Bot. No, I assure you, the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company? The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.- In nightly revels, and new jollity. SCENE II.-Enter PUCK. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; [Exeunt. Whilst the scritch-owl, scr.tehing loud, That the graves, all gaping wide, In the church-way paths to glide: By the triple Hecate's team, Following darkness like a dream, Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their train. Hop as light as bird from brier; And this ditty, after me, Sing, and dance it trippingly. Obe. Now, until the break of day, So shall all the couples three Shall upon their children be.- Every fairy take his gait; And each several chamber bless, Through this palace with sweet peace: E'er shall it in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. [Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train. Puck. If we shadows have offended, Think but this, (and all is mended,) That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I'm an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, [Exit. 1 SALARINO, Friends to ANTONIO and BASSANIO. GRATIANO, LORENZO, in love with JESSICA. SHYLOCK, a Jew. TURAL, a Jew, his friend. LAUNCELOT GOEвO, a Clown, servant to SHYLOCK. Old GOBBO, Father to LAUNCELOT. STEPHANO, Servants to PORTIA. PORTIA, a rich Heiress. NERISSA, her Waiting-maid. JESSICA, Daughter to SHYLOCK. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, SCENE,-Partly at VENICE, and partly at BELMONT, the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent. ACT I SCENE I-VENICE. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Ant. 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, And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, Salan. Believe me, Sir, had I such venture forth, Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say you are That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. [man, Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, I take it, your own business calls on you, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; Gra. Let me play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time: Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you Ant. Well; teil me now, what lady is this same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something shewing a more swelling port Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; My purse, my person, my extremest means, Bass. 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 advent'ring both, Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, Ant. You know me well; and here'n 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, O my Antonio, had I but the means SCENE II-BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA's House. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Ner. 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. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Por. 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 over 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? Ner. 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 you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come? Por. I pray thee, overname them; and as thon namest them, I will describe them: and, according to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appro priation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a sm'th. Ner. Then there is the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say, "An 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 fuil 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 those. God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon? Por. 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. Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of Engiand? Por. 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; bat, 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 behaviour everywhere. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Engi̇'shman, and swore he would pay him again, when he was able: I think, the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under for another. Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew? Por. Very villy 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 ra; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him. An Ner. 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. Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, I 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 anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. Ner. 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 fathers imposition, depending on the caskets. Por. If I live to be as oid 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. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a solder, that came hither in company of the marquis of Montferrat ? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, Madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. Por. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise.-How now! what news? Enter a Servant. Serv. 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. Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good 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 gate upon me wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-VENICE. A public Place. Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK. Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well. Base. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Sky. Ho, 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. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us. Shy. 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. Bass. This is signior Antonio. Shy. [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 If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. Bass, Shylock, do you hear? Shy. I am debating of my present store; Your worship was the last man in our mouths. By taking, nor by giving of excess, How much you would? Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot,-three months, you told me so. Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheepThis Jacob from our holy Abraham was (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) The third possessor; ay, he was the third Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; Fall party-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. Ant. 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. Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? Ant. Mark you this. Bassanio, The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. Shy. Three thousand ducats,-'tis a good round sum. A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" or "Fair Sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, But lend it rather to thine enemy; Who if he break, thou mayst with better face Shy. Why, look yon, how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have your love, Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me: Ant. This were kindness. Shy. This kindness will I shew: Go with me to a notary, seal me there you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum or sums as are Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond, SCENE II.-VENICE. Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, I'll rather dwell in my necessity. Ant. 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. Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are; A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. ACT II. [Exit. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA's House. Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and other of her Attendants. Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, Mor. Even for that I thank you: And so may I, blind fortune leading me, Por. You must take your chance; Or swear before you choose,-if you choose wrong, In way of marriage; therefore be advised. Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made A Street. Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO. Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew, my master. The fiend is at mine elbow; and tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot," or "good Gobbo," or "good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away." My conscience says, "No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo;" or, as aforesaid, "honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels." Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; "Via!" says the fiend; "away!" says the fiend, "for the 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 incarnation; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment, I will run. Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket. Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not:-I will try conclusions with him. Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot?-Mark me now; [Aside.] now will I raise the waters.-Talk you of young master Launcelot? Gob. No master, Sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Lun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot. Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot? Gob. Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop? Do you know me, father?: Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy (God rest his soul!) alive or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father? Gob. Alack, Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son. Give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think you are my son. Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and I am sure Margery, your wife, is my mother. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed; I'll be sworn, |