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And if you happen to git put out with your pardner, mebby he'll find fault with you, and say demeanin' words about wimmen or sunthin' like that, whilst sweet Portia's eyes are on you, if you feel like reprovin' him sharp, then you'll remember: "The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven, it blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
She had known Portia's mother rather well, Naomi Rutledge Stanton, the suffrage leader, she was and she had always liked and admired Portia; liked her better than the younger and more sensational daughter, Rose. Miss Wollaston hoped, hoped with all her heart that Portia had not made a tragic mistake in this matter of her marriage.
"On what compulsion must I?" he had demanded, and she had replied, "The quality of mercy is not strained...." The school-book did not print Portia's statement that the Jew must be merciful or the Jew's snarling demand, "On what compulsion must I?"; but Mr.
They had penetrated the thin disguise of clothes, and it was then that I silently wished in Portia's words that "God might grant them a fair departure." Another class of visitor came on a misty morning in a fussy little launch. After preliminary greetings on the beach he remarked on my name, presuming that I belonged to a Scotch family. "A good family, I do not question." "Oh, yes.
Julia is making rather an exhibition of herself, and Portia, who skates as she does everything else to perfection, but who is easily tired, is just now sitting upon the bank with the devoted Dicky by her side. Sir Mark, coming up to these last two, drops lazily down on the grass at Portia's other side. "Why don't you skate, Mark?" asks Portia, turning to him. "Too old," says Gore. "Nonsense!
I hasten to say that these were not Portia's words; all the same, what Portia did say, formed a basis for Rose's unspoken caricature. "Millionaires have legs," she said aloud. "I bet they can walk around like anybody else. However, I don't care who he is, if he'll send back my books."
Still standing before him, she bent her head a little, and with a graceful gesture of the hands, as if offering something, she delivered with heartfelt emphasis the first part of Portia's pretty speech to her fortunate suitor: "You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am: though, for myself alone, I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better; yet for you, I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich; That, only to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account: but the full sum of me Is sum of something; which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd: Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all, is that her willing spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king."
Dulce's silvery laugh is waking an echo lower down. There is a great sense of rest and happiness in the hour. A big, lazy bumblebee, tumbling sleepily into Portia's lap, wakes her into life. It lies upon her, looking larger and blacker than its wont, as it shows against the pallor of her gown. She starts, and draws herself up with a half-suppressed cry.
Gratiano then said that he loved the Lady Portia's fair waiting-gentlewoman, Nerissa, and that she had promised to be his wife if her lady married Bassanio. Portia asked Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa replied: "Madam, it is so, if you approve of it." Portia willingly consenting, Bassanio pleasantly said: "Then our wedding-feast shall be much honored by your marriage, Gratiano."
They would, perhaps, have favoured the public with a repetition of Shylock's trial the next evening, but that, to the great consternation, and, perhaps, indignation of Beatrice, when she came down to breakfast in the morning, she found their tiring-room, the study, completely cleared of all their various goods and chattels, Portia's wig in its box, the three caskets gone back to the dressing-room, the duke's throne safe in its place in the hall, and even Shylock's yellow cap picked to pieces, and rolled up in the general hoard of things which were to come of use in seven years' time.
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