The Merchant of Venice.Introductory matter[unresolved image link]
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Title page
The Merchant of Venice, A COMEDY, by SHAKESPEARE, AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
Regulated from the PROMPT-BOOK, With PERMISSION of the MANAGERS, By Mr. HOPKINS, Prompter.
An INTRODUCTION, and NOTES Critical and Illustrative, ARE ADDED BY THE AUTHORS of the DRAMATIC CENSOR.
LONDON:
Printed for JOHN BELL, near Exeter-Exchange, in the Strand; and C. ETHERINGTON, at York.
MDCCLXXIII.
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INTRODUCTION.
The Merchant of Venice.
It is said, that Shakespeare took his hint of this play, from
an old ballad. Be it so: no matter whence a Dramatic
author takes his plot, so he plans it well, and makes
good use of it after. It is also said, that the cruel
character was a christian: now though we are totally
against giving prejudiced ideas against any set of people,
especially a race so rejected as the Jews have been,
and are yet; still as among their tribes, in common
with the rest of mankind, several Shylocks no doubt
have been, our author judiciously saw, that making
his principal an Israelite, would place him in a stronger
point of view; and such successful pains has tehe bard
taken with this horrid picture of depraved natur, that
we scruple not to pronounce him, as original and high-finished
a character, as we can conceive, furnished with
a most suitable peculiarity of stile. All the other characters
are well drawn, and well supported; wherefore,
notwithstanding several breaches of time and
place, we may venture to pronounce this to be a piece of
very singular merit. It would be want of gratitude,
for the great satisfaction Mr. Macklin has often given
us in the Jew, not to pronounce his performance remarkably
correct, feeling, and forceable.
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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Drury Lane.
Covent-Garden.
Duke,
Mr. Bransby.
Mr. Morris.
Anthonio, [Antonio]
Mr. Reddish.
Mr. Clarke.
Bassanio,
Mr. Cautherly.
Mr. Bensley.
Gratiano,
Mr. Dodd.
Mr. Dyer.
Lorenzo,
Mr. Vernon.
Mr. Mattocks.
Solarino, [Salerio]
Mr. J. Aickin.
Mr. Davis.
Salanio [Solanio],
Mr. Fawcet.
Mr. Gardner.
Shylock,
Mr. King.
Mr. Macklin.
Tubal,
Mr. Messink.
Mr. Bates.
Launcelot,
Mr. W. Palmer.
Mr. Shuter.
Gobbo,
Mr. Parsons.
Mr. Saunders.
Leonardo,
Balthazar [Balthasar],
Stephano,
Portia,
Mrs. Abington.
Miss Macklin.
Jessica,
Miss Jarrat.
Mrs. Baker.
Nerissa,
Miss Ambrose.
Mrs. Lessingham.
Senators of Venice, Officers, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants.
SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, upon the Continent.
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Main text
ACT I.SceneSCENE, a Street in Venice.
Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.
Anthonio.* note In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me. You say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn—
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
Sal.
Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your Argosies,† note with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burgers on the flood;
Or as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do over-peer the petty traffickers,
That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
-- 158 --
Sola.
Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me sad.
Sal.
My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dang'rous rocks?
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all the spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing. Shall I have the thought,
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?* note
But tell not me;—I know Anthonio
Is sad, to think upon his merchandize.
Anth.
Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad.
Sola.
Why then, you are in love?
Anth.
Fy, fy!
-- 159 --
Sola.
Not in love, neither! Then let's say you're sad,
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say, you're merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows, in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper;
And others of such vinegar-aspect,
That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nastor swear the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Sal.
Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;
We leave you now with better company.
Sola.
I would have staid 'till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Anth.
Your worth is very dear in my regard:
I take it your own business calls on you,
And you embrace th' occasion to depart.
Sal.
Good-morrow, my good lords.
Bass.
Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when?
You grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?
Sal.
We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
Sola.
My lord Bassanio, since you've found Anthonio,
We two will leave you; but at dinner-time,
I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
Bass.
I will not fail you. [Exeunt Solar. and Sala.
Gra.
You look not well, signior Anthonio,
You have two much respect upon the world;
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Anth.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage, where every man must play his part,
And mine's a sad one.
-- 160 --
Gra.
Let me play the fool.—* note
With mirth, and laughter, let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish! I tell thee what, Anthonio,
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks)
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stilness entertain,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion,
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O my Anthonio, I do know of those,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing.
I'll tell thee more of this, another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo; fare ye well, a-while,
I'll end my exhortation, after dinner.
Lor.
Well, we will leave you then, 'till dinner-time.
I must be one of these same dumb wise men;
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
Gra.
Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
Anth.
Farewel; I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra.
Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable,
In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gra. and Loren.
-- 161 --
Anth.
Is that any thing, now?
Bass.
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as
two grains of wheat, hid in two bushels of chaff; you
shall seek, all day, ere you find them, and when you
have them, they are not worth the search.* note
Anth.
Well, tell me now, what lady is the same,
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
Bass.
'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By shewing something a more swelling port,
Than my faint means would grant continuance.
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged. To you, Anthonio,
I owe the most, in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty,
T' unburden all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.† note
Anth.
I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lye all unlock'd to your occasions.‡ note
Bass.
In my school days, when I had lost one shaft,
-- 162 --
I shot his fellow, of the self same flight,
The self-same way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; by vent'ring both,
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way,
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.* note
Anth.
You know me well; and herein spend but time,
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uttermost,
Than if you had made waste of all I have.
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest unto it: therefore speak.
Bass.
In Belmont is a lady, richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues. Sometime, from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages;
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu'd
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
Nor is the wide world ign'rant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast,
Renowned suitors.
O, my Anthonio, had I but the means,
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.
-- 163 --
Anth.
Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea,
Nor have I money, nor commodity,
To raise a present sum; therefore, go forth;
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.SceneSCENE changes to Portia's House in Belmont.
A grand Saloon.Three Caskets are set out, one of Gold, another of Silver, and another of Lead.Enter Portia and Nerissa.* note
Por.
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is weary
of this great world.
Ner.
You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries
were in the same abundance, as your good fortunes are;
and yet, for ought I see, they are as sick, that surfeit
with too much, as they that starve with nothing;
therefore, it is no mean happiness to be seated in the
mean. Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
competency lives longer.
Por.
Good sentences, and well pronounc'd.
Ner.
They would be better, if well follow'd.
Por.
If to do, were as easy as to know what were
good to do,† note chapels had been churches, and poor
men's cottages, princes' palaces. He is a good divine,
that follows his own instructions; I can easier
-- 164 --
reach twenty what were good to be done, than to be
one of the twenty to follow my own teaching. But
this reasoning is not in fashion, to chuse me a husband.
O me, the word, chuse! I may neither chuse whom
I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a
living daughter, curb'd by the will of a dead father.
Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot chuse one, nor
refuse none?
Ner.
Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men,
at their death, have good inspirations: therefore, the
lottery* note that he hath devised, in these three chests of
gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chuses his meaning,
chuses you) will no doubt never be chosen by
any, rightly, but one who shall rightly love. But
what warmth is there in your affection towards any
of these princely suitors, that are already come?
Por.
I pray thee, over-name them, and as thou
nam'st them, I will describe them; and, according to
my description, level at my affection.
Ner.
First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
Por.
Ay, that's a dolt, indeed, for he doth nothing
but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation
to his own good parts, that he can shoe him,
himself: I am much afraid, my lady, his mother,
play'd false with a smith.
Ner.
Then, there is the count Palatine.
Por.
He doth nothing but frown, as who should say,
if you will not have me, chuse: he hears merry tales,
and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher,
when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly
sadness in his youth. I had rather be married
to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to
either of these. Heav'n defend me from these two.
Ner.
How say you by the French lord, Monsieur
Le Boun?
-- 165 --
Par.
Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass
for a man* note
Ner.
How like you the young German, the Duke
of Saxony's nephew?
Por.
Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober,
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk;
when he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and
when he is worst, he is little better than a beast; and
the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I shall make shift
to go without him.
Ner.
If he should offer to chuse, and chuse the right
casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will,
if you should refuse to accept him.
Por.
Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee
set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket;
for if the devil be within, and that temptation without,
-- 166 --
out, I know he will chuse it. I will do any thing,
Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.
Ner.
You need not fear, lady, the having any of
these lords; they have acquainted me with their determinations,
which is, indeed, to return to their home,
and to trouble you with no more suit; unless you may
be won by some other sort than your father's imposition,
depending on the caskets.
Por.
If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
chaste as Diana, unless I be obtain'd by the manner of
my father's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are
so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I
doat on his very absence, and wish them a fair departure.
Ner.
Do you not remember, lady, in your father's
time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither
in company of the Marquis of Mountserrat?
Por.
Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, he was so
call'd.
Ner.
True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my
foolish eyes look'd upon, was the best deserving a fair
lady.
Por.
I remember him well, and I remember him
worthy of thy praise. How now! what news?
Enter Balthazar.
Bal.
The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take
their leave; and there is a forerunner come from a fifth,
the Prince of Morocco, who brings word, the prince,
his master, will be here, to-night.
Por.
If I could bid the fifth welcome, with so good
a heart as I can bid the other four farewel, I should be
glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a
saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he
should shrive me, than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah,
go before; while we shut the gate upon one wooer,
another knocks at the door.
[Exeunt.
-- 167 --
SceneScene, a publick Place in Venice.
Enter Bassanio and Shylock.* note
Shy.
Three thousand ducats? Well.
Bass.
Ay, sir, for three months.
Shy.
For three months? Well.
Bass.
For the which, as I told you, Anthonio shall be
bound.
Shy.
Anthonio shall become bound? Well.
Bass.
May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?
Shy.
Three thousand ducats, for three monts, and
Anthonio bound?† note
Bass.
Your answer to that.
Shy.
Anthonio is a good man.
Bass.
Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
Shy.
No, no, no, no; my meaning, in saying he is
a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is
sufficient: yet his means are in supposition; he hath an
argosie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand
moreover, upon the Ryalto, he hath a third at
Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he
hath, squander'd abroad. But ships are but boards,
sailors but men; there be land-rats and water-rats,
water-thieves and land-thieves; I mean, pirates; and
then there is the peril of the waters, winds and rocks.
The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient; three thousand
ducats? I think, I may take his bond.‡ note
Bass.
Be assur'd you may.
Shy.
I will be assur'd I may; and that I may be
assur'd, I will bethink me. May I speak with Anthonio?
-- 168 --
Bass.
If it pleases you to dine with us.
Shy.
Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation,
which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjur'd the devil
into! I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with
you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not
eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.
What news on the Ryalto?—who is he comes here?
Enter Anthonio.
Bass.
This is Signior Anthonio.
Shy. [Aside.]
How like a fawning Publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a christian:
But more, for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here, with us, in Venice.* note
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
Ev'n there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!
Bass. Shylock, do you hear?—
Shy.
I am debating of my present store,
And by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
Will furnish me: but soft, how many months
Do you desire? Rest you fair, good signior;
[To Anth.
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
Anth. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking, nor by giving of excess,
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
I'll break a custom—Is he yet possest,
How much you would?
Shy.
Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
-- 169 --
Anth.
And for three months.
Shy.
I had forgot, three months, you told me so;
Well then, your bond; and let me see—but hear you,
Methought, you said, you neither lend nor borrow,
Upon advantage.
Anth.
I do never use it.
Shy.
When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep,—
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was
(As his wife mother wrought in his behalf)
The third possessor; ay, he was the third.
Anth.
And what of him, did he take interest?
Shy.
No, not take int'rest; not, as you would say,
Directly, interest; mark, what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromis'd,
That all the yeanlings, which were streak'd and pied,
Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank,
In the end of autumn turned to the rams;
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders, in the act,
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands;
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes;
Who, then conceiving, did, in yeaning time,
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive; and he was blest;
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.* note
Anth.
This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for;
A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heav'n.
Was this inserted to make int'rest good?
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams?
Shy.
I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.
Anth.
Mark you this, Bassanio?
The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.—† note
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
-- 170 --
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
O, what a goodly outside falshood hath!
Shy.
Three thousand ducats! 'tis a good round sum.
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.
Anth.
Well, Shylock, shalt we be beholden to you?
Shy.
Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft,
On the Ryalto you have rated me,
About my monies and my usances.
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
(For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe)
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my jewish gaberdine;
And all for use of that which is my own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to then; you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies; you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold: money is your suit;
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? Is it possible,
A cur can lend three thousand ducats? Or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key,
With bated breath, and whisp'ring humbleness,
Say this; Fair sir, you spit on me, last Wednesday,
You spurn'd me, such a day; another time,
You call'd me dog; and for these curtesies
I'll lend you thus much monies?* note
Anth.
I am as like to call thee so again,
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friend, (for when did friendship take
A breed of barren metal of his friend)
But lend it rather to thine enemy;
-- 171 --
Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face
Exact the penalty.
Shy.
Why, how you storm!
I would be friends with you, and have your love;
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with;
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance of my monies, and you'll not hear me:
This is kind I offer.
Anth.
This were kindness.
Shy.
This kindness will I show;
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond: and in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound,
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body it shall please me.
Anth.
Content in faith; I'll seal to such a bond,
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew.
Bass.
You shall not seal to such a bond for me.
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
Anth.
Why, fear not man; I will not forfeit it;
Within these two months (that's a month before
This bond expires) I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
Shy.
O father Abraham, what these christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teach them to suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this,
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, or profitable,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship!
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not:
Anth.
Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy.
Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
Give him direction for this merry bond,
-- 172 --
And I will go and purse the ducats, straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
I will be with you.
[Exit.
Anth.
Hie thee, gentle Jew.
This Hebrew will turn christian; he grows kind.
Bass.
I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Anth.
Come on, in this there can be no dismay;
My ships come home a month before the day.* note[Exeunt.End of the First Act.
ACT II.SceneSCENE, the Ryalto at Venice.
Enter Launcelot alone.† note
Launcelot.
Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run from
this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow,
and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo,
good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good LauncelotGobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
conscience says, no; take heed, honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest LauncelotGobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels.
Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! says
the fiend; away, says the fiend; for the heavens rouse
-- 173 --
up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my
conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says
very wisely to me, my honest friend Launcelot, being
an honest man's son, or rather an honest woman's son
—(for indeed, my father did something smack,
something grow to; he had a kind of taste)—
well, my conscience says, budge not; budge, says the
fiend; budge not, says my conscience; conscience,
say I, you counsel ill; fiend, say I, you counsel ill.
-- 174 --
To be rul'd by my conscience, I should stay with the
Jew my master, who, heav'n bless the mark, is a kind of
devil; and to run away from the Jew, I should be
rul'd by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the
devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil innal;
and in my conscience, my conscience is but a
kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay
with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly
counsel: I will run; fiend, my heels are at your commandment,
I will run.‡ note
Enter old Gobbo, with a Basket.
Gob.
Master young man, you, I pray you, which
is the way to master Jew's?
Laun.
O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father,
who being more than sand-blind, high gravel blind,
knows me not; I will try confusions with him.
Gob.
Master young gentleman, I pray you which
is the way to master Jew's?
-- 175 --
Laun.
Turn up on your right hand, at the next turning,
but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry,
at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn
down directly to the Jew's house.
Gob.
By heaven's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit.
Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells
with him, dwell with him, or no?
Laun.
Talk you of young master Launcelot? (Mark
me, now, now will I raise the waters:) talk you of
young master Launcelot?
Gob.
No master, sir, but a poor man's son. His
father, though I say't, is an honest exceeding poor
man, and heav'n be thanked, well to live.
Laun.
Well, let his father be what he will, we talk
of young master Launcelot.
Gob.
Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.
Laun.
But I pray you, ergo, old man; ergo, I beseech
you, talk you of young master Launcelot?
Gob.
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
Laun.
Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master
Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according
to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters
three, and such branches of learning) is, indeed, deceased;
or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to
heav'n.
Gob.
Marry, heav'n forbid! the boy was the very
staff of my age, my very prop.
Laun.
Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a
staff, or a prop? Do you know me, father?
Gob.
Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman;
but I pray you, tell me, is my boy, heav'n rest
his soul, alive or dead?
Laun.
Do you not know me, father?
Gob.
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
Laun.
Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you
might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father, that
knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you
news of your son; give me your blessing, truth will
come to light: murder cannot be hid long, a man's
son may; but in the end, truth will out.
-- 176 --
Gob.
Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure, you are
not Launcelot, my boy.
Laun.
Pray you, let's have no more fooling about
it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your
boy, that was, your son that is, your child that
shall be.
Gob.
I cannot think you are my son.
Laun.
I know not what I shall think of that: but
I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery,
your wife, is my mother.
Gob.
Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn,
if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood.
Lord worship'd might he be! What a beard hast thou
got? thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbinmy thill-horse has on his tail.
Laun.
It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows
backward: I am sure, he had more hair on his tail,
than I have on my face, when I last saw him.
Gob.
Lord, how art thou chang'd! How dost thou
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present.
How agree you, now?
Laun.
Well, well; but for mine own part, as I have
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest, 'till I
have run some ground. My master's a very Jew:
give him a present! give him a halter. I am famish'd
in his service. You may tell every finger I have with
my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me
your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed,
gives rare new liveries; If I serve him not, I will run
as far as heav'n has any ground. O rare fortune, here
comes the man. To him, father, for I am a Jew if I
serve the Jew any longer.
Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and a follower or two more.
Bass.
You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that
supper be ready, at the farthest, by five of the clock:
see these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making,
and desire Gratiano to come, anon, to my lodging.
-- 177 --
Laun.
To him, father.
Gob.
Heav'n bless your worship!
Bass.
Gramercy, wouldst thou ought with me?
Gob.
Here's my son, sir, a poor boy—
Laun.
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man,
that would, sir, as my father shall specify—
Gob.
He hath a great infection, sir, as one would
say, to serve.
Laun.
Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify—
Gob.
His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
are scarce cater-cousins.
Laun.
To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew
having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father,
being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you.
Gob.
I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow
upon your worship, and my suit is—
Laun.
In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself,
as your worship shall know by this honest old
man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor
man, my father.
Bass.
One speak for both. What would you?
Laun.
Serve you, sir.
Gob.
This is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass.
I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit;
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me, this day,
And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun.
The old proverb is very well parted, between
my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace of
Heav'n, sir, and he hath enough.
Bass.
Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son,
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
My lodging out; give him a livery,
More guarded than his fellows: see it done.
Laun.
Father, in: I cannot get a service, no! I
have ne'er a tongue in my head! Well, if any man
-- 178 --
in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear
upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, here's
a simple line of life; here's a small trifle of wives.
Alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine
maids is a simple coming in for one man! and then to
'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life
with the edge of a feather-bed, here are simple 'scapes!
Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench, for
this geer. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the
Jew, in the twinkling of an eye.
[Exeunt Laun. and Gob.
Bass.
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this,
These things being bought, and orderly bestowed,
Return in haste, for I do feast, to-night,
My best esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
Leon.
My best endeavours shall be done herein. Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Where is your master?
Leon.
Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio,—
Bass. Gratiano!
Gra.
I have a suit to you.
Bass.
You have obtain'd it.
Gra.
You must not deny me, I must go with you to
Belmont.
Bass.
Why, then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano,
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear no faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they shew
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
T' allay with some cold drops of modesty,
Thy skipping spirit; lest through thy wild behaviour,
I be misconstru'd in the place I go to;
And lose my hopes.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio, hear me;
If I do not put on a sober habit,
-- 179 --
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pockets, look demurely;
Nay, more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, Amen!
Ne'er trust me more.
Bass.
Well, we shall see your bearing.
Gra.
Nay, but I bar to-night, you shall not gage me,
By what we do, to-night.
Bass.
No, that were pity.
I would intreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment: but fare you well,
I have some business.
Gra.
And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt.SceneSCENE changes to Shylock's House.
Enter Jessica and Launcelot.
Jes.
I'm sorry thou wilt leave my father so;
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness;
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Give him this letter, do it secretly,
And so farewel: I would not have my father
See me talk with thee.
Laun.
Adieu! Tears exhibit my tongue; most
beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a christian did
not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceiv'd.
But adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my
manly spirit. Adieu!
Jes.
Farewel, good Launcelot.
Alack, what henious sin it is in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child?
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O, Lorenzo,
-- 180 --
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a christian, and thy loving wife.
SONG, by Jessica.
Haste, Lorenzo, haste away,
To my longing arms repair,
With impatience I shall die;
Come, and ease thy Jessy's care:
Let me then in wanton play,
Sigh and gaze my soul away.
[Exit.SceneSCENE, a Street in Venice.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Solarino, and Salanio.
Lor.
Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, disguise
us at my lodging, and return all in an hour.
Gra.
We have not made a good preparation.
Sal.
We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers.
Sola.
'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered;
And better in my mind not undertook.
Lor.
'Tis now but four o'clock, we have two hours
To furnish us. Friend Launcelot, what's the news? Enter Launcelot, with a Letter.
Laun.
An't shall please you to break up this, it shall
seem to signify.
Lor.
I know the hand; in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
And whiter than the paper it writ on,
Is the fair hand that writ.
Gra.
Love-news, in faith.
Laun.
By your leave, sir.
Lor.
Whither goest thou?
Laun.
Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew to,
sup to-night with my new master, the christian.
Lor.
Hold, here, take this; tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her; speak it privately.
-- 181 --
Go—Gentleman, will you prepare for this masque, to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
[Exit Laun.
Sal.
Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
Sola.
And so will I.
Lor.
Meet me and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodgings, some hours hence.
Sal.
'Tis good, we do so. [Exit.
Gra.
Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
Lor.
I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
How I shall take her from her father's house;
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with;
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew, her father, come to Heav'n,
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me; peruse this, as thou goest:
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt.SceneSCENE, Shylock's House.
Enter Shylock and Launcelot.
Shy.
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.
What, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize,
As thou hast done with me—What, Jessica!—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out,
Why, Jessica! I say.
Laun.
Why, Jessica!
Shy.
Who bid thee call? I did not bid thee call.
Laun.
Your worship was won't to tell me, that I
could do nothing without bidding.
Enter Jessica.
Jes.
Call you? What is your will?
Shy.
I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
-- 182 --
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid, for love; they flatter me:
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal christian. Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house; I am right loth to go;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags, to-night.* note
Laun.
I beseech you, sir, go; my young master
doth expect your reproach.
Shy.
So do I his.
Laun.
And they have conspired together, I will
not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then
it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on
black Monday last, at six o'clock i'th' morning, falling
out that year on Ash-wednesday was four years in the
afternoon.
Shy.
What! are there masques: hear you me, Jessica,
Lock up the doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-nek'd sife,
Clamber you not up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street,
To gaze on christian fools with varnish'd faces;
But stop my house's ears, I mean, my casements.
Let not the sound of shallow foppery, enter
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth, to-night:
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah:
Say, I will come.
Laun.
I will go before, sir.
Mistress, look out at window, for all this.
There will come christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun.
Shy.
What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha!
Jes.
His words were, Farewel, mistress; nothing else.
-- 183 --
Shy.
The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder:
Snail-slow in profit, but he sleeps by day,
More than the wild cat: drones hive not with me,
Therefore, I part with him; and part with him
To one, that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in,
Perhaps I will return immediately;
Do as I bid you—
Shut the doors after you; fast bind, fast find;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit.
Jes.
Farewel; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter lost. [Exit.SceneSCENE, a Street before Shylock's House.
Enter Gratiano and Salanio, in Masquerade.
Gra.
This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzodesired us to make a stand.
Sal.
His hour is almost past.
Gra.
And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
Sal.
O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly,
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
Gra.
That ever holds.
Sal.
Here comes Lorenzo: more of this, hereafter. Enter Lorenzo.
Lor.
Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs have made you wait;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you, then; come, approach;
Here dwells my father Jew.
SONG, by Lorenzo.
I.
My bliss too long my bride denies,
Apace the wasting summer flies;
-- 184 --
Nor yet the wint'ry blasts I fear,
Nor storms nor night shall keep me here.
II.
What may for strength with steel compare?
O love has fetters stronger far!
By bolts of steel are limbs confin'd,
But cruel love enchains the mind.
III.
No longer then perplex thy breast,
When thoughts torment, the first are best;
'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay,
Away my Jesse, haste away.
Hoa, who's within? Jessica above.
Jes.
Who are you? tell me for more than certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes. Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed:
For who love I so much; and now who knows,
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Lor.
Heav'n and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
Jes.
Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.
Lor.
But come at once—
For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes.
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exit from above.
Gra.
Now by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor.
Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
For she is wise, if I can judge of her:
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
-- 185 --
Enter Jessica, to them.
What, art thou come? on, gentlemen, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
SceneSCENE, the Ryalto.
Enter Solarino and Salanio.
Sal.
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship, I'm sure, Lorenzo is not.
-- 187 --
Sola.
The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Sal.
He came too late, the ship was under sail;
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a Gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his am'rous Jessica:
Besides, Anthonio certify'd the duke,
They were not with Bassanio, in his ship.
Sola.
I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets;
My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter,
Fled with a christian! O my christian ducats!
Justice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels! Justice! find the girl;
She hath the jewels upon her, and the ducats.
Sola.
Let good Anthonio look he keep his day;
Or he shall pay for this.
Sal.
Marry, well remember'd.
I reason'd with a Frenchman, yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas, that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country, richly fraught:
I thought upon Anthonio, when he told me,
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.
Sola.
You were best tell Anthonio what you hear,
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Sal.
A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part.
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
-- 188 --
Of his return: he answer'd, do not so,
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio.
But stay the very riping of the time;
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love;
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love;
As shall conveniently become you there.
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him.
And, with affection wond'rous sensible,
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Sola.
I think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee, let us go and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness,
With some delight or other.
ACT III.SceneSCENE, a Street in Venice.
Enter Salanio and Solarino.
Solarino.
Now, what news on the Ryalto?
Sal.
Why yet it lives there uncheck'd, that
Anthonio hath a ship of rich lading wreckt on the narrow
-- 190 --
seas; the Goodwins, I think, they call the place; a
very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of
-- 191 --
many a tall ship lie bury'd, as they say, if my gossip,
Report, be an honest woman of her word.
Sola.
I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as
ever knapt ginger; or made her neighbours believe
she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is
true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the
plain highway of talk, that the good Anthonio, the
honest Anthonio—O that I had a title good enough to
keep his name company?
Sal.
Come, the full stop.
Sola.
Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.
Sal.
I would it might prove the end of his losses.
Sola.
Let me say Amen, betimes, lest the devil cross
thy prayer; for here he comes, in the likeness of a Jew.
How now, Shylock, what news among the merchants?
Enter Shylock.
Shy.
You knew (none so well, none so well as you)
of my daughter's flight.
-- 192 --
Sal.
That's certain; I, for my part, knew the taylor
that made the wings she flew withal.
Sola.
And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird
was fledged; and then it is the complexion of them
all to leave the dam.
Shy.
She is damn'd for it.
Sal.
That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.
Shy.
My own flesh and blood to rebel!
Sola.
Out upon it, old carrion, rebels it, at these
years!
Shy.
I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.
Sal.
There is more difference between thy flesh and
hers, than between jet and ivory; more between your
bloods, than there is between red wine and rhenish:
but tell us, do you hear whether Anthonio have had
any loss at sea, or no?
Shy.
There I have another bad match; a bankrupt,
a prodigal, who dares scarce shew his head on the
Ryalto; a beggar, that us'd to come so smugg upon the
mart! let him look to his bond; he was wont to call
me usurer; let him look to his bond; he was wont to
lend money for a christian courtesy; let him look to
his bond.
Sal.
Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not
take his flesh: what's that good for?
Shy.
To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing
else, it will feed my revenge; he has disgrac'd me, and
hinder'd me of half a million, laught at my losses,
mockt at my gains, scorn'd my nation, thwarted my
bargains, cool'd my friends, heated mine enemies;
and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew
eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions,
senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,
heal'd by the same means, warm'd and cool'd
by the same winter and summer, as a christian is? If
you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do
we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? if
you wrong us, shall we not revenge? if we are like
you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a
-- 193 --
Jew wrong a christian, what is his humility? Revenge.
If a christian wrong a Jew, what should his
sufferance be, by christian example? why Revenge.
The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it
shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.* note
Enter Tubal.
Sola.
Here comes another of the tribe; a third
cannot be match'd, unless the devil himself turn Jew.
[Exeunt Sal. and Solar.
Shy.
How, now, Tubal, what news from Genoa?
hast thou found my daughter?
Tub.
I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot
find her.† note
Shy.
Why there, there, there, there! a diamond
gone cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! the
curse never fell upon our nation, 'till now; I never
felt it, till now; two thousand ducats in that, and
other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter
were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! O,
would she were hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in
her cossin! No news of them; why so? And I know
not what's spent in the search: why, thou loss upon
loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to
find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge, nor no
ill-luck stirring, but what lights o' my shoulders; no
sighs but o' my breathing, no tears but o' my shedding.
Tub.
Yes, other men have ill-luck, too; Anthonio,
as I heard in Genoa—
Shy.
What, what, what? ill-luck? ill-luck?
Tub.
Hath an argosie cast away, coming from Tripolis.
-- 194 --
Shy.
I thank God, I thank God; is it true? is it
true?
Tub.
I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped
the wreck.
Shy.
I thank thee, good Tubal; good news, good
news; ha, ha, where? in Genoa?
Tub.
Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one
night, fourscore ducats.
Shy.
Thou stick'st a dagger in me; I shall never see
my gold again; fourscore ducats at a sitting! fourscore
ducats!
Tub.
There came divers of Anthonio's creditors in
my company to Venice, that swear he cannot chuse
but break.
Shy.
I am glad of it, I'll plague him, I'll torture
him; I am glad of it.
Tub.
One of them shewed me a ring, that he had
of your daughter, for a monkey.
Shy.
Out upon her! thou torturest me, Tubal; it
was my Turquoise, I had it of Leah when I was a batchelor;
I would not have given it for a wilderness of
monkies.
Tub.
But Anthonio is certainly undone.
Shy.
Nay, that's true, that's very true; go seek me
an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before. I will
have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for were he
out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will.
Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go,
good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.
[Exeunt.SceneSCENE, a grand Saloon in Portia's House.
Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, and Attendants.
The Caskets are set out.
Por.
I pray you, tarry; pause, a day or two,
Before you hazard; for in chusing wrong
I lose your company; therefore, forbear, a while,
There's something tells me (but it is not love)
I would not lose you; and, you know, yourself,
-- 195 --
Hate counsels not in such a quality.
I could teach you
How to chuse right, but I am then forsworn:
So will I never be; so you may miss me;
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn.
Bass.
Let me chuse:
For as I am, I live upon the rack.
So let me to my fortune and the caskets.
Por.
Away, then! I am lockt in one of them:
If you do love me, you will find me out.
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof,
Let musick sound, while he doth make his choice:
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
Fading in musick. [Music plays, and Bassanio goes to the caskets.
Bass.
So may the outward shews be least themselves:* note
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
But being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? in religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text;
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on its outward parts.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins,
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;
Who inward searcht, have livers white as milk?† note
-- 196 --
Then, thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee:
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge,
'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meager lead,
Which rather threatnest, than doth promise aught,
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence;
And here chuse I: joy be the consequence!
Por.
O love, be moderate, allay thy extasy;
In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess,
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less;
For fear I surfeit. [Opening the leaden casket.
Bass.
What find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit! what demi-god
Hath come so near creation? move these eyes?
Or whether riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? here are sever'd lips
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends: but her eyes—
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfinish'd. Here's the scrowl,
The continent and summary of my fortune.
You that chuse not by the view,
Chance as fair, and chuse as true:
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content, and seek no new.
If you be well pleas'd with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kiss.
A gentle scrowl; fair lady, by your leave;
[Kissing her.
-- 197 --
I come by note to give, and to receive.
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratify'd, by you.
Por.
You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am; tho' for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself,
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich; that, to stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account; but the full sum of me
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd:
Happy in this; she is not yet so old
But she may learn; more happy then in this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours,
Is now converted. But now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring,
Which, when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Bass.
Madam, you have bereft me of all words;
But when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead.
Ner.
My lord and lady, it is now our time,
That have stood by, and seen your wishes prosper,
To cry, great joy, good joy, my lord and lady!
Gra.
My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me;
And when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
Ev'n at that time, I may be married, too
-- 198 --
Bass.
With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
Gra.
I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours;
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
You lov'd; I lov'd; for intermission
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the casket there;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing here, until I sweat again,
And swearing, till my very roof was dry,
With oaths of love; at last, if promise last,
I got a promise of this fair one here,
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Atchiev'd her mistress.
Por.
Is this true, Nerissa?
Ner.
Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal.
Bass.
And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?
Gra.
Yes, faith, my lord.
Bass.
Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.
Gra.
We'll play with them, the first boy, for a thousand
ducats.
Ner.
What, and stake down?
Gra.
No, we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake
down.
But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?
What, and my old Venetian friend, Salanio? Enter Lorenzo Jessica, and Salanio.
Bass. Lorenzo and Salanio, welcome hither;
If that the youth of my new interest here,
Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen,
(Sweet Portia) welcome.
Por.
So do I, my lord; they are intirely welcome.
Lor.
I thank your honour; for my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have seen you here;
But meeting with Salanio by the way,
He did intreat me, past all saying nay,
To come with him along.
-- 199 --
Sal.
I did, my lord.
And I have reason for't; Signior Anthonio
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a Letter.
Bass.
Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.
Sal.
Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind; his letter there
Will shew you his estate [Bassanio opens the Letter.
Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger: bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salanio; what's the news from Venice?
How doth that royal merchant, good Anthonio?
I know he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.
Sal.
Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost!
Por.
There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world,
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
With leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself,
And I must have the half of any thing,
That this same paper brings you.
Bass.
O sweet Portia?* note
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words,
That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love to you,
I freely told you all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
And then I told you true; and yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart: when I told you
My state was nothing, I should then have told you,
That I was worse than nothing. For, indeed,
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy,
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,
-- 200 --
The paper, as the body of my friend;
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salanio?
Have all his ventures fail'd? What! not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, from England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?
And not one vessel 'scap'd the dreadful touch,
Of merchant-marring rocks?
Sal.
Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it. Never did I know
A creature that did bear the shape of man,
So keen and greedy to confound a man.
He plies the duke at morning and at night,
And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,
The duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
But none can drive him from the envious plea,
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.
Jes.
When I was with him I have heard him swear,
To Tubal and to Chus, his country-men,
That he would rather have Anthonio's flesh,
Than twenty times the value of the sum,
That he did owe him. And I know, my lord,
If law, authority, and pow'r deny not,
It will go hard with poor Anthonio.
Por.
Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble?
Bass.
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
And one, in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
Por.
What sum owes he the Jew?
Bass.
For me, three thousand ducats.
Por.
What, no more?
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description,
-- 201 --
Shall lose a hair, thro' my Bassanio's fault.* note
First, go with me to church, and call me wife,
And then away to Venice, to your friend:
For never shall you lie by Portia's side,
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt, twenty times over.
When it is paid, bring your true friend along;
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time,
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away!
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day.
Bid your friends welcome, shew a merry cheer;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
But let me hear the letter of your friend.
Bassanio reads.
Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, and my
creditors grow cruel; my estate is very low, my bond to
the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible
I should live, all debts are cleared between you and me,
if I might but see you at my death; notwithstanding, use
your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to come,
let not my letter.
Por.
O, love! dispatch all business, and be gone.
Bass.
Since I have your good leave to go away.
I will make haste; but 'till I come again,
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay;
No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt.SceneSCENE, changes to a Street in Venice.
Enter Shylock, Solarino, Anthonio, and the Goaler.
Shy.
Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy.
This is the fool that lent out money gratis.
Gaoler, look to him.
-- 202 --
Anth.
Hear me yet, good Shylock.
Shy.
I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond;* note
I've sworn an oath, that I will have my bond.
Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause;
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him, at his request.
Anth.
I pray thee, hear me speak.
Shy.
I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
I'll have my bond; and therefore, speak no more.
I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh and yield,
To christian intercessors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.
[Exit Shylock.
Sola.
It is the most impenetrable cur,
That ever kept with men.
Anth.
Let him alone.
I'll follow him no more with bootless pray'rs.
He seeks my life; his reason well I know.
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures,
Many that have at times made moan to me;
Therefore, he hates me.
Sola.
I am sure the duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
Anth.
The duke cannot deny the course of law;
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be deny'd,
Will much impeach the justice of the state;
Since that the trade and profit of the city,
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go,
These griefs and losses, have so 'bared me,
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh,
To-morrow, to my bloody creditor.
-- 203 --
Well, gaoler, on; pray Heav'n Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!
[Exeunt.SceneSCENE, a Chamber in Portia's House.
Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthazar.
Lor.
Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
You have a noble, and a true conceit
Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly,
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But if you knew to whom you shew this honour,
How true a gentleman you send relief to,
How dear a lover of my lord, your husband;
I know you would be prouder of the work,
Than customary bounty can enforce you.
Por.
I never did repent of doing good,
And shall not, now.* note
Therefore, no more of it: hear other things.—
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
The husbandry and manage of my house,
Until my lord's return. For mine own part,
I have tow'rd heaven breath'd a secret vow,
To live in pray'r and contemplation,
-- 204 --
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband and my lord's return.
There is a monastery, two miles off,
And there we will abide. I do desire you
Not to deny this imposition:
The which my love and some necessity,
Now lays upon you.
Lor.
Madam, with all my heart;
I shall obey you in all fair commands.
Por.
My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica,
In place of lord Bassanio and myself.
So, fare you well, 'till we shall meet again.
Lor.
Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!
Jes.
I wish your ladyship all heart's content.
Por.
I thank you, for your wish, and am well pleased
To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.
[Exeunt Jes. and Lor.
Now, Balthazar,
As I have ever found thee honest, true,
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
And use thou all th' endeavour of a man,
In speed to Padua: see thou render this
Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;
And look what notes and garments he doth give thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed,
Unto the Traject, to the common ferry,
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee.
Bal.
Madam, I go, with all convenient speed. [Exit.
Por.
Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand,
That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands,
Before they think of us.
Ner.
Shall they see us?
Por.
They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,
That they shall think we are accomplished,
With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
When we are both apparell'd like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace;
-- 205 --
And speak between the change of man and boy,
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays,
Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,
How honourable ladies sought my love,
Which I denying, they fell sick and dy'd;
I could not do with all: then I'll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them.
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell;
That men shall swear I've discontinued school,
Above a twelvemonth. I have in my mind,
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging jacks,
Which I will practise.* note
But, come, I'll tell thee all my whole device,
When I am in my coach, which stays for us,
At the park-gate; and therefore, haste away,
For we must measure twenty miles, to-day.
[Exeunt.Enter Launcelot and Jessica.
Laun.
Yes, truly: for look you, the sins of the
father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I
promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with
you; and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:
therefore, be of good cheer; for truly, I think, you
are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do
you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope,
neither.
Jes.
And what hope is that, I pray thee?
Laun.
Marry, you may partly hope that your father
got you not; that you are not the Jew's daughter.
Jes.
That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed. So
the sins of my mother should be visited upon me.
Laun.
Truly, then, I fear you are damn'd, both by
father and mother; thus, when you shun Scylla, your
father, you fall into Charybdis, your mother. Well,
you are gone, both ways.
-- 206 --
Jes.
I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made
me a christian.
Laun.
Truly, the more to blame he; we were
christians enough before, e'en as many as could well
live one by another. This making of christians will
raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters,
we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals,
for money.
Enter Lorenzo.
Jes.
I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say.
Here he comes.
Lor.
I shall grow jealous of you, shortly, Launcelot,
if you thus get my wife into corners.
Jes.
Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelot,
and I are out; he tells me flatly, there is no mercy
for me in Heav'n, because I am a Jew's daughter:
and he says, you are no good member of the commonwealth;
for in converting Jews to Christians, you
raise the price of pork.
Lor.
I shall answer that better to the commonwealth,
than you can the getting up of the negro's
belly. The Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.
Laun.
It is much, that the Moor should be more than
reason: but if she be less than an honest woman, she is
indeed more than I took her for.* note
Lor.
How every fool can play upon the word!
Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.
Laun.
That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.
Lor.
Good lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then
bid them prepare dinner.
Laun.
That is done too, sir; only cover is the word.
Lor.
Will you cover then, sir?
Laun.
Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.
Lor.
Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt
thou shew the whole wealth of thy wit, in an instant?
I pray thee understand a plain man, in his plain meaning.
Go to thy fellows, bid them cover the table,
serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.
-- 207 --
Laun.
For the table, sir, it shall be serv'd in; for
the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in
to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits
shall govern.
[Exit Laun.
Lor.
O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words. And I do know
A-many fools that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter. How far'st thou, Jessica?
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife?
Jes.
Past all expressing. It is very meet
The lord Bassanio live an upright life;
For, having such a blessing in his lady,
He finds the joys of Heaven here on earth:
And if on earth he do not merit it,
In reason, he should never come to Heav'n.
Why, if two gods should play some heav'nly match,
And on the wager lay two earthly women,
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.
Lor.
Even such a husband
Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife.
Jes.
Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.
Lor.
I will, anon: first let us go to dinner.
Jes.
Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach.
Lor.
No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk,
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things,
I shall digest it.
Jes.
Well, I'll set forth. [Exeunt.* noteEnd of the Third Act.
-- 208 --
ACT IV.SceneSCENE, the Senate-House in Venice.
Enter the Duke, the Senators; Anthonio, Bassanio, and Gratiano, at the Bar.
Duke. What, is Anthonio here?
Anth.
Ready, so please your grace.
Duke.
I'm sorry for thee. Thou art come to answer
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,
Uncapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.
Anth.
I have heard,
Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
His rig'rous course; but since he stands obdurate,
And that no lawful means can carry me
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury; and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Duke.
Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
Sal.
He's ready at the door; he comes, my lord. Enter Shylock.
Duke.
Make room, and let him stand before our face.
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so, too,
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice,
-- 209 --
To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,
Thou'lt shew thy mercy and remorse more strange,
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty.
And, where thou now exact'st the penalty,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture,
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
That have of late so huddled on his back,
Enough to press a royal merchant down:
And pluck commiseration of his state,
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.* note
Shy.
I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
To have the due and forfeit of my bond.
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom!
You'll ask me why I rather chuse to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats? I'll not answer that;
But say, it is my humour? Is it answer'd?† note
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats,
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd, yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i'th' nose,
-- 210 --
Cannot contain their urine; for affection,* note
Masterless passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loaths. Now, for your answer.
As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
Why he, a swollen bag-pipe! but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame,
As to offend, himself being offended;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Anthonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?
Bass.
This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
T' excuse the current of thy cruelty.
Shy.
I am not bound to please thee with my answer?
Bass.
Do all men kill the thing they do not love?
Shy.
Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
Bass.
Ev'ry offence is not a hate, at first.
Shy.
What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice?
Anth.
I pray you, think, you question with a Jew.
You may as well go stand upon the beach,
And bid the main flood 'bate his usual height.
You may as well use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb.
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise,
When they are fretted with the gusts of Heav'n.† note
You may as well do any thing most hard,
As seek to soften that, (than which, what's harder?)
His Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,
Make no more offers, use no further means;
-- 211 --
But, with all brief and plain conveniency,
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
Bass.
For thy three thousand ducats here is six.
Shy.
If ev'ry ducat in six thousand ducats,
Were in six parts, and ev'ry part a ducat,
I would not draw them, I would have my bond.
Duke.
How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none?
Shy.
What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
You have among you many a purchas'd slave,
Which, like your asses, and your dogs and mules,
You use in abject and in slavish part,
Because you bought them. Shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burdens? Let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be season'd with such viands. You will answer,
The slaves are ours. So do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it.
If you deny me, fy upon your law!
There is no force in the decrees of Venice:
I stand for judgment; answer. Shall I have it?
Duke.
Upon my pow'r I may dismiss this court,
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
Whom I have sent for, to determine this,
Come here to-day.
Sal.
My lord, here stays, without,
A messenger, with letters from the doctor,
New come from Padua.
Duke.
Bring us the letters, call the messenger.
Bass.
Good cheer, Anthonio! What, man, courage yet;
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.
Anth.
I am a tainted weather of the flock,
Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.
-- 212 --
Enter Nerissa, dress'd like a Lawyer's Clerk.
Duke.
Came you from Padua, from Bellario?
Ner.
From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.
Bass.
Why dost thou whet thy knife, so earnestly?
Shy.
To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt, there.
Gra.
Can no pray'rs pierce thee?
Shy.
No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.
Gra.
O be thou damn'd, inexorable dog,
And for thy life let justice be accus'd!
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
Ev'n from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And, whil'st thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
Infus'd itself in thee: for thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous.
Shy.
'Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud.
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.
Duke.
This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor to our court.
Where is he?
Ner.
He attendeth here, hard by,
To know your answer whether you'll admit him.
Duke.
With all my heart. Some three or four of you
Go give him courteous conduct to this place:
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.
YOUR Grace shall understand, that, at the receipt of
your letter, I am very sick: but at the instant that your
messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young
doctor of Rome, his name is Balthasar; I acquainted
him with the cause in controversy, between the Jew and
Anthonio, the merchant. We turned o'er many books
-- 213 --
together: he is furnished with my opinion, which, bartered
with his own learning, (the greatness whereof I
cannot enough commend) comes with him at my importunity,
to fill up your grace's request, in my stead. I beseech
you let his lack of years be no impediment, to let him lack
a reverend estimation; for I never knew so young a body
with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance,
whose trial shall better publish his commendation.
Enter Portia, dress'd like a Doctor of Laws.
Duke.
You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes,
And here, I take it, is the doctor come.
Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?
Por.
I did, my lord.
Duke.
You're welcome: take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference,
That holds this present question in the court?
Por.
I am inform'd thoroughly of the case.
Which is the merchant here? and which the Jew?
Duke. Anthonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.
Por.
Is your name Shylock?
Shy. Shylock is my name.
Por.
Of a strange nature is the suit you follow
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not? [To Anth.
Anth.
Ay, so he says.
Por.
Do you confess the bond?
Anth.
I do.
Por.
Then must the Jew be merciful.
Shy.
On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.
Por.
The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heav'n,
Upon the place beneath. It 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:
His scepter shews the force of temporal pow'r,
-- 214 --
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth fit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this scepter'd sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly pow'r doth then shew likest Heav'n's,
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Tho' justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy;
And that same pray'r doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much,
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
Shy.
My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
Por.
Is he not able to discharge the money?
Bass.
Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea, twice the sum; if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.
If that will not suffice, it must appear
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority;
To do a great right, do a little wrong,
And curb this cruel devil of his will.
Por.
It must not be: there is no power in Venice,
Can alter a decree established.
'Twill be recorded for a precedent;
And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state. It cannot be.
Shy.
A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel.
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee!
Shy.
An oath, an oath—I have an oath in Heav'n.
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.
Por.
Why this bond is forfeit;
-- 215 --
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off,
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful,
Take thrice thy money, bid me tear the bond.
Shy.
When it is paid, according to the tenour.
It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
You know the law: your exposition
Hath been most sound. I charge you, by the law,
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear,
There is no power in the tongue of man,
To alter me. I stay here on my bond.
Anth.
Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
Por.
Why, then thus it is;
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
Shy.
O noble judge! O excellent young man!
Por.
For the intent and purpose of the law,
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy.
'Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
Por.
Therefore lay bare your bosom.
Shy.
Ay, his breast:
So says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?
Nearest his heart; those are the very words.* note
Por.
It is so. Are these scales, to weigh the flesh?
Shy.
I have them ready.
Por.
Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death.
Shy.
It is so nominated in the bond?
Por.
It is not so express'd; but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much, for charity.
Shy.
I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.
Por.
Come, merchant, have you any thing to say?
-- 216 --
Anth.
But little: I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.
Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well!
Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you:
For herein fortune shews herself more kind,
Than is her custom. It is still her use,
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth;
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty: from which ling'ring penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honourable wife;
Tell her the process of Anthonio's end;
Say, how I lov'd you; speak me fair in death:
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge,
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend;
And he repents not, that he pays your debt;
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
I'll pay it instantly, with all my heart.
Bass. Anthonio, I am married to a wife,
Which is as dear to me as life itself;
But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
Are not with me esteemed above thy life.
Por.
Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
If she were by to hear you make the offer.
Gra.
I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love;
I would she were in Heav'n, so she could
Intreat some pow'r to change this currish Jew.
Ner.
'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
Shy.
These be the christian husbands! I've a daughter;
Would any of the stock of Barrabbas
Had been her husband, rather than a christian!
[Aside.
We trifle time; I pray thee, pursue sentence.
Por.
A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine,
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shy.
Most rightful judge!
Por.
And you must cut this flesh from off his breast,
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Shy.
Most learned judge! a sentence; come, prepare.
-- 217 --
Por.
Tarry a little; there is something else;
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh.
Then take thy bond, take thou the pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.
Gra.
O upright judge? mark, Jew; O learned judge!
Shy.
Is that the law?
Por.
Thyself shalt see the act!
For as thou urgest justice, be assur'd,
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.
Gra.
O learned judge! mark, Jew, a learned judge!
Shy.
I take this offer, then, pay the bond thrice.
And let the christian go.
Bass.
Here is the money.
Por.
The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste;
He shall have nothing, but the penalty.
Gra.
O Jew! an upright judge! a learned judge!
Por.
Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh:
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more,
But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more,
Or less, than a just pound, be't but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
On the division of the twentieth part,
Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale turn
But in the estimation of a hair,
Thou dy'st, and all thy goods are confiscate.
Gra.
A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.
Por.
Why doth the Jew pause? take the forfeiture.
Shy.
Give me my principal, and let me go.
Bass.
I have it ready for thee; here it is.
Por.
He hath refus'd it in the open court;
He shall have merely justice, and his bond.
Gra.
A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
Shy.
Shall I not barely have my principal?
Por.
Thou shalt have nothing, but the forfeiture,
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
-- 218 --
Shy.
Why then the devil give him good of it!
I'll stay no longer question.
Por.
Tarry, Jew;
The law hath yet another hold on you!
It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
If it be prov'd against an alien,
That by direct, or indirect, attempts,
He seeks the life of any citizen,
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize on half his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy,
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st.
For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
That indirectly, and directly too,
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life
Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
The danger formerly by me rehears'd.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra.
Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself;
And yet thy wealth, being forfeit to the state,
Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.
Duke.
That thou may'st see the diff'rence of our spirit,
I pardon thee thy life, before thou ask it;
For half thy wealth, it is Anthonio's.
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
Por.
Ay, for the state; not for Anthonio.
Shy.
Nay, take my life and all: pardon not that;
You take my house when you do take the prop,
That doth sustain my house; you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.
Por.
What mercy can you tender him, Anthonio?
Gra.
A halter, gratis; nothing else, for heav'ns sake.
Anth.
So please my lord the duke, and all the court,
To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
-- 219 --
I am content; so he will let me have
The other half in use, to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter.
Two things provided more, that for this favour
He presently become a christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.* note
Duke.
He shall do this, or else I do recant
The pardon that I late pronounced here.
Por.
Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?
Shy.
I am content.
Por.
Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
Shy.
I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
I am not well; send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
Duke,
Get thee gone, but do it.
Gra.
In christ'ning thou shalt have two godfathers.
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more,† note
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [Exit Shy.
Duke.
Sir, I intreat you home with me to dinner.
Por.
I humbly do desire your grace's pardon;
I must away, this night, to Padua,
And it is meet, I presently set forth.
Duke.
I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
Anthonio, gratify this gentleman;
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. [Exit Duke, and his Train.
Bass.
Most worthy gentleman! I and my friend
Have, by your wisdom, been this day acquitted,
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.
Ant.
And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you, evermore.
-- 220 --
Por.
He is well paid that is well satisfy'd;
And I, delivering you, am satisfy'd,
And therein do account myself well paid;
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you, know me, when we meet again;
I wish you well, and so I take my leave.
Bass.
Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further.
Take some remembrance of us, for a tribute,
Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
Por.
You press me far, and therefore I will yield.
Give me your gloves, I'll wear 'em for your sake:
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you.* note
Do not draw back your hand, I'll take no more;
And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bass.
This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle;
I will not shame myself to give you this.
Por.
I will have nothing else, but only this;
And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.
Bass.
There's more depends on this, than is the value,
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you;
And find it out by proclamation;
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.
Por.
I see, sir, you are liberal in offers;
You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks,
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.
Bass.
Good, sir, this ring was giv'n me by my wife,
And when she put it on, she made me vow,
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.
Por.
That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts;
And if your wife be not a mad woman,
And know how well I have deserv'd the ring,
She would not hold out enmity for ever,
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! [Exit, with Nerissa.
Anth.
My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring,
-- 221 --
Let his deservings, and my love withal,
Be valu'd 'gainst your wife's commandment.
Bass.
Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him,
Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou can'st,
Unto Anthonio's house: away, make haste,
[Exit Gra.
Come, you and I will thither, presently;
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont; come, Anthonio. [Exeunt.SceneSCENE, a Street.
Re-enter Portia and Nerissa.
Por.
Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed,
And let him sign it; we'll away, to-night,
And be a day before our husbands home:
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Fair sir, you are well o'er-ta'en:
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth intreat
Your company at dinner.
Por.
That cannot be.
This ring I do accept, most thankfully,
And so, I pray you, tell him; furthermore,
I pray you shew my youth old Shylock's house.
Gra.
That will I do.
Ner.
Sir, I would speak with you.
I'll see if I can get my husband's ring:
[To Por.
Which I did make him swear to keep, for ever.
Por.
Thou may'st, I warrant. We shall have old swearing,
That they did give their rings away to men;
But we'll out-face them, and out-swear them, too.
Away, make haste, thou knowest where I will tarry.
Ner.
Come, good sir, will you shew me to this house? [Exeunt.* noteEnd of the Fourth Act.
-- 222 --
ACT V.SceneSCENE, Belmont. A Garden belonging to Portia House. Moon-Light.
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.* note
Lorenzo. The moon shines bright.—In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan wall;
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay, that night.
Jes.
In such a night,
Did Thisbe fearfully o'er-trip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismayed away.
Lor.
In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.
Jes.
In such a night,
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs,
That did renew old Æson.
Lor.
In such a night,
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.
Jes.
And in such a night,
Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.
Lor.
And in such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, (like a little shrew)
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
-- 223 --
Jes.
I would out-night you, did nobody come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter Balthazar.
Lor.
Who comes so fast, in silence of the night?
Bal.
A friend.
Lor.
What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?
Bal. Balthazar 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.
Lor.
Who comes with her?
Bal.
None, but a holy hermit and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet returned?
Lor.
He is not, nor have we yet heard from him.
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Enter Launcelot.
Laun.
Sola, sola, wo, ha, ho, sola, sola!
Lor.
Who calls?
Laun.
Sola, did you see master Lorenzo and mistress
Lorenzo? sola, sola!
Lor.
Leave hollowing, man: here.
Laun.
Sola! Where! where?
Lor.
Here.
Laun.
Tell him, there's a post come from my
master, with his horn full of good news. My master
will be here, ere morning.
Lor.
Sweet love, let's in, and there expect their coming.* note
-- 224 --
And yet no matter. Why should we go in?
My friend, Balthazar, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
Exit Bal.
And bring your music forth into the air.
How sweet the moon-light 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 Heav'n,
Is thick inlay'd with pattens of bright gold.
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still choiring to the young-ey'd cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal sounds!
But whilst this musty vesture of decay,
Doth grosly close us in, we cannot hear it.
Come, hoa, and wake Diana with a hymn;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.
Song, by Lorenzo.
I.
To keep my gentle Jesse,
What labour wou'd seem hard,
Each toilsome task how easy!
Her love the sweet reward.
II.
The Bee thus, uncomplaining,
Esteems no toil severe,
The sweet reward obtaining,
Of honey, all the year.
Jes.
I'm never merry, when I hear sweet music.
Lor.
The reason is, your spirits are attentive?
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
-- 225 --
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
(Which is the hot condition of their blood:)
If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,
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;
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 mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils:
The motions of his spirits are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.* note 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!
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.
Lor.
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
Por.
He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckow.
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.
Are they returned?
-- 226 --
Lor.
Madam, they are not, yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.
Por.
Go, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. A Trumpet sounds.
Lor.
Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet;
We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. Enter Bassanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their followers.
Por.
You are welcome home, my lord.
Bass.
I thank you, madam, give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Anthonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
Por.
You should, in all sense, be much bound to him;
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
Anth.
No more than I am well acquitted of.
Por.
Sir, you are very welcome to our house;
It must appear in other ways than words;
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.
Gra.
By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong;
[To Nerissa.
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.
Would he were hang'd that had it, for my part,
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
Por.
A quarrel, ho, already! What's the matter?
Gra.
About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring,
That she did give me, whose poesy was
For all the world like cutler's poetry,
Upon a knife; Love me, and leave me not.
Ner.
What talk you of the poesy, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death,
And that it should lye with you in your grave:
Tho' not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Give it a judge's clerk! but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face, that had it.
-- 227 --
Gra.
He will, and if he live to be a man.
Ner.
Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
Gra.
Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth;
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.
Por.
You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it; and here he stands,
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.
Bass.
Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it. Aside.
Gra.
My lord Bassanio gave his ring away,
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
And neither man nor master would take aught,
But the two rings.
Por.
What ring gave you, my lord?
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.
Bass.
If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.
Por.
Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By Heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.
Ner.
Nor I in yours,
Till I again see mine.
Bass.
Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
-- 228 --
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Por.
If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to retain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to have defended it,
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.
Bass.
No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor;
Ev'n he that did uphold the very life
Of my dear friend.
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me, to give the worthy doctor.
Por.
Let not that doctor e're come near my house;
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you;
I'll not deny him any thing I have,
No, nor my body, nor my husband's bed.
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.
Lye not a night from home; watch me, like Argus:
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.
Ner.
And I, his clerk; therefore, be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Gra.
Well, do you so; let me not take him then;
For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.* note
Anth.
I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels.
Por.
Sir, grieve not you, you are welcome, notwithstanding.
-- 229 --
Bass.
Pardon this fault, and by my soul, I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Anth.
I once did lend my body, for his weal;
Which but for him, that had your husband's ring,
[To Portia.
Had quite miscarry'd. I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.
Por.
Then thou shalt be his surety. Give him this,
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Anth.
Here, lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring,
Bass.
By Heav'n, it is the same I gave the doctor.
Por.
I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio;
For by this ring, the doctor lay with me.
Ner.
And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
In lieu of this, last night, did lye with me.
Gra.
Why, this is like the mending of high-ways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough.
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?
Por.
Speak not so grosly. You are all amaz'd.
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario.
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa, there, her clerk. Lorenzo, here,
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
And even but now return'd: I have not yet
Enter'd my house. Anthonio, you are welcome:
And I have better news in store for you,
Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon,
There you shall find, three of your Argosies,
Are richly come to harbour, suddenly.
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.
Anth.
I am dumb.
Bass.
Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?
Gra.
Were you the clerk, that is to make me a cuckold?
Ner.
Ay, but the clerk, that never means to do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
-- 230 --
Bass.
Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow;
When I am absent, then lye with my wife.
Anth.
Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
For here, I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.
Por.
How now, Lorenzo?
My clerk hath some good comforts too, for you.
Ner.
Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
There do I give to you and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possest of.
Lor.
Fair ladies, you drop Manna in the way
Of starved people.
Por.
It is almost morning,
And yet, I'm sure, you are not satisfy'd
Of these events at full. Let us go in,
And charge us there, upon interr'gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.
Gra.
Let it be so: the first interr'gatory,
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is,
Whether till the next night, she had rather stay,
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day.
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
'Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing,
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt Omnes.* noteEnd of the Fifth Act.
