PREFACE

    I will
          set down a tale
               as it
        was told to me
               by one
         who had it
               of his father,
           which latter
            had it of his father,
         this last
            having in like manner
                had it of his father-
                       and so on,
           back and still back,
         three hundred years and more,
           the fathers
              transmitting it
                   to the sons and so
                  preserving it.

    It may be history,
           it may be only legend,
         a tradition.

    It may have happened,
           it may not have happened:
        but it could have happened.

    It may be
         that the wise
               and the learned
             believed it
                   in the old days;
        it may be
             that only the unlearned
                   and the simple
                  loved it and credited it.

    Hugh Latimer,
           Bishop of Worcester,
         to Lord Cromwell,
           on the birth
               of the Prince of Wales
         (afterward Edward VI).

    [From the National Manuscripts
          preserved by the British Government]

    Ryght honorable,
           Salutem in Christo Jesu,
         and Syr here ys
               no lesse joynge
             and rejossynge
               in thes partees
             for the byrth
                   of our prynce,
           hoom we hungurde
               for so longe,
         then ther was
           (I trow),
          inter vicinos att the byrth
               of S. I. Baptyste,
             as thys berer,
             Master Erance,
               can telle you.

    Gode gyffe us alle grace,
           to yelde dew thankes
               to our Lorde Gode,
         Gode of Inglonde,
        for verely He hathe shoyd
                 Hym selff Gode
               of Inglond,
         or rather an Inglyssh Gode,
           yf we consydyr
            and pondyr welle alle
                  Hys procedynges
             with us
               from tyme to tyme.

    He hath overcumme alle
           our yllness
         with Hys excedynge goodnesse,
           so that
             we ar
                  now moor then compelled
                to serve Hym,
         seke Hys glory,
           promott Hys wurde,
         yf the Devylle
               of alle Devylles
              be natt in us.

    We have
          now the stoppe
               of vayne trustes ande
                   the stey
               of vayne expectations;
        lett us alle
              pray for hys preservation.

    And I
           for my partt wylle wyssh
         that hys Grace allways have,
           and evyn
              now from the begynynge,
         Governares,
           Instructores and offyceres
               of ryght jugmente,
      ne optimum ingenium non
         optima educatione
                depravetur.

    Butt whatt a grett fowlle
        am I! So,
           whatt devotione shoyth
               many tymys butt lytelle dyscretione!

    Ande thus the Gode
           of Inglonde
          be ever
               with you
             in alle your procedynges.

    The 19 of October.

    Yours H. L. b.
           of Wurcestere,
         now att Hartlebury.

  Yf you wolde excytt
        thys berere
          to be moore hartye ayen
               the abuse
             of ymagry
              or mor forwarde
                   to promotte the veryte,
           ytt myght doo goode.

    Natt that ytt
        came of me butt
               of your selffe,
           &c.

    The quality of mercy
        ...
    is twice bless'd;
    It blesseth him that gives,
           and him that takes
    'Tis mightiest in the mightiest:
        it becomes
               The throned monarch better
             than his crown.

    MERCHANT OF
        VENICE
 
  CHAPTER I
  The Birth of the Prince and the
       Pauper

    IN
        the ancient city of London,
           on a certain autumn day
               in the second quarter
                   of the sixteenth century,
         a boy
            was born
                   to a poor family
                       of the name of Canty,
           who did not want him.

    On the same day
           another English child
        was born
               to a rich family
                   of the name of Tudor,
           who did want him.

    All England wanted him too.

    England had so
        longed for him,
           and hoped for him,
         and prayed God for him,
           that,
         now that
             he was really come,
           the people
            went nearly mad for joy.

    Mere acquaintances