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Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.
Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, coft me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! the curfe 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; O, would The were hers'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin. No news of them; why, fo! and I know not what's spent in the fearch: why, thou lofs upon lofs! the thief gone with fo much, and fo much to find the thief; and no fatisfaction, no revenge, nor no ill luck ftirring, but what lights o' my fhoulders; no fighs but o' my breathing, no tears but o' my fhedding.
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Anthonio, as I heard in Genoua
Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? Tub. Hath an Argofie caft away, coming from Tripolis.
Shy. I thank God, I thank God; is it true? is it true?
Tub I fpoke with fome of the failors that escaped the wreck.
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal; good news, good news; ha, ha, where? in Genoua?
Tub. Your daughter fpent in Genoua, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats.
Shy. Thou ftick'ft a dagger in me; I fhall never fee my gold again; fourscore ducats at a fitting, fourfcore ducats!
Tub. There came divers of Anthonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that fwear he cannot chuse but break.
Shy. I am glad of it, I'll plague him, I'll torture him; I am glad of it.
Tub. One of them fhew'd me a ring, that he had of your daughter for a monky.
Shy. Out upon her! thou tortureft me, Tubal; it was my Turquoife, I had it of Leah when I was a batchelor; I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkies.
Tub. But Anthonio is certainly undone.
Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true; go fee me an officer, befpeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will: go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our fynagogue; go, good Tubal; at our fynagogue, Tubal. [Exeunt.
Changes to Belmont.
Enter Baffanio, Portia, Gratiano, and Attendants. The Caskets are fet out.
Pray you, tarry; pause a day or two,
Mine own, I would fay: but if mine, then yours;
Bal. Let me chufe:
For as I am, I live upon the rack.
Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confefs,
Baff. None, but that ugly treafon of mistruft,
Por. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack; Where men enforced do fpeak any thing.
Baff. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.
Had been the very fum of my
4 Let fortune go to hell for it. nat I.] This line is very obfcure. The form of the expreffion alludes to what she had faid of being forfworn. After fome struggle, fhe refolves to keep her oath And then fays, Let fortune go to hell for it. For what! not for telling or favouring Baffanio, which was the temptation fhe then lay under: for fortune had taken no oath. And, furely, for the more favouring a man of merit, fortune did not deferve (confidering how rarely the tranfgreffes this way) fo fevere a fentence. Much lefs could the fpeaker, who favour'd Baffanio, think fo. The meaning then muit be, Let fortune rather go to bell for not favouring Baffanio, than I for favouring him. So loofely does our author fometimes ufe his pronouns. - not I does not fignify, Let not I go to hell; for then it should be Let not me. But it is a diftinct fentence of itself. And is a very common proverbial fpeech, fignifying, I will have nothing to do with it. Which if the Oxford Editor had confidered, he might have fpared his pains in changing I into me.
Doth teach me anfwers for deliverance!
Let mufick found, while he doth make his choice;
A Song, whilft Baffanio comments on the caskets to bimfelf.
Tell me, where his fancy bred,
It is engender'd in the eye,
Let us all ring fancy's knell.
Ball. So may the outward fhows be leaft themselves: The world is ftill deceiv'd with Ornament. In law, what plea fo tainted and corrupt, But being feafon'd with a gracious voice, Obfcures the show of evil? in religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will blefs it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the groffnefs with fair ornament? There is no vice fo fimple, but affumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. How many cowards, whofe hearts are all as falfe As ftairs of fand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; Who, inward fearcht, have livers white as milk? And these affume but valour's excrement, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, And you fhall fee 'tis purchas'd by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest, that wear most of it. So are those crispy fnaky golden locks, Which make fuch wanton gambols with the wind Upon fuppofed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a fecond head, The skull, that bred them, in the fepulchre. Thus Ornament is but the guilty fhore To a most dang'rous fea; the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, The feeming truth which cunning times put on T'entrap the wifeft. Then, 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 meager lead,