NERISSA.
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
PORTIA.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season’d are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak’d!
[Music ceases.]
LORENZO.
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiv’d, of Portia.
PORTIA.
He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.
LORENZO.
Dear lady, welcome home.
PORTIA.
We have been praying for our husbands’ welfare,
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return’d?
LORENZO.
Madam, they are not yet;
But there is come a messenger before
To signify their coming.
PORTIA.
Go in, Nerissa.
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence,
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.
[A tucket sounds.]