night Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love To come again to Carthage. In such a night Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs That did renew old AEson. In such a night Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew And with an unthrift love did run from Venice As far as Belmont. 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. In such a night Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Slander her love, and he forgave it her. I would out-night you, did no body come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? A friend. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend? Stephano is my name; and I bring word My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. Who comes with her? None but a holy hermit and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 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. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! Who calls? Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! Leave hollaing, man: here. Sola! where? where? Here. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news: my master will be here ere morning. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter: why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand; And bring your music forth into the air. How sweet the moonlight 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 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. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn! With sweetest touches pierce your