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Cease; here comes Portia, with a careless face: She knows not yet the happiness that waits her,

Who brings she with her thus, as if compell'd By playful force?

'T is her Numidian Page; a cunning imp, Who must be woo'd to do the thing he's proud of.

Come in, deceitful thing!—I know thee well; With all thy sly affected bashfulness, Thou 'rt bold enough to sing in Cesar's court, With the whole senate present. (To ) Prince of Parthia, I knew not you were here; but yet I guess The song which this sly creature sings so well, Will please you also.

How can it fail, fair Portia, so commended?

What is this boasted lay?

That tune, my father, Which you so oft have tried to recollect;