And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep!
Jessica (points L).—T. O. M.
Mrs. Pet.—T. O. M.? Tom who?
Jessica.—No, no! The—old—man; my father, Moses Shylock, is creeping up the gravel path. Hide me! Do not betray me!
Mrs. Pet.—
Though all the world should crack their duty,
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet would I