SCENE II.
Venice.
Enter Launcelot alone.
Laun.
Certainly, my Conscience will serve me to run
from this Jew my Master: The Fiend is at my Elbow, and
attempts me, saying to me, Job, Launcelot Job, good Launcelot,
or good Job, or good Launcelot Job, use your Legs,
take the start, run away: My Conscience says no; take
heed, honest Launcelot, take heed, honest Job, or as aforesaid,
honest Launcelot Job, do not run, scorn running with
thy Heels: Well, the most couragious 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 too;
he had a kind of taste—Well, my Conscience says, Launcelot
budge not; budge, says the Fiend; budge not, says
my Conscience; Conscience, say I, you counsel well;
Fiend, say I, you counsel well; to be rul'd by my Conscience
-- 540 --
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 Incarnation, and in my Conscience, my Conscience
is 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.
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.
God.
Master young Gentleman, I pray you which is the
way to Master Jew's?
Laun.
Turn upon 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
to the Jew's House.
Gob.
By God'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,
tho' I say't, is an honest exceeding poor Man, and God be
thanked well to live.
Laun.
Well, let his Father be what a will, we talk of
young Master Launcelot.
Gob.
Your Worship's Friend and Launcelot.
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 Heaven.
-- 541 --
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 not.
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 mine 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 Phil-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 gree
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,
-- 542 --
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 a Follower or two.
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.
Laun.
To him, Father.
Gob.
God bless your Worship.
Bass.
Gramercy, would'st 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 specifie.
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.
-- 543 --
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,
More garded 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 in Italy have a fairer
Table which doth offer to swear upon a Book, I shall have
good Fortune; go too, 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 gere. Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew
in the twinkling.
[Exit 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, gone.
Leon.
My best Endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Where's your Master?
Leon.
Yonder, Sir, he walks.
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 not Faults;
But where they are not known, why there they shew
Something too liberal, pray thee take pain
To 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.
-- 544 --
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 the observance of Civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
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.
Enter Jessica and Launcelot.
Jes.
I am sorry thou wilt leave my Father so,
Our House is Hell, and thou a merry Devil
Did'st 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 deceived; But adieu, these
foolish Drops do somewhat drown my manly Spirit:
Adieu.
[Exit.
Jes.
Farewel, good Launcelot.
Alack, what hainous 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.
-- 545 --
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 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. Friend Launcelot, what's the News?
Enter Launcelot with a Letter.
Laun.
And 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 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 you for this Mask 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,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is Issue to a faithless Jew.
-- 546 --
Come go with me, peruse this as thou goest,
Fair Jessica shall be my Torch-bearer.
[Exeunt.
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
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 Mony-Bags last Night.
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 Mask, but if you do, then it was not for nothing
that my Nose fell a bleeding on Black Munday last,
at six a Clock i'th' morning, falling out that Year on Ash-Wednesday
was four Year in the afternoon.
Shy.
What are their Masks? Hear you me, Jessica,
Lock up my Doors, and when you hear the Drum
And the vile squealing 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,
-- 547 --
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 Jew's 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 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 borrowed Purse. Well, Jessica, go in,
Perhaps I will return immediately;
Do as I bid you, shut 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.
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 steal Loves 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 the unbated Fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more Spirit chased than enjoy'd.
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 a Prodigal she doth return
With over-wither'd Ribs and ragged Sails,
Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet Wind?
-- 548 --
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; approach;
Here dwells my Father Jew. Hoa, who's within?
Jessica above in Boy's Cloths.
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 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.
I am 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 Shame?
They in themselves goodsooth are too too light.
Why, 'tis an Office of discovery, Love,
And I should be obscur'd.
Lor.
So you are, Sweet,
Even 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 my self
With some more Ducats, and be with you straight.
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 her self;
And therefore like her self, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant Soul.
-- 549 --
Enter Jessica.
What, art thou come? on Gentlemen, away,
Our masking Mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit.
Enter Anthonio.
Anth.
Who's there?
Gra.
Signior Anthonio.
Anth.
Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
'Tis nine a Clock, our Friends all stay for you,
No Mask to Night, the Wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard,
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
Gra.
I am glad on't, I desire no more Delight
Than to be under Sail, and gone to Night.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
