_Lor._ The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 70 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 75 Or 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; 80 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 moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; 85 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. _Por._ That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! 90 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. _Ner._ When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. _Por._ So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king, Until a king be by; and then his state 95 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark! _Ner._ It is your music, madam, of the house. _Por._ Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 100 _Ner._ Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. _Por._ 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 105 No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season’d are To their right praise and true perfection! Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awaked. [_Music ceases._ _Lor._ That is the voice, 110 Or I am much deceived, of Portia. _Por._ He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice. _Lor._ Dear lady, welcome home. _Por._ We have been praying for our husbands’ healths, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 115 Are they return’d? _Lor._ Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, To signify their coming. _Por._ Go in, Nerissa; Give order to my servants that they take No note at all of our being absent hence; 120 Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. [_A tucket sounds._ _Lor._ Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.