ARM Club 1/ARM_CLUB_CD.iso/contents/books/progs/shakespear/merchant/Merchant_1

Text File | 1994-08-29 | 140KB | 3,884 lines

        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


        DRAMATIS PERSONAE


The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:)


The PRINCE OF           |
MOROCCO (MOROCCO:)      |
                |  suitors to Portia.
The PRINCE OF           |
ARRAGON (ARRAGON:)      |


ANTONIO a merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO        his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.


SALANIO |
        |
SALARINO        |
        |  friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
GRATIANO        |
        |
SALERIO |


LORENZO in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK a rich Jew.

TUBAL   a Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)

OLD GOBBO       father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)

LEONARDO        servant to BASSANIO.


BALTHASAR       |
        |  servants to PORTIA.
STEPHANO        |


PORTIA  a rich heiress.

NERISSA her waiting-maid.

JESSICA daughter to SHYLOCK.

        Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
        Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.
        (Servant:)
        (Clerk:)

SCENE   Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont,
        the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE I Venice. A street.


        [Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

ANTONIO 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.

SALARINO        Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
        There, where your argosies with portly sail,
        Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
        Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
        Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
        That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
        As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
        The better part of my affections would
        Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
        Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
        Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
        And every object that might make me fear
        Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
        Would make me sad.

SALARINO                          My wind cooling my broth
        Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
        What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
        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 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 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 bechanced would make me sad?
        But tell not me; I know, Antonio
        Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO 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 merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO        Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO Fie, fie!

SALARINO        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 framed strange fellows in her time:
        Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
        And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
        And other of such vinegar aspect
        That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
        Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

        [Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

SALANIO Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
        Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
        We leave you now with better company.

SALARINO        I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
        If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO Your worth is very dear in my regard.
        I take it, your own business calls on you
        And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO        Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO        Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
        You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO        We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

        [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

LORENZO My Lord 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.

BASSANIO        I will not fail you.

GRATIANO        You look not well, Signior Antonio;
        You have too much respect upon the world:
        They lose it that do buy it with much care:
        Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

ANTONIO I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
        A stage where every man must play a part,
        And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO        Let me play the fool:
        With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
        And let my liver rather heat with wine
        Than my heart 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 love that speaks--
        There are a sort of men whose visages
        Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
        And do a wilful stillness entertain,
        With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
        Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
        As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
        And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
        O my Antonio, I do know of these
        That therefore only are reputed wise
        For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
        If they should speak, would almost damn 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, this opinion.
        Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
        I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
        I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
        For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO        Well, keep me company but two years moe,
        Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO        Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
        In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

        [Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

ANTONIO Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO        Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
        than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as 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.

ANTONIO Well, tell me now what lady is the same
        To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
        That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO        'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
        How much I have disabled mine estate,
        By something showing a more swelling port
        Than my faint means would grant continuance:
        Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
        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 gaged. To you, Antonio,
        I owe the most, in money and in love,
        And from your love I have a warranty
        To unburden all my plots and purposes
        How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
        And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
        Within the eye of honour, be assured,
        My purse, my person, my extremest means,
        Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO        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 forth, and by adventuring 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
        And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO You know me well, and herein spend but time
        To wind about my love with circumstance;
        And out of doubt you do me now more 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.

BASSANIO        In Belmont is a lady richly left;
        And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
        Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
        I did receive fair speechless messages:
        Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
        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
        Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
        Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
        And many Jasons come 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!

ANTONIO 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 inquire, and so will I,
        Where money is, and I no question make
        To have it of my trust or for my sake.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA  By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
        this great world.

NERISSA You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in
        the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
        yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit
        with too much as they that starve with nothing. It
        is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
        mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
        competency lives longer.

PORTIA  Good sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSA They would be better, if well followed.

PORTIA  If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
        do, chapels had been churches and poor men's
        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 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 to
        choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose!' I may
        neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I
        dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed
        by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,
        Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

NERISSA 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 be chosen by any
        rightly but one who shall rightly love. But what
        warmth is there in your affection towards any of
        these princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIA  I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
        them, I will describe them; and, according to my
        description, level at my affection.

NERISSA First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

PORTIA  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 himself. I am much afeard my lady his
        mother played false with a smith.

NERISSA Then there is the County Palatine.

PORTIA  He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If you
        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
        married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth
        than to either of these. God defend me from these
        two!

NERISSA How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIA  God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.
        In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but,
        he! why, he hath a horse better than the
        Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than
        the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a
        throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: 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 requite him.

NERISSA What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
        of England?

PORTIA  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 pennyworth in the English.
        He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can
        converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited!
        I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round
        hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his
        behavior every where.

NERISSA What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

PORTIA  That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he
        borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and
        swore he would pay him again when he was able: I
        think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed
        under for another.

NERISSA How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

PORTIA  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:
        and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall
        make shift to go without him.

NERISSA 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.

PORTIA  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'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSA 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
        imposition depending on the caskets.

PORTIA  If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
        chaste 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 dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant
        them a fair departure.

NERISSA Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a
        Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither
        in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

PORTIA  Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

NERISSA True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish
        eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

PORTIA  I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
        thy praise.

        [Enter a Serving-man]

        How now! what news?

Servant The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take
        their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a
        fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the
        prince his master will be here to-night.

PORTIA  If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a
        heart as I can bid the other four farewell, 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 gates
        upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE III       Venice. A public place.


        [Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK]

SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats; well.

BASSANIO        Ay, sir, for three months.

SHYLOCK For three months; well.

BASSANIO        For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

SHYLOCK Antonio shall become bound; well.

BASSANIO        May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I
        know your answer?

SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

BASSANIO        Your answer to that.

SHYLOCK Antonio is a good man.

BASSANIO        Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCK Oh, no, no, no, no: 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 Rialto, he
        hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and
        other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships
        are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats
        and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I
        mean pirates, 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.

BASSANIO        Be assured you may.

SHYLOCK I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,
        I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

BASSANIO        If it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCK Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which
        your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I
        will buy with you, sell 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 Rialto? Who is he comes here?

        [Enter ANTONIO]

BASSANIO        This is Signior Antonio.

SHYLOCK [Aside]  How like a fawning publican he looks!
        I hate him for he is a Christian,
        But more for that in low simplicity
        He lends out money gratis and brings down
        The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
        If I can catch him once upon the hip,
        I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
        He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
        Even there where merchants most do congregate,
        On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
        Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
        If I forgive him!

BASSANIO                          Shylock, do you hear?

SHYLOCK 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?

        [To ANTONIO]

        Rest you fair, good signior;
        Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

ANTONIO Shylock, although I 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 possess'd
        How much ye would?

SHYLOCK                   Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

ANTONIO And for three months.

SHYLOCK I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
        Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
        Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
        Upon advantage.

ANTONIO                   I do never use it.

SHYLOCK When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep--
        This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
        As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
        The third possessor; ay, he was the third--

ANTONIO And what of him? did he take interest?

SHYLOCK No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
        Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
        When Laban and himself were compromised
        That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied
        Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
        In the end of autumn turned to the rams,
        And, when the work of generation was
        Between these woolly breeders in the act,
        The skilful shepherd peel'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 parti-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.

ANTONIO This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served 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?

SHYLOCK I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
        But note me, signior.

ANTONIO 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 falsehood hath!

SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum.
        Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate--

ANTONIO Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
        In the Rialto you have rated me
        About my moneys and my usances:
        Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
        For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
        You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
        And spit 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 moneys:' you say so;
        You, that did void your rheum upon my beard
        And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
        Over your threshold: moneys is your suit
        What should I say to you? Should I not say
        'Hath a dog money? is it possible
        A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or
        Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key,
        With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;
        'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
        You spurn'd me such a day; another time
        You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies
        I'll lend you thus much moneys'?

ANTONIO I am as like to call thee so again,
        To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
        If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
        As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
        A breed for barren metal of his friend?
        But lend it rather to thine enemy,
        Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
        Exact the penalty.

SHYLOCK                   Why, look you, how you storm!
        I would be friends with you and have your love,
        Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
        Supply your present wants and take no doit
        Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:
        This is kind I offer.


BASSANIO        This were kindness.

SHYLOCK 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 me.

ANTONIO Content, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond
        And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO        You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
        I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO 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 this bond.

SHYLOCK O father Abram, what these Christians are,
        Whose own hard dealings 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,
        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.

ANTONIO Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
        Give him direction for this merry bond,
        And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
        See to my house, left in the fearful guard
        Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
        I will be with you.

ANTONIO Hie thee, gentle Jew.

        [Exit Shylock]

        The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO        I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

ANTONIO Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
        My ships come home a month before the day.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE I Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO
        and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others
        attending]

MOROCCO 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 the fairest creature northward born,
        Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
        And let us make 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
        The best-regarded virgins of our clime
        Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
        Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA  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 hedged me by his wit, to 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.

MOROCCO                   Even for that I thank you:
        Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
        To try my fortune. By this scimitar
        That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
        That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
        I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
        Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
        Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
        Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
        To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
        If Hercules and Lichas 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;
        And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
        Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
        And die with grieving.

PORTIA  You must take your chance,
        And either not attempt to choose at all
        Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
        Never to speak to lady afterward
        In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

MOROCCO Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA  First, forward to the temple: after dinner
        Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO Good fortune then!
        To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

        [Cornets, and exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE II        Venice. A street.


        [Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT       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 heavens, 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, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
        fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
        'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'
        say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled 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 command; I will run.

        [Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

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

LAUNCELOT       [Aside]  O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
        who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
        knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

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

LAUNCELOT       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.

GOBBO   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?

LAUNCELOT       Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

        [Aside]

        Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
        of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO   No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,
        though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man
        and, God be thanked, well to live.

LAUNCELOT       Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of
        young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO   Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

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

GOBBO   Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT       Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master
        Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman,
        according to Fates and Destinies and such odd
        sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of
        learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say
        in plain terms, gone to heaven.

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

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

GOBBO   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?

LAUNCELOT       Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO   Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOT       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 at the length truth will out.

GOBBO   Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
        Launcelot, my boy.

LAUNCELOT       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.

GOBBO   I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT       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.

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

LAUNCELOT       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 saw him.

GOBBO   Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
        master agree? I have brought him a present. How
        'gree you now?

LAUNCELOT       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 famished 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 LEONARDO and other followers]

BASSANIO        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 delivered; put the liveries to making,
        and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

        [Exit a Servant]

LAUNCELOT       To him, father.

GOBBO   God bless your worship!

BASSANIO        Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBO   Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,--

LAUNCELOT       Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that
        would, sir, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO   He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve--

LAUNCELOT       Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,
        and have a desire, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO   His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
        are scarce cater-cousins--

LAUNCELOT       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 frutify unto you--

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

LAUNCELOT       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.

BASSANIO        One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT       Serve you, sir.

GOBBO   That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO        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.

LAUNCELOT       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.

BASSANIO        Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
        Take leave of thy old master and inquire
        My lodging out. Give him a livery
        More guarded than his fellows': see it done.

LAUNCELOT       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 to,
        here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifle
        of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
        widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
        man: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be
        in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
        here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
        woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,
        come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

        [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]

BASSANIO        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: hie thee, go.

LEONARDO        My best endeavours shall be done herein.

        [Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO        Where is your master?

LEONARDO        Yonder, sir, he walks.

        [Exit]

GRATIANO        Signior Bassanio!

BASSANIO        Gratiano!

GRATIANO        I have a suit to you.

BASSANIO        You have obtain'd it.

GRATIANO        You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO        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
        Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
        To allay with some cold drops of modesty
        Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
        I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
        And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO                          Signior Bassanio, hear me:
        If I do not put on a sober habit,
        Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
        Wear prayer-books in my 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 studied in a sad ostent
        To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO        Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO        Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
        By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO        No, that were pity:
        I would entreat you rather to put on
        Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
        That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
        I have some business.

GRATIANO        And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
        But we will visit you at supper-time.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE III       The same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house.


        [Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT]

JESSICA 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 thee:
        And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
        Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
        Give him this letter; do it secretly;
        And so farewell: I would not have my father
        See me in talk with thee.

LAUNCELOT       Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful
        pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play
        the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,
        adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my
        manly spirit: adieu.

JESSICA Farewell, good Launcelot.

        [Exit Launcelot]

        Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
        To be ashamed 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]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IV        The same. A street.


        [Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

LORENZO Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
        Disguise us at my lodging and return,
        All in an hour.

GRATIANO        We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO        We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,
        And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
        To furnish us.

        [Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter]

        Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

LAUNCELOT       An it shall please you to break up
        this, it shall seem to signify.

LORENZO I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
        And whiter than the paper it writ on
        Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO        Love-news, in faith.

LAUNCELOT       By your leave, sir.

LORENZO Whither goest thou?

LAUNCELOT       Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
        Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

LORENZO Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
        I will not fail her; speak it privately.
        Go, gentlemen,

        [Exit Launcelot]

        Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
        I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIO Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SALANIO And so will I.

LORENZO                   Meet me and Gratiano
        At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALARINO        'Tis good we do so.

        [Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO]

GRATIANO        Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO 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 as thou goest:
        Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE V The same. Before SHYLOCK'S house.


        [Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT]

SHYLOCK Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
        The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:--
        What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise,
        As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!--
        And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;--
        Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT       Why, Jessica!

SHYLOCK Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOT       Your worship was wont to tell me that
        I could do nothing without bidding.

        [Enter Jessica]

JESSICA Call you? what is your will?

SHYLOCK 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 loath to go:
        There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
        For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

LAUNCELOT       I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect
        your reproach.

SHYLOCK So do I his.

LAUNCELOT       An 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 at six o'clock i' the morning,
        falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four
        year, in the afternoon.

SHYLOCK What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
        Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
        And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
        Clamber not you up to the casements then,
        Nor thrust your head into the public street
        To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
        But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
        Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
        My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
        I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
        But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
        Say I will come.

LAUNCELOT       I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at
        window, for all this, There will come a Christian
        boy, will be worth a Jewess' eye.

        [Exit]

SHYLOCK What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?


JESSICA His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

SHYLOCK The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
        Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
        More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
        Therefore I part with him, and part with him
        To one that 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]

JESSICA Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
        I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

        [Exit]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VI        The same.


        [Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued]

GRATIANO        This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
        Desired us to make stand.

SALARINO        His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO        And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
        For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALARINO        O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
        To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont
        To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO        That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
        With that keen appetite that he sits down?
        Where is the horse that doth untread again
        His tedious measures with the unbated fire
        That he did pace them first? All things that are,
        Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
        How like a younker or a prodigal
        The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
        Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
        How like the prodigal doth she return,
        With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
        Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

SALARINO        Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

        [Enter LORENZO]

LORENZO Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
        Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
        When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
        I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;
        Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?

        [Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes]

JESSICA Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
        Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
        For who love I so much? And now who knows
        But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
        I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
        For I am much ashamed 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.

LORENZO Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
        They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
        Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
        And I should be obscured.

LORENZO So are you, 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.

JESSICA I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
        With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

        [Exit above]

GRATIANO        Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZO Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
        For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
        And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
        And true she is, as she hath proved 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; away!
        Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

        [Exit with Jessica and Salarino]

        [Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIO Who's there?

GRATIANO        Signior Antonio!

ANTONIO 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.

GRATIANO        I am glad on't: I desire no more delight
        Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VII       Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the
        PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains]

PORTIA  Go draw aside the curtains and discover
        The several caskets to this noble prince.
        Now make your choice.

MOROCCO The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
        'Who chooseth me shall gain what many 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?

PORTIA  The one of them contains my picture, prince:
        If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO 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
        Do it in hope of fair advantages:
        A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
        I'll then nor give nor hazard aught 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 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.
        What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
        Let's see once more this saying graved 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 deserts and the vasty wilds
        Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now
        For princes to come view fair Portia:
        The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
        Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
        To stop the foreign spirits, but they come,
        As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
        One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
        Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
        To think so base a thought: it were too gross
        To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
        Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
        Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
        O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
        Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
        A coin that bears the figure of an angel
        Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd 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!

PORTIA  There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
        Then I am yours.

        [He unlocks the golden casket]

MOROCCO                   O hell! what have we here?
        A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
        There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

        [Reads]

        All that glitters is not gold;
        Often have you heard that told:
        Many a man his life hath sold
        But my outside to behold:
        Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
        Had you been as wise as bold,
        Young in limbs, in judgment old,
        Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
        Fare you well; your suit is cold.
        Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
        Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
        Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
        To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

        [Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets]

PORTIA  A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
        Let all of his complexion choose me so.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VIII      Venice. A street.


        [Enter SALARINO and SALANIO]

SALARINO        Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
        With him is Gratiano gone along;
        And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,
        Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALARINO        He came too late, the ship was under sail:
        But there the duke was given to understand
        That in a gondola were seen together
        Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
        Besides, Antonio certified the duke
        They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIO I never heard a passion so confused,
        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, stolen from me by my daughter!
        And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
        Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;
        She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.'

SALARINO        Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
        Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
        Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINO        Marry, well remember'd.
        I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
        Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
        The French and English, there miscarried
        A vessel of our country richly fraught:
        I thought upon Antonio when he told me;
        And wish'd in silence that it were not his.

SALANIO You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
        Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINO        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 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:
        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.

SALANIO I think he only loves the world for him.
        I pray thee, let us go and find him out
        And quicken his embraced heaviness
        With some delight or other.

SALARINO        Do we so.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IX        Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Enter NERISSA with a Servitor]

NERISSA 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 of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,
        PORTIA, and their trains]

PORTIA  Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
        If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
        Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
        But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
        You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON 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.

PORTIA  To these injunctions every one doth swear
        That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON And so have I address'd 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
        By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
        Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
        Which pries not to the interior, 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:'
        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 derived corruptly, and that clear honour
        Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
        How many then should cover that stand bare!
        How many be commanded that command!
        How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
        From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
        Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times
        To be new-varnish'd! 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.

        [He opens the silver casket]

PORTIA  Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
        Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
        How much unlike art thou to Portia!
        How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
        'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
        Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
        Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA  To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
        And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON What is here?

        [Reads]

        The fire seven times tried this:
        Seven times tried that judgment is,
        That did never choose amiss.
        Some there be that shadows kiss;
        Such have but a shadow's bliss:
        There be fools alive, I wis,
        Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
        Take what wife you will to bed,
        I will ever be your head:
        So be gone: 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 wroth.

        [Exeunt Arragon and train]

PORTIA  Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
        O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
        They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA The ancient saying is no heresy,
        Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA  Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

        [Enter a Servant]

Servant Where is my lady?

PORTIA                    Here: what would my lord?

Servant 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,
        Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
        So likely an ambassador of love:
        A day in April never came so sweet,
        To show how costly summer was at hand,
        As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA  No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
        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.

NERISSA Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE I Venice. A street.


        [Enter SALANIO and SALARINO]

SALANIO Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALARINO        Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath
        a ship of rich lading wrecked 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 lie buried, as they say, if my gossip
        Report be an honest woman of her word.

SALANIO I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever
        knapped 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!--

SALARINO        Come, the full stop.

SALANIO Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath
        lost a ship.

SALARINO        I would it might prove the end of his losses.

SALANIO Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross my
        prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

        [Enter SHYLOCK]

        How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCK You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my
        daughter's flight.

SALARINO        That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor
        that made the wings she flew withal.

SALANIO And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was
        fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all
        to leave the dam.

SHYLOCK She is damned for it.

SALANIO That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

SHYLOCK My own flesh and blood to rebel!

SALANIO Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

SHYLOCK I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO        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 or no?

SHYLOCK There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a
        prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the
        Rialto; a beggar, that was used 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.

SALARINO        Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
        his flesh: what's that good for?

SHYLOCK To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
        it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
        hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
        mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
        bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
        enemies; and what's his reason? 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]

Servant Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and
        desires to speak with you both.

SALARINO        We have been up and down to seek him.

        [Enter TUBAL]

SALANIO Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be
        matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

        [Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant]

SHYLOCK How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou
        found my daughter?

TUBAL   I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

SHYLOCK 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 my daughter
        were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!
        would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in
        her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I know
        not what's spent in the search: why, thou loss upon
        loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to
        find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:
        nor no in luck stirring but what lights on my
        shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears
        but of my shedding.

TUBAL   Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I
        heard in Genoa,--

SHYLOCK What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

TUBAL   Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

SHYLOCK I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true?

TUBAL   I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

SHYLOCK I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!
        ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

TUBAL   Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one
        night fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCK Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my
        gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!
        fourscore ducats!

TUBAL   There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my
        company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.

SHYLOCK I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture
        him: I am glad of it.

TUBAL   One of them showed me a ring that he had of your
        daughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCK Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my
        turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:
        I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

TUBAL   But Antonio is certainly undone.

SHYLOCK Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee
        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 merchandise I
        will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;
        go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE II        Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and
        Attendants]

PORTIA  I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two
        Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
        I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.
        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 I am then 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. Beshrew your eyes,
        They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;
        One half of me is yours, the other half yours,
        Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
        And so all yours. O, these naughty times
        Put bars between the owners and their rights!
        And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
        Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
        I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time,
        To eke it and to draw it out in length,
        To stay you from election.

BASSANIO        Let me choose
        For as I am, I live upon the rack.

PORTIA  Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess
        What treason there is mingled with your love.

BASSANIO        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.

PORTIA  Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
        Where men enforced do speak anything.

BASSANIO        Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIA  Well then, confess and live.

BASSANIO        '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.

PORTIA  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 music sound while he doth make his choice;
        Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
        Fading in music: that the comparison
        May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
        And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
        And what is music then? Then music is
        Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
        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 paid 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 of the exploit. Go, Hercules!
        Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay
        I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

        [Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself]

        SONG.
        Tell me where is fancy bred,
        Or in the heart, or in the head?
        How begot, how nourished?
        Reply, reply.
        It is engender'd in the eyes,
        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.

BASSANIO        So may the outward shows be least themselves:
        The world is still deceived with ornament.
        In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
        But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
        Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
        What damned error, but some sober brow
        Will bless it and approve it with a text,
        Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
        There is no vice so simple but assumes
        Some mark 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 redoubted! Look on beauty,
        And you shall see 'tis purchased 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 such wanton gambols with the wind,
        Upon supposed fairness, often known
        To be the dowry of a second head,
        The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
        Thus ornament is but the guiled 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 gaudy gold,
        Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
        Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
        'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
        Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,
        Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
        And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA  [Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,
        As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
        And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
        Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,
        In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.
        I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
        For fear I surfeit.

BASSANIO        What find I here?

        [Opening the leaden casket]

        Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-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 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. 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 scroll,
        The continent and summary of my fortune.

        [Reads]

        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 pleased with this
        And hold your fortune for your bliss,
        Turn you where your lady is
        And claim her with a loving kiss.
        A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
        I come by note, to give and to receive.
        Like one of two contending in a prize,
        That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
        Hearing applause and universal shout,
        Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
        Whether these pearls of 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, ratified by you.

PORTIA  You see me, Lord Bassanio, 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 trebled twenty times myself;
        A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
        That only to stand high in your account,
        I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,
        Exceed account; but the full sum of me
        Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
        Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;
        Happy in this, she is not yet so old
        But she may learn; happier than this,
        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: I give them with this ring;
        Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
        Let it presage the ruin of your love
        And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

BASSANIO        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,
        Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring
        Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:
        O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

NERISSA 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!

GRATIANO        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 married too.

BASSANIO        With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

GRATIANO        I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
        My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
        You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
        You loved, I loved for intermission.
        No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
        Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
        And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
        For wooing here until I sweat again,
        And sweating until my very roof was dry
        With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,
        I got a promise of this fair one here
        To have her love, provided that your fortune
        Achieved her mistress.

PORTIA  Is this true, Nerissa?

NERISSA Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

BASSANIO        And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

GRATIANO        Yes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIO        Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.

GRATIANO        We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

NERISSA What, and stake down?

GRATIANO        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 SALERIO, a Messenger
        from Venice]

BASSANIO        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 friends and countrymen,
        Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIA  So do I, my lord:
        They are entirely welcome.

LORENZO 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.

SALERIO I did, my lord;
        And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
        Commends him to you.

        [Gives Bassanio a letter]

BASSANIO        Ere I ope his letter,
        I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

SALERIO Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
        Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
        Will show you his estate.

GRATIANO        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.

SALERIO I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

PORTIA  There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,
        That steals the colour from Bassanio's 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 must freely have the half of anything
        That this same paper brings you.

BASSANIO        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 engaged myself to a dear friend,
        Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
        To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
        The paper as the body of my friend,
        And every word in it a gaping wound,
        Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
        Have all 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?

SALERIO 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.

JESSICA 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.

PORTIA  Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

BASSANIO        The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
        The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit
        In doing courtesies, and one in whom
        The ancient Roman honour more appears
        Than any that draws breath in Italy.

PORTIA  What sum owes he the Jew?

BASSANIO        For me three thousand ducats.

PORTIA  What, no more?
        Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
        Double six thousand, and then treble that,
        Before a friend of this description
        Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
        First go with me to church and call me wife,
        And then away to Venice to your friend;
        For never shall you lie by Portia's side
        With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
        To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
        When it is paid, 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 a merry cheer:
        Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
        But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO        [Reads]  Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
        miscarried, 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 cleared between you and I, if I might but
        see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your
        pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,
        let not my letter.

PORTIA  O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

BASSANIO        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,
        No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE III       Venice. A street.


        [Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler]

SHYLOCK Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;
        This is the fool that lent out money gratis:
        Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO Hear me yet, good Shylock.

SHYLOCK 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 gaoler, that thou art so fond
        To come abroad with him at his request.

ANTONIO I pray thee, hear me speak.

SHYLOCK 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-eyed 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]

SALARINO        It is the most impenetrable cur
        That ever kept with men.

ANTONIO 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.

SALARINO        I am sure the duke
        Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.

ANTONIO The duke cannot deny the course of law:
        For the commodity that strangers have
        With us in Venice, if it be denied,
        Will much impeach the justice of his state;
        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, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come
        To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE IV        Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


        [Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and
        BALTHASAR]

LORENZO Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
        You have a noble and a true conceit
        Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly
        In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
        But if you knew to whom you show this honour,
        How true a gentleman you send relief,
        How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
        I know you would be prouder of the work
        Than customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIA  I never did repent for doing good,
        Nor shall not now: for in companions
        That do converse and waste the time together,
        Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,
        There must be needs a like proportion
        Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
        Which makes me think that this Antonio,
        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 misery!
        This comes too near the praising of myself;
        Therefore no more of it: hear 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 breathed 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 off;
        And there will we abide. I do desire you
        Not to deny this imposition;
        The which my love and some necessity
        Now lays upon you.

LORENZO                   Madam, with all my heart;
        I shall obey you in all fair commands.

PORTIA  My people do already know my mind,
        And will acknowledge you and Jessica
        In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
        And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZO Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

JESSICA I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

PORTIA  I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
        To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.

        [Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO]

        Now, Balthasar,
        As I have ever found thee honest-true,
        So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
        And use thou all the endeavour of a man
        In speed to Padua: see thou render this
        Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;
        And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
        Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
        Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
        Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
        But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.

BALTHASAR       Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

        [Exit]

PORTIA  Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand
        That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands
        Before they think of us.

NERISSA Shall they see us?

PORTIA  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 accoutred like 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 died;
        I could not do withal; then I'll repent,
        And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;
        And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
        That men shall swear I have discontinued school
        Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
        A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
        Which I will practise.

NERISSA Why, shall we turn to men?

PORTIA  Fie, what a question's that,
        If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
        But come, I'll tell thee all my 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]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE V The same. A garden.


        [Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA]

LAUNCELOT       Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father
        are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I
        promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with
        you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:
        therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think you
        are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do
        you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard
        hope neither.

JESSICA And what hope is that, I pray thee?

LAUNCELOT       Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you
        not, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

JESSICA That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the
        sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

LAUNCELOT       Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and
        mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I
        fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are
        gone both ways.

JESSICA I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a
        Christian.

LAUNCELOT       Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians
        enow before; e'en as many as could well live, one by
        another. This making Christians will raise 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]

JESSICA I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.

LORENZO I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if
        you thus get my wife into corners.

JESSICA 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.

LORENZO 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.

LAUNCELOT       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.

LORENZO 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
        parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

LAUNCELOT       That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

LORENZO Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid
        them prepare dinner.

LAUNCELOT       That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word.

LORENZO Will you cover then, sir?

LAUNCELOT       Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

LORENZO Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show
        the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray
        tree, 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.

LAUNCELOT       For the table, sir, it shall be served 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]

LORENZO 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 cheerest thou, Jessica?
        And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
        How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICA 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 earth he do not mean it, then
        In reason 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.

LORENZO Even such a husband
        Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.

JESSICA Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

LORENZO I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

JESSICA Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

LORENZO No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
'       Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
        I shall digest it.

JESSICA                   Well, I'll set you forth.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE I Venice. A court of justice.


        [Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO,
        GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others]

DUKE    What, is Antonio here?

ANTONIO Ready, so please your grace.

DUKE    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.

ANTONIO 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.

DUKE    Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

SALERIO He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

        [Enter SHYLOCK]

DUKE    Make room, and let him stand before our face.
        Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
        That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
        To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought
        Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
        Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
        And where thou now exact'st 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 huddled on his back,
        Enow to press a royal merchant down
        And pluck commiseration of his state
        From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
        From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
        To offices of tender courtesy.
        We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

SHYLOCK I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
        And by our holy Sabbath 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 troubled with a rat
        And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
        To have it baned? 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 bagpipe sings i' the nose,
        Cannot contain their urine: for affection,
        Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
        Of what it likes or loathes. 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 woollen 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 lodged hate and a certain loathing
        I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
        A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?

BASSANIO        This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
        To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

SHYLOCK I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

BASSANIO        Do all men kill the things they do not love?

SHYLOCK Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

BASSANIO        Every offence is not a hate at first.

SHYLOCK What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

ANTONIO I pray you, think you question with the Jew:
        You may as well go stand upon the beach
        And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
        You may as well use question with the wolf
        Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
        You may as well forbid the mountain pines
        To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
        When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
        You may as well do anything most hard,
        As seek to soften that--than which what's harder?--
        His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,
        Make no more offers, use no farther means,
        But with all brief and plain conveniency
        Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIO        For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

SHYLOCK What judgment shall I dread, doing
        Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
        I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKE    How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

SHYLOCK What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
        You have among you many a purchased slave,
        Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
        You use in abject and in slavish parts,
        Because you bought 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; 'tis mine 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?

DUKE    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.

SALERIO                   My lord, here stays without
        A messenger with letters from the doctor,
        New come from Padua.

DUKE    Bring us the letter; call the messenger.

BASSANIO        Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
        The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,
        Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIO I am a tainted wether of the flock,
        Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
        Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me
        You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
        Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

        [Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk]

DUKE    Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

NERISSA From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

        [Presenting a letter]

BASSANIO        Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

SHYLOCK To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANO        Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
        Thou makest 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?

SHYLOCK No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

GRATIANO        O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
        And for thy life let justice be accused.
        Thou almost makest 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,
        Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
        Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

SHYLOCK 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. I stand here for law.

DUKE    This letter from Bellario doth commend
        A young and learned doctor to our court.
        Where is he?

NERISSA                   He attendeth here hard by,
        To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKE    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.

Clerk   [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. I
        acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
        the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er
        many books together: he is furnished with my
        opinion; which, bettered 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.

DUKE    You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes:
        And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

        [Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws]

        Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIA  I did, my lord.

DUKE                      You are welcome: take your place.
        Are you acquainted with the difference
        That holds this present question in the court?

PORTIA  I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
        Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

DUKE    Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

PORTIA  Is your name Shylock?

SHYLOCK Shylock is my name.

PORTIA  Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
        Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
        Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
        You stand within his danger, do you not?

ANTONIO Ay, so he says.

PORTIA                    Do you confess the bond?

ANTONIO I do.

PORTIA      Then must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCK On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

PORTIA  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 sceptre shows 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 sceptred sway;
        It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
        It is an attribute to God himself;
        And earthly power doth then show likest 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
        To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
        Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
        Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCK My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
        The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA  Is he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIO        Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
        Yea, twice the sum: 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.

PORTIA  It must not be; there is no power in Venice
        Can alter a decree established:
        'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
        And many an error by the same example
        Will rush into the state: it cannot be.

SHYLOCK A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
        O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIA  I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCK Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIA  Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

SHYLOCK An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
        Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
        No, not for Venice.

PORTIA  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:
        Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCK When it is paid according to the tenor.
        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.

ANTONIO Most heartily I do beseech the court
        To give the judgment.

PORTIA  Why then, thus it is:
        You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCK O noble judge! O excellent young man!

PORTIA  For the intent and purpose of the law
        Hath full relation to the penalty,
        Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
        How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIA  Therefore lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCK Ay, his breast:
        So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?
        'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.

PORTIA  It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
        The flesh?

SHYLOCK          I have them ready.

PORTIA  Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
        To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA  It is not so express'd: but what of that?
        'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCK I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIA  You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIO But little: I am arm'd and well prepared.
        Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!
        Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
        For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
        Than is her custom: it is still her use
        To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
        To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
        An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
        Of such misery doth she cut me off.
        Commend me to your honourable wife:
        Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
        Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;
        And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
        Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
        Repent but you 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 presently with all my heart.

BASSANIO        Antonio, I am married 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.

PORTIA  Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
        If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

GRATIANO        I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:
        I would she were in heaven, so she could
        Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

NERISSA 'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
        The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCK These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;
        Would any of the stock of Barrabas
        Had been her husband rather than a Christian!

        [Aside]

        We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

PORTIA  A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
        The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK Most rightful judge!

PORTIA  And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
        The law allows it, and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

PORTIA  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 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.

GRATIANO        O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

SHYLOCK Is that the law?

PORTIA                    Thyself shalt see the act:
        For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
        Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

GRATIANO        O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

SHYLOCK I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
        And let the Christian go.

BASSANIO        Here is the money.

PORTIA  Soft!
        The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
        He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO        O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIA  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 cut'st more
        Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
        As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
        Or the division of the twentieth part
        Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
        But in the estimation of a hair,
        Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO        A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
        Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

PORTIA  Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCK Give me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIO        I have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIA  He hath refused it in the open court:
        He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANO        A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
        I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCK Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA  Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
        To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

SHYLOCK Why, then the devil give him good of it!
        I'll stay no longer question.

PORTIA  Tarry, Jew:
        The law hath yet another hold on you.
        It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
        If it be proved against an alien
        That by direct or indirect attempts
        He seek the life of any citizen,
        The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
        Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
        Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
        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 contrived against the very life
        Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
        The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
        Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.

GRATIANO        Beg that thou mayst 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.

DUKE    That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
        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.

PORTIA  Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCK 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.

PORTIA  What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANO        A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.

ANTONIO So please my lord the duke and all the court
        To quit the 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,
        He presently become a Christian;
        The other, that he do record a gift,
        Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
        Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

DUKE    He shall do this, or else I do recant
        The pardon that I late pronounced here.

PORTIA  Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCK I am content.

PORTIA                    Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

SHYLOCK I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
        I am not well: send the deed after me,
        And I will sign it.

DUKE    Get thee gone, but do it.

GRATIANO        In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:
        Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
        To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

        [Exit SHYLOCK]

DUKE    Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

PORTIA  I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:
        I must away this night toward Padua,
        And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKE    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 his train]

BASSANIO        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.

ANTONIO And stand indebted, over and above,
        In love and service to you evermore.

PORTIA  He is well paid that is well satisfied;
        And I, delivering you, am satisfied
        And therein do account myself well paid:
        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.

BASSANIO        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.

PORTIA  You press me far, and therefore I will yield.

        [To ANTONIO]

        Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;

        [To BASSANIO]

        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.

BASSANIO        This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!
        I will not shame myself to give you this.

PORTIA  I will have nothing else but only this;
        And now methinks I have a mind to it.

BASSANIO        There's more depends on this than on the value.
        The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
        And find it out by proclamation:
        Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIA  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.

BASSANIO        Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
        And when she put it on, she made me vow
        That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

PORTIA  That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
        An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
        And know how well I have deserved the ring,
        She would not hold out enemy for ever,
        For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

        [Exeunt Portia and Nerissa]

ANTONIO My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
        Let his deservings and my love withal
        Be valued against your wife's commandment.

BASSANIO        Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
        Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
        Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste.

        [Exit Gratiano]

        Come, you and I will thither presently;
        And in the morning early will we both
        Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE II        The same. A street.


        [Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA  Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 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]

GRATIANO        Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en
        My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
        Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
        Your company at dinner.

PORTIA  That cannot be:
        His ring I do accept most thankfully:
        And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,
        I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANO        That will I do.

NERISSA                   Sir, I would speak with you.

        [Aside to PORTIA]

        I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,
        Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

PORTIA  [Aside to NERISSA]  Thou mayst, I warrant.
        We shall have old swearing
        That they did give the rings away to men;
        But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

        [Aloud]

        Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSA Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

        [Exeunt]




        THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT V



SCENE I Belmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house.


        [Enter LORENZO and JESSICA]

LORENZO 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 Troyan walls
        And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
        Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA In such a night
        Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew
        And saw the lion's shadow ere himself
        And ran dismay'd away.

LORENZO 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.

JESSICA In such a night
        Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
        That did renew old AEson.

LORENZO In such a night
        Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
        And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
        As far as Belmont.

JESSICA                   In such a night
        Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
        Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
        And ne'er a true one.

LORENZO In such a night
        Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
        Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICA I would out-night you, did no body come;
        But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

        [Enter STEPHANO]

LORENZO Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

STEPHANO        A friend.

LORENZO A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO        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 hours.

LORENZO Who comes with her?

STEPHANO        None but a holy hermit and her maid.
        I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

LORENZO He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
        But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
        And ceremoniously let us prepare
        Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

        [Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT       Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

LORENZO Who calls?

LAUNCELOT       Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo?
        Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!

LORENZO Leave hollaing, man: here.

LAUNCELOT       Sola! where? where?

LORENZO Here.

LAUNCELOT       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]

LORENZO Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
        And yet no matter: why should we go in?
        My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
        Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
        And bring your music forth into the air.

        [Exit Stephano]

        How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
        Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
        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 inlaid with patines 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-eyed cherubins;
        Such harmony is in immortal souls;
        But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
        Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

        [Enter Musicians]

        Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!
        With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
        And draw her home with music.

        [Music]

JESSICA I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

LORENZO The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
        For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
        Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
        Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
        Which is the hot condition of their blood;
        If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
        Or any air of music 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 music: therefore the poet
        Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
        Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
        But music for the time doth change his nature.
        The man that hath no music in himself,
        Nor is not moved 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:
        Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

        [Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA  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.

NERISSA When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIA  So doth the greater glory dim the less:
        A substitute shines brightly as a king
        Unto the king be by, and then his state
        Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
        Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSA It is your music, madam, of the house.

PORTIA  Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
        Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA  The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
        When neither is attended, and I think
        The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
        When every goose is cackling, would be thought
        No better a musician than the wren.
        How many things by season season'd are
        To their right praise and true perfection!
        Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
        And would not be awaked.

        [Music ceases]

LORENZO That is the voice,
        Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

PORTIA  He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
        By the bad voice.

LORENZO                   Dear lady, welcome home.

PORTIA  We have been praying for our husbands' healths,
        Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
        Are they return'd?

LORENZO                   Madam, they are not yet;
        But there is come a messenger before,
        To signify their coming.

PORTIA  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.

        [A tucket sounds]

LORENZO Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
        We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

PORTIA  This night methinks is but the daylight 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]

BASSANIO        We should hold day with the Antipodes,
        If you would walk in absence of the sun.

PORTIA  Let me give light, but let me not be light;
        For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
        And never be Bassanio so for me:
        But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

BASSANIO        I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
        This is the man, this is Antonio,
        To whom I am so infinitely bound.

PORTIA  You should in all sense be much bound to him.
        For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

ANTONIO No more than I am well acquitted of.

PORTIA  Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
        It must appear in other ways than words,
        Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

GRATIANO        [To NERISSA]  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.

PORTIA  A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?

GRATIANO        About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
        That she did give me, whose posy was
        For all the world like cutler's poetry
        Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'

NERISSA What talk you of the posy or the value?
        You swore to me, when I did give it you,
        That you would wear it till your hour of death
        And that it should lie 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! no, God's my judge,
        The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.

GRATIANO        He will, an if he live to be a man.

NERISSA Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANO        Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
        A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
        No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,
        A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
        I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIA  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 so riveted 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.

BASSANIO        [Aside]  Why, I were best to cut my left hand off
        And swear I lost the ring defending it.

GRATIANO        My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
        Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed
        Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
        That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
        And neither man nor master would take aught
        But the two rings.

PORTIA  What ring gave you my lord?
        Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

BASSANIO        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.

PORTIA  Even so void is your false heart of truth.
        By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
        Until I see the ring.

NERISSA Nor I in yours
        Till I again see mine.

BASSANIO        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.

PORTIA  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 pleased 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.

BASSANIO        No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,
        No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
        Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
        And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him
        And suffer'd him to go displeased away;
        Even he that did uphold the very life
        Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
        I was enforced 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 these blessed candles of the night,
        Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd
        The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

PORTIA  Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
        Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
        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:
        Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
        If you do not, if I be left alone,
        Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
        I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSA And I his clerk; therefore be well advised
        How you do leave me to mine own protection.

GRATIANO        Well, do you so; let not me take him, then;
        For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

ANTONIO I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

PORTIA  Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIO        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--

PORTIA  Mark you but that!
        In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;
        In each eye, one: swear by your double self,
        And there's an oath of credit.

BASSANIO        Nay, but hear me:
        Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
        I never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIO I once did lend my body for his wealth;
        Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
        Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
        My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
        Will never more break faith advisedly.

PORTIA  Then you shall be his surety. Give him this
        And bid him keep it better than the other.

ANTONIO Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

BASSANIO        By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

PORTIA  I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
        For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

NERISSA And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
        For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
        In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

GRATIANO        Why, this is like the mending of highways
        In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
        What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

PORTIA  Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed:
        Here is a letter; 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 even but now 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 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.

ANTONIO I am dumb.

BASSANIO        Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

GRATIANO        Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

NERISSA Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
        Unless he live until he be a man.

BASSANIO        Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow:
        When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

ANTONIO Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
        For here I read for certain that my ships
        Are safely come to road.

PORTIA  How now, Lorenzo!
        My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

NERISSA Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
        There 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.

LORENZO Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
        Of starved people.

PORTIA                    It is almost morning,
        And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
        Of these events at full. Let us go in;
        And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
        And we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANO        Let it be so: the first inter'gatory
        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 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]