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A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark!
NERISSA. It is your music, madam, of the house.
PORTIA. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
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, ho! 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.