_Lor_. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? _Bal_. A friend, _Lor_. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray you, friend. _Bal_. Balthazar is my name: and I bring word, My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? _Lor_. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.-- But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. _Enter_ LANCELOT. _Lau_. Sola, sola, we ha, ho, sola, sola. _Lor_. Who calls? _Lau_. Sola! Did you see master Lorenzo, and mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola _Lor_. Leave holloing, man; here. _Lau_. Sola! where? where? _Lor_. Here. _Lau_. Tell him, there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning. [_Exit_. _Lor_. My friend Balthazar, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand: And bring your music forth into the air. [_Exit_ BALTHAZAR. How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines[114] of bright gold. There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Such harmony is in immortal souls, But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.-- _Enter_ MUSICIANS. GLEE.[115] It was a lover and his lass, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino; That o'er the green corn fields did pass, In the spring-time, the pretty spring time, When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding:-- Sweet lovers love the spring. And therefore take the present time, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In the spring-time, the pretty spring time, When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding:-- Sweet lovers love the spring. _Jes_. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. _Lor_. The reason is your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, If any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature: The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.--Mark the music. _Enter_ PORTIA _and_ NERISSA, _at a distance_. _Por_. That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Music! hark!