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father, though I fay't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelot
Gob. Your Worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir.
Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot?
Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your Malterihip.
Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot; talk not of Master Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and fuch odd fayings, the hiters three, and such branches of learning) is indeed deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.
Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of
my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop ? Do you know me, father?
Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my bey, God rest his foul, alive or dead ?
Laun. Do you not know me, father?
Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the kuowing 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 blefling, truth will come tn light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son inay ; but in the end, truth will cut.
Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot my boy.
Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blefling ; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
Cob. I cannot think you are my son.
L111. I know not what I llall think of that: but I am Launcelor the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery your wife is
mother, Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own feth and blood: Lord worihipp'd might he be! what a beard haft thou
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dob- . bin my
thill horse has on his tail. Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail
grows backward; I am sure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou change'd ! how dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you no x ?
Laun. Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my reft to run away, so I will not rett til} I have run fome ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a present ! give him a halter: I am familh'd in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs Fatlier, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one Master Baflanio, who indeed gives more new liveries; if I serve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the mán; to hiin, father, for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Baffanio with Leonardo, and a folloqver or fiue *
more. Bas. You may do so; but let it be so hafted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: fee these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Laun. To him, father.
Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father shall specify,
Gob. He hach a great infection, Sir, as one would fay, to serve
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a defire, as my father Thall specify,
Gob. His master and he, saving your Worship's reverence, are scarce catercousins.
Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jews, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old inan, ihall frutify unto you,
Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your Worship ; and my fuit is
Laun. 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.
Bel. One speak for both, what would you ?
Bal. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit ;
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock aad you, Sir ; you have the grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough.
Bas: Thou speak'st it well; go, father, with thy son: Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out; give him a livery, More guarded than his fellows: fee it done.
Laun. Father, in; I cannot get a service, no ? I have ne'er a tongue in my head ? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table * which doth ****** offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune; go 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 geer. Father, come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinking of an eye.
[Exeunt Laun, and Gob. Bal. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought and orderly bestowed, Return in haste, for I do feait to-night My best-esteem'd acquaintance, hie thee, go. Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
SC EN E III. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Where is your master ? Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks. [Ex. Leonardo. * Looking on his own hand.
Gra. Signior Baffanio,
Ball. Why, then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano;
Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me.
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night, you thall not gage me
Bas. No, that were pity.
Gra. And I must,to Lorenzo and the rest :
Enter Jessica and Launcelot.
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee.
L.aun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue; mof beaużtiful Pagan, moit sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceiv’d. But, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu !
[Exit. Jef. Farewel, good Launcelot, Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asham’d to be my father's child ? But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit.
The street. Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Solarino, and Salanio.
Lor. Nay, we will Nink away in fupper-time, ditguise us at my lodging, and return all in an hour.
Gra. We have not made good preparation.
Sola. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered, And better in my mind not undertook.
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock, we have two hours To furnith us. Friend Launcelot, what's the news ?
Enter Launcclot, with a letter. Laun. An it shall piease you to break up this, it shall seem to signify
Lor. I know the hand; in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
Gra. Love-news, in faith.
Laun. Marry, Sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new maiter the Christian.