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 Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
conscience says, no; take heed, honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot
Gobbo, 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 Dobbin
my 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.
Scene
SCENE 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.
Scene
SCENE, 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.
Scene
SCENE, 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.
Scene
SCENE, a Street before Shylock's House.
Enter Gratiano and Salanio, in Masquerade.
Gra.
This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo
desired 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.
[Exeunt.* note
-- 186 --
Scene
SCENE, 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.
Sal.
Do we so.
[Exeunt.* note
End of the Second Act.
-- 189 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
