SCENE II.
Changes to Venice.
Enter Launcelot alone.
Laun.
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 heav'ns rouse 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
-- 406 --
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. To be
rul'd by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew
my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of
devil; and to run away from the Jew, I should be
ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the
devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil
incarna; 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.
Enter old Gobbo, with a basket.
Gob.
Master young man, you, I pray you, which
is the way to master Jew's?
Laun. [aside.]
O heav'ns, this is my true-begotten
father, who being more than sand-blind, high-gravel-blind,
knows me not.—I will try conclusions
with him.2 note
Gob.
Master young Gentleman, I pray you, which
is the way to master Jew's?
Laun.
3 note
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 indirectly unto the Jew's house.
Gob.
By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit;
-- 407 --
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, [aside.] 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, God 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, God 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, God
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.
Gob.
Pray you, Sir, stand up. I am sure, you are
not Launcelot my boy.
-- 408 --
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.4 note
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 worshipp'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 God 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
-- 409 --
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.
Laun.
To him, father.
Gob.
God bless your worship!
Bass.
Gramercy, would'st thou aught 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 specifie,—
Gob.
His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
are scarce catercousins.
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 frutifie 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 my
self, 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 God, Sir, and he hath enough.
-- 410 --
Bass.
Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son:
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out.—Give him a livery,
[To his followers.
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?—5 note
Well,
[looking on his palm.]
-- 411 --
if any man 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.6 note—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.
SCENE III.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Where is your master?
Leon.
Yonder, Sir, he walks.
[Ex. Leonardo.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio,—
Bass.
Gratiano!
Gra.
I have a suit to you.
Bass.
You have obtain'd it.
-- 412 --
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 not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they shew
Something too liberal;7 note 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,
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;
Use all th' observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent8 note
To please his grandam; never 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 entreat 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.
-- 413 --
SCENE IV.
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. [aside.]
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!
[Exit.
Jes.
Farewel, good Launcelot,
Alack, what heinous sin is it 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,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a christian, and thy loving wife.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
The STREET.
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.
-- 414 --
Gra.
We have not made 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 a-clock, we have two hours
To furnish us.
Enter Launcelot, with a letter.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news?
Laun.
An' it shall please you to break up this, it
shall seem to signifie.
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.
Go.—Gentlemen, 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 strait.
Sola.
And so will I.
Lor.
Meet me, and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodging some hour 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,
-- 415 --
Unless she doth 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 VI.
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 bids thee call? I did not bid thee call.
Laun.
Your worship was wont 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;
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.
Laun.
I beseech you, Sir, go; my young master
doth expect your reproach.
Shy.
So do I his.
-- 416 --
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,6Q0040 at six a clock i' th' morning, falling
out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in
the afternoon.
Shy.
What! are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica,
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publick 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 a christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
[Exit. Laun.
Shy.
What says that fool of Hagar's off-spring, ha?
Jes.
His words were, Farewel, Mistress; nothing else.
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.
-- 417 --
SCENE VII.
The STREET.
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 fly9 note
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
Gra.
That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse, that doth untread again
His tedious measures with th' unbated fire,
That he did pace them first? all things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
-- 418 --
How like a younker, or a prodigal,
The skarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return,
With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
Enter Lorenzo.
Sal.
Here comes Lorenzo.—More of this hereafter.
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. Hoa, who's within?
Jessica above, in boy's cloaths.
Jes.
Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear, that I do know your tongue.
Lor.
Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes.
Lorenzo certain, and my love, indeed;
For whom 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.
I'm glad, 'tis night, you do not look on me;
For I am much asham'd of my exchange;
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.
Lor.
Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Jes.
What must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, goodsooth, are too, too, light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
And I should be obscur'd.
-- 419 --
Lor.
So are you, sweet,
Ev'n in the lovely garnish of a boy.
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 strait.
[Exit from above.
Gra.
Now by my hood, a Gentile,* note 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.
Enter Jessica, to them.
What, art thou come?—On, gentlemen, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit.
Enter Anthonio.
Anth.
Who's there?
Gra.
Signior Anthonio,—
Anth.
Fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
'Tis nine o'clock, our friends all stay for you—
No masque to night—the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard;
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
Gra.
I'm glad on't; I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail, and gone to night.
[Exeunt.
-- 420 --
SCENE VIII.
Changes to Belmont.
Enter Portia with Morochius, and both their trains.
Por.
Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The sev'ral caskets to this noble Prince.
Now make your choice.
[Three caskets are discovered.
Mor.
The first of gold, which this inscription bears,
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
The second silver, which this promise carries,
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,* note
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know, if I do chuse the right?
Por.
The one of them contains my picture, Prince;
If you chuse that, then I am yours withal.
Mor.
Some God direct my judgment! let me see,
I will survey th' inscriptions back again;
What says this leaden casket;
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give?—for what? for lead? hazard, for lead?
This casket threatens. Men, that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then not give, nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver with her virgin hue?
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves?—Pause there, Morochius;
And weigh thy value with an even hand.
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afraid of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve—why, that's the lady:
-- 421 --
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?—
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold.
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
Th' Hircanian deserts, and the vastie wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as thorough-fares now,
For Princes to come view fair Portia.
The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits; but they come,
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heav'nly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her? 'twere damnation,
To think so base a thought: it were too gross
To rib her searcloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalu'd to try'd gold?
O sinful thought, never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold! they have in England
A coin, that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that's insculpt upon:
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lyes all within. Deliver me the key;
Here do I chuse, and thrive I as I may!
Por.
There take it, Prince, and if my form lye there,
Then I am yours.
[Unlocking the gold casket.
Mor.
O hell! what have we here? a carrion death,
Within whose empty eye there is a scrowl;
I'll read the writing.
-- 422 --
All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold.
Gilded wood may worms infold:1 note
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd;2 note
Fare you well, your suit is cold.
Mor.
Cold, indeed, and labour lost:
Then farewel, heat; and welcome, frost.
Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave.—Thus losers part.
[Exit.
Por.
A gentle riddance—draw the curtains; go—
Let all of his complexion chuse me so.3 note
[Exeunt.
-- 423 --
SCENE IX.
Changes to Venice.
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.
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, stoll'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels too, stones, rich and precious stones,
Stoll'n by my daughter! justice! find the girl;
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.
Sal.
Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his 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,
-- 424 --
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.
Sola.
You were best to 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
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 * noteyour 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 heaviness4 note
With some delight or other.
Sal.
Do we so.
[Exeunt.
-- 425 --
SCENE X.
Changes to Belmont.
Enter Nerissa with a Servant.
Ner.
Quick, quick—I pray thee, draw the curtain strait;
The Prince of Arragon has ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Enter Arragon, his train, Portia. Flourish of Cornets. The Caskets are discover'd.
Por.
Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince;
If you chuse that, wherein I am contain'd,
Strait shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd:
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Ar.
I am enjoin'd by oath t'observe three things.
First, never to unfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose. Next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage.
Last, if I fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
Por.
To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Ar.
And so have I addrest me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope!—Gold, silver, and base lead,
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha, let me see—
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire—that may be meant
Of the fool-multitude, that chuse by show;
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Ev'n in the force and road of casualty.
-- 426 --
I will not chuse what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barb'rous multitudes.
Why then to thee, thou silver treasure-house:
Tell me once more, what title thou dost bear.
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves;
And well said too, for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity:
O, that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly, that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honour?5 note
how much honour
Pickt from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnished?6 note
well, but to my choice:
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves:
I will assume desert; give me a key for this,
-- 427 --
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
Por.
Too long a pause for that which you find there.
[Unlocking the silver casket.
Ar.
What's here! the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule? I will read it.
—How much unlike art thou to Portia?
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings?
Who chuses me, shall have as much as he deserves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?
Por.
To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
Ar.
What is here?
The fire sev'n times tried this;
Sev'n times tried that judgment is,
That did never chuse amiss.
Some there be, that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er, and so was this:
Take what wife you will to bed,7 note
I will ever be your head:
So be gone, Sir, you are sped.
Ar.
Still more fool I shall appear,
By the time I linger here.
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu!—I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wrath.
[Exit.
Por.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools! when they do chuse,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
-- 428 --
Ner.
The ancient saying is no heresy,
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
Por.
Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Where is my lady?
Por.
Here, what would my lord?
Serv.
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify th' approaching of his lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
Gifts of rich value; yet, I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love.
A day in April never came so sweet,
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
Por.
No more, I pray thee; I am half afraid,
Thou'lt say anon, he is some kin to thee;
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him:
Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly.
Ner.
Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!
[Exeunt.
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].
