Laun.

Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My conscience says no; take heed honest Launcelot, take heed honest Gobbo, or as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack, via says the fiend, away says the fiend, for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, my honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son, or rather an honest woman's son—for indeed my father did something smack, something grow to; he had a kind of taste.—well, my conscience says, budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience; conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd by my conscience I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew I should be ruled by the fiend, who saving your reverence is

the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.

Gob.

Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun.

O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father, who being more than sand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confusions with him.

Gob.

Master young gentleman, I pray you which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun.

Turn up, on your right-hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marry at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob.

By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit; can you tell me whether one Launcelot that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

Laun.

Talk you of young master Launcelot? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters;) talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob.

No master, Sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though I say't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and God be thanked well to live.

Laun.

Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gob.

Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir.

Laun.

But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob.

Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

Laun.

Ergo master Launcelot, talk not of master Launcelot father,

for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning,) is indeed deceased, or as you would say in plain terms, gone to heav'n.

Gob.

Marry God forbid, the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.

Laun.

Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? do you know me, father?

Gob.

Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but I pray you tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?

Laun.

Do you not know me, father?

Gob.

Alack Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

Laun.

Nay, indeed if you had your eyes you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son, give me your blessing, truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but in the end truth will out.

Gob.

Pray you Sir stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelot my boy.

Laun.

Pray you let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

Gob.

I cannot think you are my son.

Laun.

I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob.

Her name is Margery indeed. I'll be sworn if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood: lord worship'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Phil-horse has on his tail.

Laun.

It should seem then that Dobbin's tail grows backward, I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.

Gob.

Lord how art thou chang'd! how dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?

Laun.

Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 'till I have run some ground My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father I am glad you are come, give me your present to one master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I serve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man; to him father, for I am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.

Bass.

You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: see these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Laun.

To him, father.

Gob.

God bless your worship.

Bass.

Gramercy, would'st thou ought with me?

Gob.

Here's my son, Sir, a poor boy.

Laun.

Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would Sir, as my father shall specifie.

Gob.

He hath a great infection, Sir, as one would say, to serve.

Laun.

Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire as my father shall specifie.

Gob.

His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, and scarce catercousins.

Laun.

To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutifie unto you.

Gob.

I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is—

Laun.

In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my self, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and though I say it, though old man, yet poor man my father.

Bass.

One speak for both, what would you?

Laun.

Serve you, Sir.

Gob.

This is the very defect of the matter, Sir.

Bass.
I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit;
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's service to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.

Laun.

The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, Sir; you have the grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough.

Bass.
Thou speak'st it well; go father with thy son,
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out; give him a livery,
More guarded than his fellows: see it done.

Laun.

Father in, I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune; go too, here's a simple line of life, here's a small trifle of wives, alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming in for one man! and then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather bed, here are simple 'scapes! well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this geer. Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.