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.
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].
