_Lor._ In such a night Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 15 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice As far as Belmont. _Jes._ In such a night Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith And ne’er a true one. _Lor._ In such a night 20 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Slander her love, and he forgave it her. _Jes._ I would out-night you, did no body come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. _Enter_ STEPHANO. _Lor._ Who comes so fast in silence of the night? 25 _Steph._ A friend. _Lor._ A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend? _Steph._ Stephano is my name; and I bring word My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 30 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. _Lor._ Who comes with her? _Steph._ None but a holy hermit and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return’d? _Lor._ He is not, nor we have not heard from him. 35 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. _Enter_ LAUNCELOT. _Laun._ Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! _Lor._ Who calls? 40 _Laun._ Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! _Lor._ Leave hollaing, man: here. _Laun._ Sola! where? where? _Lor._ Here. 45 _Laun._ 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._ Sweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter: why should we go in? 50 My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand; And bring your music forth into the air. [_Exit Stephano._ How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 55 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 of bright gold: There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st 60 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. 65 _Enter_ Musicians. Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn! With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear, And draw her home with music. [_Music._ _Jes._ I am never merry when I hear sweet music.