Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
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The MERCHANT of
-- 2 --
Introductory matter
Persons represented.
Duke of Venice.
Prince of Morocco, Suitor to Portia.
Prince of Arragon, Suitor to Portia.
Antonio, a noble Merchant:
Bassanio, his Friend:
Gratiano, noble Venetian; and Friend to the Merchant, and Bassanio.
Lorenzo, noble Venetian; and Friend to the Merchant, and Bassanio.
Solanio, noble Venetian; and Friend to the Merchant, and Bassanio.
Salerino [Salarino], noble Venetian; and Friend to the Merchant, and Bassanio.
Shylock, a Jew Merchant:
Tubal, another Jew, his Friend.
Clown [Launcelot Gobbo], Servant to Shylock:
an old Man [Old Gobbo], his Father.
Servants to Portia, four [Servant].
Servant to Antonio.
Servant to Bassanio [Leonardo].
Portia, a rich Heiress:
Nerissa, her Woman.
Jessica, Shylock's Daughter.
Magnificoes of Venice; Officers of the Court of Justice; and Attendants, (Men and Women) upon the Duke, Princes, Portia, Bassanio, &c.
Scene, Venice; and Belmont, Seat of Portia upon the Continent.
-- 3 --
The MERCHANT of VENICE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Venice. A Street.
Enter Antonio, Solanio, and Salerino.
Ant.
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, with portly sail,—
Like signiors and rich burgers on the note flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,—
Do over-peer the petty traffiquers,
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Sol.
Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
-- 4 --
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits note the wind;
Peering note in maps, for ports, and peers, 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 note.
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 note 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 dangerous rocks?
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices note 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, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandize.
Ant.
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.
Sal.
Why, then you are in note love.
Ant.
Fie, fie!
-- 5 --
Sal.
Not in love neither? Then let us say, you are sad,
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are 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 other note of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Sol.
Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.
Sal.
I would have stay'd 'till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant.
Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Sal.
Good morrow, my good lords.
Bas.
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.
[Exeunt Salerino, and Solanio.
Lor.
My note lord14Q0265 Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you; but, at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Bas.
I will not fail you. note
Gra.
You look not well, signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
-- 6 --
Believe me, you are marvelously chang'd.
Ant.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must note play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Gra.
Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart note 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, Antonio,—
I love thee, and it is my note love that speaks;—
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream, and note 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, note
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark:
O, my Antonio, I do know of these note,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing; who, I note am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn note note those ears,
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 gudgeon note, this opinion.—
Come, good Lorenzo:—Fare ye well note 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,
-- 7 --
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.
Ant.
Farewel: note 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 vendable. note
[Exeunt Gratiano, and Lorenzo.
Ant.
Is that note any thing now?
Bas.
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are as note 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.
Ant.
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?
Bas.
'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabl'd mine estate,
By something showing note 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 gag'd: To you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money, and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Ant.
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,
-- 8 --
My purse, my person, my extreamest means,
Lye all unlock'd to your occasions.
Bas.
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; and note, by advent'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, note
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Ant.
You know me well; and herein spend but time,
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And, out of doubt, you do me now note more note 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.
Bas.
In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wondrous virtues; sometime note 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 ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
-- 9 --
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strond,
And many Jasons come note in quest of her.
O my Antonio, 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.
Ant.
Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea;
Neither 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 enquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Portia, and Nerissa.
Por.
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary
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: It is
no mean happiness note therefore, 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, chapels had been churches, and poor men's
-- 10 --
cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine, that follows
his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty
what were good to be done, than be note one of the twenty
to follow mine 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 the fashion note to choose me a husband:—
O me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom note I
would, nor refuse whom note I dislike; so is the will of a
living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father:—
Is it note not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse
none?
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 chooses his meaning,
chooses you) will, no doubt, never note be chosen by
any rightly, but one who you note 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 note, over-name them; and as thou
namest them, I will describe them; and, according to
my description, level at my affection.
Ner.
First, there is the Neapolitan note prince.
Por.
Ay, that's a colt, 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 note
himself: I am much afeard note, my lady his mother play'd
false with a smith.
Ner.
Then, is there the county Palatine. note
Por.
He doth nothing but frown; as who should say,
-- 11 --
An you note will not have me, choose: 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 note marry'd 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 Bon?
Por.
God made him, and therefore let him pass for
a man. In truth, I know it is a sin note to be a mocker;
But, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; note
a better bad habit of frowning than the count
Palatine note: he is every man in no man: if a throstle note sing, note
he falls straight a cap'ring; 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 note requite
him.
Ner.
What say then note to Fauconbridge, 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; and you will come into the court,
and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in the English.
He is a proper man's picture; But, alas, who can
converse with a dumb-show? How odly 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 note14Q0266, his neighbour?
Por.
That he hath a neighbourly charity in him;
for he borrow'd a box of the ear of the Englishman, and
-- 12 --
swore note he would pay him again, when he was able: I
think, the Frenchman became his surety, and seal'd under
for another.
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: an the
worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go
without him.
Ner.
If he should offer to choose, and choose 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 choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa,
ere I will be note 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 note imposition,
depending on the caskets.
Por.
If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
chast as Diana, unless I be obtained 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 I pray God grant them note a fair
departure.
Ner.
Do you not remember, lady, in your father's
-- 13 --
time, a Venetian, a scholar note, and a soldier, that came hither
in company of the marquis of Montferrat?
Por.
Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he
called note.
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? note
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
The four strangers seek for note 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 note 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.—Whiles we shut the gate note upon one wooer, another
knocks at the door.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Venice. A publick Place.
Enter Bassanio, and Shylock.
Shy.
Three thousand ducats,—well.
Bas.
Ay, sir, for three months. note
Shy.
For three months,—well.
Bas.
For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be
bound.
Shy.
Antonio shall become bound,—well.
Bas.
May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?
-- 14 --
Shy.
Three thousand ducats, for three months, and
Antonio bound.
Bas.
Your answer to that.
Shy.
Antonio is a good man.
Bas.
Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
Shy.
Ho, no, no, no, no; note 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 argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies;
I understand moreover upon the Ryalto note, 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, pirats; 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.
Bas.
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 Antonio?
Bas.
If it please 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, fell 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? note—Who is he comes here?
Enter Antonio.
Bas.
This is signior Antonio.
&clquo;Shy.
&clquo;How like a fawning publican he looks!&crquo;
&clquo;I hate him for he is a christian:&crquo;
&clquo;But more, for that, in low simplicity,&crquo;
-- 15 --
&clquo;He lends out money gratis, and brings down&crquo;
&clquo;The rate of usance here with us in Venice.&crquo;
&clquo;If I can catch him once upon the hip,&crquo;
&clquo;I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.&crquo;
&clquo;He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,&crquo;
&clquo;Even there where merchants note most do congregate,&crquo;
&clquo;On me, my bargains, and my well-won note thrift,&crquo;
&clquo;Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe,&crquo;
&clquo;If I forgive him!&crquo;
Bas.
Shylock, note 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; note
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
Ant.
Shylock, albeit I note 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, note
How much you would? note
Shy.
Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant.
And for three months.14Q0267
Shy.
I had forgot,—three months, you told me so.—
Well then, your bond; and, let me see,—But hear you;
Methoughts note, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow,
Upon advantage.
Ant.
I do never use it.
Shy.
When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep,—
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was
-- 16 --
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf)
The third possessor; ay, he was the third.
Ant.
And what of him? did he take interest?
Shy.
No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromis'd note,—
That all the eanlings, which were streak'd, and py'd,
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
In end note of autumn turned to the rams:
And when the work of generation was
Between these wooly breeders in the act,
The skilful shepherd pil'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 eaning 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.
Ant.
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 heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or is your gold, and silver, ewes, and rams?
Shy.
I cannot tell; I make it breed note as fast:—
But note me, signior.
Ant.
Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
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.
-- 17 --
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.
Ant.
Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
Shy.
Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the note Ryalto 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 spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine 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; monies is note your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? is it possible,
A cur can lend note 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 spet on me wednesday note note last;
You spurn'd note me such a day; another time
You call'd me—dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much monies.
Ant.
I am as like to call thee so again,
To spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends; note (for when did friendship take
A breed for barren note metal of his friend?)
But lend it rather to thine enemy;
Who if he break, thou may'st with better face
-- 18 --
Exact the penalty. note
Shy.
Why, look you, how you storm?
I would be friends with you, and have your love,
Forget the shames that you have stain'd we with,
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me;
This is kind I offer.
Bas.
Ay, 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 pleaseth note me.
Ant.
Content, i'faith; note I'll seal to such a bond,
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. note
Bas.
You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
Ant.
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 the bond.
Shy.
O father Abraham, what the christians note are;
Whose own hard dealing note teaches them 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, profitable neither,
-- 19 --
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.
Ant.
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 straight;
Look to note my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently
I will be with you.
Ant.
Hye thee, gentle Jew.—
[Exit Shylock.
The Hebrew note will turn christian, he grows kind. note
Bas.
I like not fair terms, note and a villain's mind.
Ant.
Come on; in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Prince of Morocco, and Train, with Portia; Nerissa, and Others, attending.
Mor.
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred:
Bring me note the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the isicles,
And let us make14Q0268 incision for your love,
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love I swear,
-- 20 --
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd note it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
Por.
In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
But, if my father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his will, to note yield myself
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you,
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair,
As any comer I have look'd on yet,
For my affection.
Mor.
Even for that I thank you;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets,
To try my fortune. By this scymitar note,—
That slew the sophy, and a Persian prince,
That won three fields of sultan Solyman,—
I would o'er-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars note for prey note,
To win thee, lady note: But, alas the while!
If Hercules, and Lychas, play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page note;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.
Por.
You must take your chance;
And either not attempt to choose at all,
-- 21 --
Or swear, before you choose,—if you choose wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage; therefore be advis'd.
Mor.
Nor will not; come, bring me unto my note chance.
Por.
First, forward to the temple; after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Mor.
Good fortune then!
To make me blest, or cursed'st among men.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Venice. A Street.
Enter Launcelot Gobbo, the Clown.
Clo.
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 note 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:14Q0269 Well, the most
couragious fiend bids me pack; via, says the fiend; away,
says the fiend, for the heavens;14Q0270 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 conscience says,—Launcelot, bouge
not; bouge, says the fiend; bouge not, says my conscience:
Conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend, say I, you
counsel well: note 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
-- 22 --
should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence,
is the devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is the very devil
incarnation; note and, in my conscience, my conscience
is but note 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, note
I will run.
Enter old Gobbo, his Father, with a Basket.
Fat.
Master young man, you, I pray you, which is
the way to master Jew's?
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel-blind,
knows me not: I will try confusions note with him.&crquo;
Fat.
Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is
the way to master Jew's?
Clo.
Turn up on note 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 note Jew's house.
Fat.
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?
Clo.
Talk you of young master Launcelot?—&clquo;Mark
me now; now will I raise the waters:&crquo;—Talk you of
young master Launcelot?
Fat.
No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father,
though I say it note, is an honest exceeding poor man,
and, God be thanked, well to live.
Clo.
Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of
young master Launcelot.
Fat.
Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. note
-- 23 --
Clo.
But, I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech
you; Talk you of young master Launcelot?
Fat.
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
Clo.
Ergo, note 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 note, deceased;
or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to
heaven.
Fat.
Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff
of my age, my very prop.
Clo.
Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff,
or a prop?—Do you know me, father?
Fat.
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?
Clo.
Do you not know me, father?
Fat.
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
Clo.
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; murther cannot be hid long, a man's son may;
but, in the end, truth note will out. note
Fat.
Pray you note sir, stand up; I am sure, you are not
Launcelot my boy.
Clo.
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.
Fat.
I cannot think, you are my son.
Clo.
I know not what I shall think of that: but I
am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure, Margery,
-- 24 --
your wife, is my mother.
Fat.
Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if
thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
Lord worship'd he note be, what a beard hast thou got! thou
hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my fil-horse note
has on note his tail.
Clo.
It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows
backward; I am sure, he had more hair of his tail, than
I have of my face, when I last note saw him.
Fat.
Lord, how art thou chang'd! How dost thou
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present;
How 'gree note you now?
Clo.
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 not him, 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 Servant, and other Followers.
Bas.
You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: See
these &dagger2; letters deliver'd; put the liveries to making; and
desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
[to a Follower, who bows, and goes out.
Clo.
To him, father.
Fat.
God bless your worship!
Bas.
Gramercy; Would'st thou ought with me?
-- 25 --
Fat.
Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,—
Clo.
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man;
that would, sir, as my father shall specify.
Fat.
He hath a great infection, sir, as one would
say, to serve—
Clo.
Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and have a desire as my father shall specify.
Fat.
His master and he (saving your worship's reverence)
are scarce cater-cousins:
Clo.
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 fruitify unto you.
Fat.
I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow
upon your worship; and my suit is,—
Clo.
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.
Bas.
One speak for both;—What would you?
Clo.
Serve you, sir.
Fat.
That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bas.
I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit:
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day,
And hath prefer'd thee; if it be preferment,
To leave a rich Jew's service to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Clo.
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.
Bas.
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
-- 26 --
More garded than his fellows; see it done.
Clo.
Father, in:—I cannot get a service, no; I have
ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy14Q0271
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 note, and nine maids,
is a simple coming in for one man: and then, to 'scape note
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. note
[Exeunt Clown, and Father.
Bas.
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this;
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd,
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hye thee, go. note
Ser.
My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Where is your master?
Ser.
Yonder, sir, he walks.
[Exit Servant.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio,—
Bas.
Gratiano!
Gra.
I have a note suit to you.
Bas.
You have obtain'd it.
Gra.
Nay, you must not deny me; I must go
With you to Belmont.
Bas.
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 show note
-- 27 --
Something too liberal;—pray thee note, 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. note
Gra.
Signior Bassanio, hear me:
If I note do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, 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 study'd in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more.
Bas.
Well, we shall see your bearing.
Gra.
Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me
By what we do to-night.
Bas.
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, note
I have some business.
Gra.
And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest;
But we will visit you at supper-time.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The same. A Room in Shylock's House.
Enter Jessica, and Clown.
Jes.
I am 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 &dagger2; thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
-- 28 --
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Give him this &dagger2; letter, do it secretly,
And so farewel; I would not have my father
See me in note talk with thee.
Clo.
Adieu; tears exhibit my tongue; most beautiful
pagan, most sweet Jew! if a christian did not note play the
knave, and get thee, I am much deceived: but, adieu;
these foolish drops do something note drown my manly spirit;
adieu!
Jes.
Farewel, good Launcelot.—
[Exit Clown.
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 IV.
The same. A Street.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Solanio, and Salerino.
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 us yet of torch-bearers.
Sol.
'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd;
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 Clown, with a Letter.
Clo.
An it shall please note you to break up this &dagger2;, it
shall seem to signify.
-- 29 --
Lor.
I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
And whiter note than the paper it writ on,
Is the note fair hand that writ.
Gra.
Love-news, i' faith.
Clo.
By your leave, sir.
Lor.
Whither go'st thou?
Clo.
Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to
sup to-night with my new master the christian.
Lor.
Hold here, take &dagger2; this: tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her; speak it privately; go.—
Gentlemen,
[Exit Clown.
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
Sal.
Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
Sol.
And so will I.
Lor.
Meet me, and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
Sal.
'Tis good we do so.
[Exeunt Sal. and Sol.
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 heaven,
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 &dagger2;, as thou go'st:
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
The same. Before Shylock's Door.
-- 30 --
Enter Shylock, and Clown.
Shy.
Well, thou shalt see note, 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!
Clo.
Why, Jessica!
Shy.
Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
Clo.
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 money-bags to-night.
Clo.
I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth
expect your reproach:
Shy.
So do I his.
Clo.
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,14Q0272 at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that
year on ash-wednesday was four year in the afternoon.
Shy.
What, are there masques? note—Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; And when you hear the drum,
And the vile squealing note of the wry-neck'd fife,
-- 31 --
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 shut 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.
Clo.
I will go before, sir.—
Mistress, look out at window note, for all this;
There will come a christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
[Exit Clown.
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, and he note 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 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 VI.
The same.
Enter Gratiano, and Salerino, masqu'd.
Gra.
This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo
Desir'd us to make stand. note
-- 32 --
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' pidgeons fly,
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 the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? all things that are
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younger, or a prodigal,
The skarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hug'd note and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like a prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd note ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
Enter Lorenzo, masqu'd.
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:—Ho! who's within?
Enter 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 who love I so much? and now who knows,
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
-- 33 --
Lor.
Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that thou art.
Jes.
Here, catch this &dagger2; casket, it is worth note 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 shames? note
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscur'd.
Lor.
So are you note, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once;
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay'd 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 gentle note, and no Jew.
Lor.
Beshrow note 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, below.
What, art thou come?—On, gentlemen note, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit, with Jessica, and Salerino.
-- 34 --
Enter Antonio.
Ant.
Who's there? note
Gra.
Signior, Antonio?
Ant.
Fie, 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. note
Gra. note
I am glad on't; I desire no more delight,
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Flourish. Enter Prince of Morocco, with Portia,
and both their Trains.
Por.
Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince:—
Now make your choice.
Mor.
This first, of gold, who this inscription bears;—
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many note men desire.
The second, silver, which this promise carries;—
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt;—
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.—
How shall I know if I do choose the right. note
Por.
The one of them contains my picture, prince;
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
Mor.
Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
I will survey the inscriptions back again:
What says this leaden casket?
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give,—For what? for lead? hazard for lead?
This casket threatens: Men, that hazard all,
-- 35 --
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, ought for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves,—Pause there, Morocco,
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 afeard of note my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve,—Why, that's the lady:
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. note
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying 'grav'd in gold.
Who chooseth 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:
The Hyrcanian note deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia:
The watry kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spets 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 heavenly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation,
To think so base a thought; it were too gross
-- 36 --
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 jem
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
Lies all within.—Deliver me the key;
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!
Por.
There, take &dagger2; it, prince; and if my form lye there,
Then I am yours.
Mor.
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scrowl? I'll read the writing. note
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 tombs do note worms enfold.14Q0273
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
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 choose me so.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Venice. A Street.
-- 37 --
Enter Solanio, and Salerino.
Sal.
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.
Sol.
The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke;
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Sal.
He came too note late, the ship was under sail:
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous note Jessica:
Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke,
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Sol.
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, stoln from me by my daughter!
And jewels; two stones, two rich note and precious stones,
Stoln 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.
Sol.
Let good Antonio 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:
-- 38 --
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me;
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.
Sol.
You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, lest it note may grieve him.
Sal.
A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
Bassanio told him,—he would make some speed
Of his return; he answer'd,—Do not so,
Slubber not note 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:14Q0274
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 wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Sol.
I think, he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee note, let us go and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.
Sal.
Do we so.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Nerissa, and a Servant.
Ner.
Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;
The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Flourish. Enter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their Trains.
-- 39 --
Por.
Behold, there † stand the caskets, noble prince:
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, note without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Arr.
I am enjoin'd by oath to 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; lastly,
If I do 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.
Arr.
And so have I addrest me: Fortune now
To my heart's hope!—Gold, silver, and base lead.
Who chooseth 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 chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire,—That many may be meant
Of the note fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interiour, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves
-- 40 --
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! and 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 note would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honour? and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff note and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd? note Well, but to my choice:
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves:
I will assume desert;—Give me a key for this;—
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
&clquo;Por.
&clquo;Too long a pause for that which you find there.&crquo;
Arr.
What's here? the portrait of a blinking ideot,
Presenting me a schedule? note I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia?
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings?
Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves:
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? note are my deserts no better?
Por.
To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
Arr.
What is note here?
The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times try'd that judgment note is,
That did never choose amis:
Some there be, that shadows kis;
Such have but a shadow's blis:
-- 41 --
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head:
So farewel, sir, note you are sped.
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 wroath.
[Exeunt Arragon, and Train.
Por.
Thus hath the candle sindg'd the moath.—
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
They have the wisdom note by their wit to lose.
Ner.
The ancient saying is no heresy;—
Hanging, and wiving, goes by destiny.
Por.
Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Where is my lady?
Por.
Here; What would my lord?
Ser.
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the approaching of his lord:
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath note,
Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen
So likely an embassador of love:
A day in April never came so sweet,
To show note how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrier note comes before his lord.
Por.
No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard,
-- 42 --
Thou wilt 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.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Venice. A Street.
Enter Solanio, and Salerino.
Sol.
Now, what news on the Ryalto?
Sal.
Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that Antonio
hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas;
the Goodwins, I think, they call the place; a very dangerous
flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall
ship lye bury'd, as they say, if my gossip note report be an
honest woman of her word.
Sol.
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 Antonio, the honest Antonio,
—O, that I had a title good enough to keep his name
company!—
Sal.
Come, the full stop.
Sol.
Ha, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath
lost a ship.
Sal.
I would it might prove the end of his losses!
Sol.
Let me say, amen, betimes, lest the devil cross
my prayer;14Q0275 for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.—
Enter Shylock.
-- 43 --
How now, Shylock? what news among the merchants?
Shy.
You knew note, none so well, none so well as you,
of my daughter's flight.
Sal.
That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor
that made the wings she flew withal.
Sol.
And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird
was fledge; note 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!
Sol.
Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?
Shy.
I say, my daughter is my flesh and my blood. note
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 Antonio have had any
loss at sea note or no?
Shy.
There I have another bad match: a bankrupt,
a prodigal, who dare scarce shew his head on the Ryalto; note
a beggar, that was us'd to come so smug 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 hath disgrac'd me, and
hinder'd me half a million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd
at my gains, scorn'd my nation, thwarted my bargains,
cool'd my friends, heated mine enemies; And what's
-- 44 --
his reason? note 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, healed by the same
means, warmed and cooled 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? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in
that. If a 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.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house,
and desires to speak with you both.
Sal.
We have been up and down to seek him.
Enter Tubal.
Sol.
Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot
be match'd, unless the devil himself turn Jew.
[Exeunt Sol. Sal. and Ser.
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.
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 note my daughter were
dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! 'would she
-- 45 --
were hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin!
No news of them? Why, so: and I know not what's
spent note in the search. Why, thou loss note 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 note shoulders; no sighs, but o'my note breathing;
no tears, but o'my shedding.
Tub.
Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, as I
heard in note Genoa note,—
Shy.
What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?
Tub.
—hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.
Shy.
I thank God, I thank God:—Is it true, is it
true? note
Tub.
I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped
the wreck.
Shy.
I thank thee, good note Tubal;—Good news, good
news! ha, ha!—Where? in note 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 Antonio's creditors in my
company to Venice, note that swear he cannot choose but
break.
Shy.
I am very glad of it; I'll plague him, I'll torture
him; I am glad of it. note
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:
-- 46 --
I would not have given it for a wilderness of
monkies.
Tub.
But Antonio is certainly undone.
Shy.
Nay, that's true, that's very true: Go, Tubal,
see 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 note, Tubal,
and meet me at our synagogue; go, good Tubal;
at our synagogue, Tubal.
[Exeunt, severally.
SCENE II.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Bassanio, and Portia; Gratiano, Nerissa, and Train. Caskets set out.
Por.
I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two,
Before you hazard; for, in choosing 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,
Hate counsels not in such a quality:
But lest you should not understand me well,
(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought)
I would detain you here some month or two,
Before you venture for me. I could teach you
How to choose right, but then I am note forsworn;
So will I never be: so may you miss me;
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn. Beshrow note your eyes,
They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me;
One half of me is yours, note the other yours note,—
Mine own, I would say; but if mine note, then yours,
And so all yours: O, these naughty times
Put note bars between the owners and their rights;
-- 47 --
And so, though yours, not yours,—Prove it not so!14Q0276
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
I speak too long; but 'tis to piece the note time,
To eke it note, and to draw note it out in length,
To stay you from election.
Bas.
Let me choose;
For, as I am, I live upon the rack.
Por.
Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess
What treason there is mingl'd with your love.
Bas.
None, but that ugly treason of mistrust,
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
There may as well be amity and life
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.
Por.
Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack,
Where men enforced do speak note any thing.
Bas.
Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.
Por.
Well then, confess, and live.
Bas.
Confess, and love,
Had been the very sum of my confession:
O happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.
Por.
Away then: I am lock'd 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: that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream,
And watry death-bed for him: He may win;
And what is musick then? then musick is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
-- 48 --
To a new-crowned monarch: such it is,
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day,
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
With no less presence, but with much more love,
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
The virgin tribute pay'd by howling Troy
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
With bleared visages, come forth to view
The issue o'the exploit. Go, Hercules;
Live thou, I live: with much much more note dismay
I view note the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray.
Musick; the whilst Bassanio comments on the Caskets to himself.
SONG.14Q0277
1. V.
Tell me, where is fancy bred,
or in the heart, or in the head?
how begot, how nourished?
reply, reply.
2. V.
It is engender'd in the eyes, note
with gazing fed; and fancy dies
in the cradle where it lies:
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it,—Ding dong, bell.
all.
Ding dong, bell.
Bas.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted note and corrupt,
But, being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
-- 49 --
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice note so simple, but assumes
Some mark note of virtue on his 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 search'd, have livers white as milk?
And these assume but valour's excrement,
To render them redouted. Look on beauty,
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature,
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped snaky golden locks,
Which make note note such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The scull that bred them in the sepulcher.
Thus ornament is but the gilded note shore
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou note gaudy gold,
Hard food for note 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 threaten'st than dost promise ought,
Thy plainness note moves me more than eloquence,
And here choose I; Joy be the consequence!
Por.
How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-ey'd jealousy.
-- 50 --
O love, be moderate, allay thy extasy,
In measure rain thy note joy, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!
Bas.
Ha! what find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demy-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 note breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: 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 unfurnish'd note: Yet, look, how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the † scrowl,
The continent and summary of my fortune.
You, that choose not by the view,
Chance as fair, and choose 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 blis,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kis.
A gentle scrowl;—Fair lady, by your leave:
I come by note, to give, and to receive.
Like one of two contending in a prize,
-- 51 --
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause, and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of note praise be his or no;
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratify'd by you.
Por.
You see me, lord Bassanio note, where I stand,
Such as I am: though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebl'd twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich; that to note stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of something; note14Q0278 which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractic'd:
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this note, in that
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; note [give them with this &dagger2; ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,
-- 52 --
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Bas.
Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins:
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Exprest, and not exprest: 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 our wishes prosper,
To cry, good 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,
Even at that time I may be marry'd too.
Bas.
With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
Gra.
I thank your lordship; you have got note 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 intermission14Q0279
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the caskets note there;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing here, until I sweat again;
And swearing, 'till my very roof was note dry
With oaths of love; at last,—if promise last,—
-- 53 --
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 note you stand pleas'd withal.
Bas.
And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?
Gra.
Yes, 'faith, my lord.
Bas.
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, Salerio?
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerino.
Bas.
Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome:—By your leave,
I bid my very note friends, and countrymen,
Sweet Portia, welcome.
Por.
So do I, my lord;
They are entirely welcome.
Lor.
I thank your honour:—For my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have seen you here;
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
To come with him along.
Sal.
I did, my lord;
And I note have reason for it. Signior Antonio
Commends him to you.
delivering a Letter.
Bas.
Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.
-- 54 --
Sal.
Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will show note you his estate.
Gra.
Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger, bid her welcome.—
Your hand, Salerio; What's the news from Venice?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know, he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.
Sal.
I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.
Por.
There are some shrowd note contents in yon' same paper,
That steals the colour from Bassanio's note 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 note must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.
Bas.
O sweet Portia,
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 meer enemy,
To feed my means. Here † is a letter, lady;
The paper as the body of my friend,
-- 55 --
And every word in it a gaping wound
Issuing life-blood.—But is it true, Salerio?
Have all note his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,
And not one vessel scape 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 countrymen,
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh,
Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,
If law, authority, and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.
Por.
Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble?
Bas.
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best-condition'd and unweary'd note spirit
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,
-- 56 --
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
Por.
What sum owes he the Jew?
Bas.
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
Should lose a hair through Bassanio's note fault.
First, go with me to church, and call me wife;
And then away to Venice to your friend;
For never shall you lye by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
When it is pay'd, bring your true friend along:
My maid Nerissa, and myself, meantime,
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
Bid your friends welcome, show note a merry cheer;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
But let me hear the letter of your friend.
Bas. [reads.]
Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarry'd,
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 clear'd between
you and me, if I might but note see you at my death: notwithstanding,
use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade
you to come, let not my letter.
Por. note
O love, dispatch all business, and be gone.
Bas.
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,
Nor rest note be interposer 'twixt us twain.
[Exeunt.
-- 57 --
SCENE III.
Venice. A Street.
Enter Shylock, Solanio, Antonio, and Jailor.
Shy.
Jailor, look to him;—Tell not me of mercy;
This is the fool that lent out note money gratis;—
Jailor, look to him.
Ant.
Hear me yet, good Shylock.
Shy.
I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond;
I have 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 jailor, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request.
Ant.
I pray thee note, 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.
Sol.
It is the most impenetrable cur,
That ever kept with men.
Ant.
Let him alone;
I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
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.
Sol.
I am sure, the duke
-- 58 --
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
Ant.
The duke cannot deny14Q0280 the course of law,
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice: if it be deny'd,
'Twill much impeach the justice of the state; note
Since that the trade and profit of the city
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me,
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
To-morrow to my bloody creditor.—
Well, jailor, on:—Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and a Servant.
Lor.
Madam, although I speak it in your presence, note
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But, if you knew to whom you show note this honour,
How true a gentleman you send relief, note
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 for doing note good,
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an egal note yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me think, that this Antonio,
-- 59 --
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord: If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow'd,
In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish cruelty? note
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore, no more of it: hear note 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 toward heaven breath'd a secret vow,
To live in prayer and contemplation,
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband and my lord's return:
There is a monastery two miles note off,
And there we will note 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 note 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 pleas'd
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.—
[Exeunt Lorenzo and Jessica.
Now, Balthazar, note
[to the Servant.
As I have ever found thee honest, true,
-- 60 --
So let me find thee still: take this same &dagger2; letter,
And use thou all the endeavour of a man,
In speed to Padua note; see thou render this
Into my cousin's hands, doctor Bellario;
And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed
Unto the tranect note,14Q0281 to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice:—waste no time in words note,
But get thee gone note; I shall be there before thee.
Ser.
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 that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accouter'd like note young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace;
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 note; 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 have discontinu'd school
Above a twelve-month:—I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging jacks,
-- 61 --
Which I will practice.
Ner.
Why, shall we turn to men?
Por.
Fie! what a question's that,
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter?
But come, I'll tell thee all my note 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.
SCENE V.
The same. A Garden.
Enter Jessica, and the Clown.
Clo.
Yes, truly: for, look you, the sins of the father
are to be lay'd upon the children; therefore, I promise
you note, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so
now I speak my agitation of the matter: Therefore be
o'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?
Clo.
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.
Clo.
Truly, then I fear you are damn'd both by father
and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father,
I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone
both ways.
Jes.
I shall be sav'd by my husband; he hath made
me a christian.
Clo.
Truly, the more to blame he: we were christians
enough before; e'en as note many as could well live,
one by another: This making of christians will raise
-- 62 --
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. note
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 heaven, 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.
Clo.
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.
Lor.
How every fool can play upon the word! I
think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into
silence; and discourse grow commendable in none only
but parrats.—Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.
Clo.
That is done, sir; they have all stomacks.
Lor.
Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then
bid them prepare dinner.
Clo.
That is done too, sir; only, cover is the word.
Lor.
Will you cover then, sir?
Clo.
Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.
Lor.
Yet more quarreling with occasion! wilt thou
-- 63 --
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.
Clo.
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 Clown.
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 cheer'st thou note, Jessica?
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's note 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 earth14Q0282 he do not mean it, it note
Is reason note he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly 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 note 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 stomack.
-- 64 --
Lor.
No, pray thee, note let it serve for table-talk;
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
I shall digest note it.
Jes.
Well, I'll set you forth.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Venice. A Court of Justice.
Enter, in State, the Duke, Magnificoes, Officers of the
Court, &c. and seat themselves; then, Enter Antonio,
guarded, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerino,
Solanio, and Others.
Duk.
What, is Antonio here?
Ant.
Ready, so please your grace.
Duk.
I am 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.
Ant.
I have heard,
Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
His rigorous 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.
Duk.
Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
Sal.
He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.
Enter Shylock.
Duk.
Make room, and let him stand before our face.—
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
-- 65 --
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
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 note the penalty,
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh)
Thou wilt not only loose 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 huddl'd on his back;
Enough to press a royal merchant down,
And pluck commiseration of his state note
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, note
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
Shy.
I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
And by our holy sabaoth note 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 choose 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?
What if my house be troubl'd with a rat,
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
To have it ban'd? 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'the nose,
-- 66 --
Cannot contain their urine;14Q0283 for affection,
Mistress of note 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 woolen note bagpipe; 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 Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?
Bas.
This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.
Shy.
I am not bound to please thee with my answers. note
Bas.
Do all men kill the things note they do not love?
Shy.
Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
Bas.
Every offence is not a hate at first.
Shy.
What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice?
Ant.
I pray you, think you question with the Jew:
You may as well go stand upon the beach,
And bid the main flood bate note his usual height;
You may as well note use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made note the ewe bleat for the lamb; note
You may as well forbid the mountain pines note
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise note,
When they are fretted note with the gusts of heaven;
You may as well do any thing most hard,
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder? note)
His Jewish heart: Therefore, I do beseech you,
Make no more offers, use no farther means,
-- 67 --
But, with all brief and plain conveniency,
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
Bas.
For thy three thousand ducats here is † six.
Shy.
If every ducat in six thousand ducats
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them, I would have my bond.
Duk.
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, note and your dogs, and mules,
You use in abject and in slavish parts, note
Because you bought note them; Shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs,
Why sweat they under burthens, 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, is mine note, note and I will have it:
If you deny me, fie upon your law;
There is no force in the decrees of Venice:
I stand for judgment; answer, Shall I have it?
Duk.
Upon my power, 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.
Duk.
Bring us the letters; Call the messenger note.
Bas.
Good cheer, Antonio! What, man? courage yet!
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
-- 68 --
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.
Ant.
I am a tainted weather of the flock,
Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops soonest note to the ground, and note so let me:
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.
Enter Nerissa, habited like a Clerk.
Duk.
Came you from Padua, from Bellario?
Ner.
From both, my lord: Bellario greets your grace.
[presenting a Letter.
Bas.
Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?
Shy.
To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.
Gra.
Not on thy soal,14Q0284 but note on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen: but no metal can,
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?
Shy.
No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.
Gra.
O, be thou damn'd, inexorable note 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,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And, whilst 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. note—I stand here note for law.
-- 69 --
Duk.
This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor note to our court:—
Where is he?
Ner.
He attendeth here hard by,
To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.
Duk.
With all my heart:—some three or four of you,
Go give him courteous conduct to this place.—
Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.
[giving it to a Clerk.
Cle. [reads.]
Your grace shall understand, that, at the
receipt of your letter, I am very sick: but in the instant
that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with
me a young doctor of Rome, his name is Balthasar: note I acquainted
him with the cause in controversy between the
Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turn'd o'er many
books together: he is furnished with my opinion; which,
better'd 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.
Duk.
You note hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes;
And here, I take it, is the doctor come:—
Enter Portia, for Balthasar.
Give me your hand: Came note you from old Bellario?
Por.
I did, my lord.
Duk.
You are welcome: take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court?
Por.
I am informed throughly of the cause.
-- 70 --
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?
Duk.
Antonio 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 note you, as you do proceed.—
You stand within his danger, do you not? note
Ant.
Ay, so he says. note
Por.
Do you confess the bond?
Ant.
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 heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
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 power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit 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 power doth then shew likest note God's,
When mercy seasons justice: Therefore, Jew,
Though 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 prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much,
-- 71 --
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of note 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?
Bas.
Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea, twice the sum:14Q0285 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 this 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 note a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a precedent; note
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 I do note honour thee!
Por.
I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy.
Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here &dagger2; it is.
Por.
Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.
Shy.
An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for note Venice.
Por.
Why, this bond is forfeit;
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;
-- 72 --
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
Shy.
When it is pay'd according to the tenour. note
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.
Ant.
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.
Por.
It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh
The flesh?
Shy.
I have them ready.
Por.
Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed note to death.
Shy.
Is it so nominated note 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.
-- 73 --
Por.
Come, merchant note, have you any thing to say?
Ant.
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 shows herself more kind
Than is her custom: note it is still her use,
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth,
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkl'd brow,
An age of poverty; from which ling'ring penance
Of such a note misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honourable wife:
Tell her the process of Antonio'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 note 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.
Bas.
Antonio, I am marry'd 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 esteem'd above thy life:
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
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 note protest, I love;
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Intreat some power to change this currish Jew.
Ner.
'Tis well, you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
-- 74 --
&clquo;Shy.
&clquo;These be the christian husbands: I have a daughter;&crquo;
&clquo;Would any of the stock of Barrabas&crquo;
&clquo;Had been her husband, rather than a christian!&crquo;
We trifle time;14Q0286 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.
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:
Take then note thy bond, take thou thy 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 his offer note then; pay the bond thrice,
And let the christian go.
Bas.
Here is the money.
Por.
Soft;
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!
-- 75 --
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 note,
Or less, than a just pound,—be it but note so much
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance,
On the division of the note twentieth part
Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do 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 you on note the hip.
Por.
Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.
Shy.
Give me my principal, and let me go.
Bas.
I have it ready for thee; here it is.
Por.
He hath refus'd it in the open court;
He shall note 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 have barely my principal?
Por.
Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
To be so taken note at thy peril, Jew.
Shy.
Why, then the devil give him good of it!
I'll stay no longer question note.
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, note
That, by direct, or indirect attempts,
He seek the life of any citizen,
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize on half note his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of note the state;
-- 76 --
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 note against note the very life
Of the defendant; and thou hast incur'd
The danger formerly note by me rehears'd.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra.
Beg that thou may'st 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.
Duk.
That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit note,
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
Por.
Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.
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 render him, Antonio?
Gra.
A halter gratis; note nothing else, for God's sake. note
Ant.
So please my lord the duke,14Q0287 and all the court,
To quit the note fine for one half of his goods;
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,
-- 77 --
He presently become a christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, note
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter.
Duk.
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.
Duk.
Get thee gone, but do it.
Gra.
In christ'ning note shalt thou note have two god-fathers;
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallows, not the note font.
[Exit Shylock.
Duk.
Sir, I entreat you home with me note to note dinner.
Por.
I humbly do note desire your grace of pardon; note
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet I presently set forth.
Duk.
I am sorry, that your leisure serves you not.—
Antonio, gratify this gentleman;
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.
[Exeunt Duke, and Court.
Bas.
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.
-- 78 --
Por.
He is well pay'd, that is well satisfy'd,
And I, delivering you, am satisfy'd,
And therein do account myself well pay'd;
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.
Bas.
Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further;
Take some remembrance of us, as 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 them for your sake;—
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:
Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more,
And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bas.
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.
Bas.
There's more depends14Q0288 on note this, than on the value.
The dearest ring in Venice will I note 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.
Bas.
Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
And, when she put it on, she made me vow,
That I would neither fell, nor give, nor lose it.
Por.
That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring note,
-- 79 --
She would not hold out enemy for ever,
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!
[Exeunt Por. and Ner.
Ant.
My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring;
Let his deservings, and my love withal,
Be valu'd 'gainst note your wife's commandement.
Bas.
Go, Gratiano, run and over-take him,
Give him the &dagger2; ring; and bring him, if thou canst,
Unto Antonio'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, Antonio.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Same. Street before the Court.
Enter Portia, and Nerissa.
Por.
Enquire the Jew's house out, give him this &dagger2; 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 &dagger2; ring; and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.
Por.
That cannot be:
His ring note 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:— note
&clquo;I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,&crquo;
&clquo;Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.&crquo;
-- 80 --
&clquo;Por.
&clquo;Thou may'st, I warrant: We shall have old swearing,&crquo;
&clquo;That they did give the rings away to men;&crquo;
&clquo;But we'll out-face them, and out-swear them too.&crquo;
Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry.
Ner.
Come, good sir, will you shew me to this house?
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene
SCENE, Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House.
Enter Lorenzo, and Jessica.
Lor.
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 note,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid note 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 dismay'd away.
Lor.
In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild-sea banks, and waft 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;
-- 81 --
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.
Jes.
And note 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 note in such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrow note,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
Jes.
I would out-night you, did no body come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
Enter a Servant.
Lor.
Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
Ser.
A friend.
Lor.
A friend? what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?
Ser.
Stephano 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 note hours.
Lor.
Who comes with her?
Ser.
None, but a holy hermit, and her maid.
I pray you, is my note master yet return'd.
Lor.
He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us note prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.
Enter Clown.
Clo.
Sola, sola, wo ha ho, sola, sola!
Lor.
Who calls?
Clo.
Sola! Did you see master Lorenzo, and note mistress
Lorenza? sola, note sola!
-- 82 --
Lor.
Leave hollowing, man; here.
Clo.
Sola! where, where?
Lor.
Here.
Clo.
Tell him, there's a post come from my master,
with his horn full of good news; my master will be
here ere morning.
[Exit Clo.
Lor.
Sweet love, note let's in, note14Q0289 and there expect their coming.
And yet no matter; Why should we go in?—
My good friend Stephano, note signify, I note pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your musick forth into the air.—
[Exit Ser.
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlay'd with pattens note of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grosly close it in, note we cannot hear it.—
Enter Musick, and Domesticks of Portia.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; note
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with musick.
[Musick plays.
Jes.
I am never merry, when I hear sweet musick.
Lor.
The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandl'd colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
-- 83 --
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance note a trumpet sound,
Or any air of musick 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 musick: Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, note stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But musick for the note time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no musick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus; note
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the musick.
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:
A substitute shines brightly as a king,
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Musick! hark.
Ner.
It is your musick, madam, of the house.
Por.
Nothing is good, I see, without respect;
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner.
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
Por.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
-- 84 --
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren. note
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection.—
Peace! how the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd.
[observing Lor and Jes.
Lor.
That is the voice,
[rising. Musick ceases.
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
Por.
He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.
Lor.
Dear lady, welcome home.
Por.
We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, note
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return'd?
Lor.
Madam, they are not yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.
Por.
Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;—
Nor you, Lorenzo,—Jessica, nor you.
[Trumpet.
Lor.
Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.
Por.
This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick,
It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their Followers.
Bas.
We should hold day with the Antipodes,14Q0290
If you would walk in absence of the sun.
Por.
Let me give light, but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
-- 85 --
And never be Bassanio so for me; note
But, God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.
Bas.
I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend;
This is the man, this is Antonio,
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.
Ant.
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. [to Ner.]
By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong;
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
Would he were gelt 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 posy note was,
For all the world, like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not.
Ner.
What talk you of the posy note, or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it note you,
That you would wear it till your hour note of death;
And that it should lye with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Gave it a judge's clerk&dotup; note but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his note face, that had it.
Gra.
He will, an if he live to be a man.
Ner.
Ay, if note 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,
-- 86 --
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that beg'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 so note 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.
&clquo;Bas.
&clquo;Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,&crquo;
&clquo;And swear, I lost the ring defending it.&crquo;
Gra.
My lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that beg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he beg'd mine;
And neither man, nor master, would take ought
But the two rings.
Por.
What ring gave you, my lord?
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.
Bas.
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 note 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,
[to Gratiano.
'Till I again see mine.
-- 87 --
Bas.
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,
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 contain 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.
Bas.
No, by my honour note, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And beg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away note;
Even he that had held up the note very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
I was enforc'd to send it after him;
I was beset with shame and courtesy;
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady;
For, by note these blessed candles of the night,
Had you been there, I think, you would have beg'd
The ring of me to give the worthy note doctor.
Por.
Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
-- 88 --
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, not 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; note
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
I'll have that doctor note for my bedfellow. note
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.
Ant.
I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.
Por.
Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.
Bas.
Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
And, in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,—
Por.
Mark you but that:
In both my eyes note he doubly sees himself;
In each eye, one:—swear by your double self,
And there's an oath of credit.
Bas.
Nay, but hear me:
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Ant.
I once did lend my body for his wealth note;
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, note
Had quite miscarry'd; I dare be bound again,
My soùl upon the forfeit, that your lord
-- 89 --
Will never more break faith advisedly.
Por.
Then you shall be his surety: Give him &dagger2; this;
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Ant.
Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.
Bas.
By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor.
Por.
I had it of him: pardon me note, 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 &dagger2;, 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 &dagger2; letter, [to Bas.] 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 but even now note return'd; I have not yet
Enter'd my house.—Antonio, you are welcome;
And I have better news in store for you,
Than you expect: unseal this &dagger2; 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.
Ant.
I am dumb.
Bas.
Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?
Gra.
Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold?
Ner.
Ay; but the clerk, that never means to do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
-- 90 --
Bas.
Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow;
When I am absent, then lye with my wife.
Ant.
Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living;
For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road. note
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 &dagger2; do I give to you, and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.
Lor.
Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starved people.
Por.
It is almost morning,
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfy'd
Of these events at full: Let us go in note;
And charge us there upon inter'gatories, note
And we will answer all things faithfully.
Gra.
Let it be so; The first inter'gatory note,
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,
That I note 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. |
