Salanio.
Anthonio.
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 my self.
Sal.
Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your Argosies1 note
with portly Sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the Sea,
Do over-peer the petty traffickers,
That curtsie to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
-- 386 --
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,2 note
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 * noteAndrew 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 strait 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?
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.
-- 387 --
Sola.
Why then you are in love.
Anth.
Fie, fie!
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,3 note
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,4 note
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And others of such vinegar-aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,5 note
Though Nestor 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.
-- 388 --
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 too 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 a sad one.
Gra.
Let me play the Fool;6 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 stillness 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; who, I'm very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,7 note
-- 389 --
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
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.8 note
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.
Fare well; I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra.
Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable
In a neats tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.
[Exeunt Gra. and Loren.
Anth.
Is that any thing now?9 note
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.
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,
-- 390 --
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 mony, and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
T' unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
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 extreamest means
Lye all unlock'd to your occasions.
Bass.
In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; by ventring both,
I oft found both. I urge this child-hood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,1 note
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,
-- 391 --
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
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; sometimes from her eyes2 note
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; and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand;
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
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.
Anth.
Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea,
Nor have I mony, 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.
-- 392 --
Go, presently enquire, and so will I,
Where mony is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Changes to BELMONT.
Three Caskets are set out, one of gold, another of silver, and another of lead.
Enter Portia and Nerissa.
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 aught 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 easie as to know what were
good to do, chappels had been churches; and poor
mens cottages, Princes' palaces. He is a good divine,
that follows his own instructions; I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done, than to be one of
the twenty to follow my own teaching. The brain
may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
o'er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth,
to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple.
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?
-- 393 --
Ner.
Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men
at their death have good inspirations; therefore, the
lottery, 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 Colt,3 note
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.4 note
-- 394 --
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. God defend me from these
two!
Ner.
How say you by the French Lord, Monsieur
Le Boun?
Por.
God made him, and therefore let him pass
for a man; in truth, I know, it is a sin to be a
mocker; but, he! why, he hath a horse better than
the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than
the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a
throstle sing, he falls strait a capering; he will fence
with his own shadow; if I should marry him, I should
marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I
would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I
shall never requite him.
Ner.
What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young
Baron of England?
Por.
You know, I say nothing to him, for he understands
not me, nor I him; he hath neither Latin,
French, nor Italian;5 note and you may come into the
court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in
the English. He is a proper man's picture, but, alas!
who can converse with a dumb show? how oddly he is
suited! I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his
round hose, in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his
behaviour every where.
Ner.
What think you of the Scottish lord,6 note his
neighbour?
-- 395 --
Por.
That he hath a neighbourly charity in him;
for he borrow'd a box of the ear of the Englishman,
and swore he would pay him again, when he was able.
I think, the Frenchman became his surety,7 note and sealed
under for another.
Ner.
How like you the young German,8 note
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, I know, he will chuse it. I will do any
thing, Nerissa, ere I will be marry'd to a spunge.
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
-- 396 --
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 Marquiss of Montferret?
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 a Servant.
Ser.
The four strangers seek for you, madam, to
take their leave; and there is a fore-runner 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
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.
SCENE III.
A publick Place in VENICE.
Enter Bassanio and Shylock.
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.
-- 397 --
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 months, and
Anthonio bound?
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 Rialto, 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,
land-thieves and water-thieves; I mean, pirates; and
then there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks.
The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand
ducats? I think, I may take his bond.
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?
Bass.
If it please you to dine with us.
Shy.
Yes, to smell pork. 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 Rialto?—
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 mony gratis, and brings down
-- 398 --
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,9 note
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,1 note
I'll break a custom.—Is he yet possest,
How much you would?
Shy.
Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
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
-- 399 --
(As his wise 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, int'rest; 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 th' 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.
Anth.
This was a venture, Sir, that Jacob serv'd for;
A thing not in his pow'r 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;—
But note me, Signior.
Anth.
Mark you this Bassanio?
The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.2 note
—
-- 400 --
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
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, shall we be beholden to you?
Shy.
Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me,
About my monies and my usances.
Still have I born 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 rheume upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold—Mony 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 bondman'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?
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
-- 401 --
A breed of barren metal of his friend?)3 note
But lend it rather to thine enemy;
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 for my monies, and you'll not hear me;
This is kind 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 * notedwell 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
-- 402 --
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,
And I will go and purse the ducats strait;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard4 note
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,5 note and a villain's mind.
Anth.
Come on, in this there can be no dismay;
My ships come home a month before the day.
[Exeunt.
-- 403 --
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
