everlasting improvement,—and, especially, when I look at Jesus, the conqueror of death, the heir of immortality, who has gone, as the forerunner of mankind, into the mansions of light and purity,–I can and do admit the almost overpowering thought, of the everlasting life--growth—felicity of the human soul.
THE SPANISH CHAMPION.
The warrior bow'd his crested head,
And tamed his heart of fire,
His long-imprison'd sire;
I bring my captive train,
Oh, break my father's chain!"
“ Rise, rise! even now thy father comes,
A ransom'd man this day;
Will meet him on his way.”
And bounded on his steed,
His charger's foaming speed.
And lo! from far, as on they press’d,
There came a glittering band,
As a leader in the land;
In very truth, is he,
Hath yearn'd so long to see.”
His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashid,
His cheek's blood came and went;
And there, dismounting, bent;
His father's hand he took, What was there in its touch that all
His fiery spirit shook ?
That hand was cold—a frozen thing
It dropp'd from his like lead,
The face was of the dead!
The brow was fix'd and white;-
But in them was no sight!