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THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE.

SHAKSPEARE was supposed to have taken the two plots of this admirable play from an Italian novel, and from a collection of old stories, printed by Wynkin de Worde, under the title of Gesta Romanorum; but as a play comprehending the incidents of both had been exhibited long before he commenced writing for the stage, he probably chose the latter as a model for his own production. It matters not, however, from what source a dramatic author derives his plot, so that he plan it well, and make good use of it afterward; and Johnson says, that in this play "the union of two actions in one event is eminently happy ;" excelling evea Dryden's skilfal conjunction of the two plots in his Spanish Friar, yet the interest of action can scarcely be said to continue beyond the disgrace of Shylock, in the fourth act; since expectation is so strongly fixed upon “justice and the bond," that it ceases to exist after they are satisfied. In the defeat of cunning, and in the triumph of humanity, the most powerful feelings of our nature are successively appealed to: thus anticipation is keenly alive, so long as Antonio's fate is dark and undecided. But with the development of that, the charm is at an end. The power of excitement expires with the object upon which the feelings were centered; and as the lesser passions are susceptible of little delight, when the greater have been subjected to aty unusual stimulant, the common-place trifles of the concluding act are rather endured with patience, than received with gratification. The character of Shylock is no less original, than it is finely finished: "the language, allusions, and ideas (says Henly) are so appropriate to a Jew, that Shylock might be exhibited for an exemplar of that peculiar people;" nor are the other personages unpleasingly drawn or inadequately supported. Of detached passages, Portia's description of the qualitics and excellence of mercy, may be selected as one of the noblest attributes with which Genius has ever exalted the excellence of any particular

virtue.

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Frie

GRATIANO,

LORENZO, in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK, a Jew.

OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot.
SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice.
LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio.
BALTHAZAR, Servants to Portia.

STEPHANO,

SALARINO,Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. | PORTIA, a rich Heiress:

NERISSA, her waiting-maid.
JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock.

TOBAL, a Jew, his Friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shy

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of
Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other
Attendants.

lock.

SCENE-partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

ACT 1.

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,
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.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean:
There, where your argosies with portly sail,

• Shipt of large burthen, probably galleons.

Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood,
Or, as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That curt'sy to them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Salan. Believe me, Sir, had 1 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 ronds;
And every object, that might make me jear
Misfortune to my ventures out of doubt
Would make me sad.

Salar. My wind cooling my broth,

entertain,

And do a wilful stillness
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; who, I am very sure,

ears,

If they should speak, would almost damn those
fools
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers,
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.-
Come, good Lorenzo :-Fare ye well, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner. +

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-
time:

Would blow me to an ague when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of fiats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in saud,
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, bechanc'd, would make me sad ?

But, tell not me: I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

[it,

Ant. Believe me, ao: I thank my fortune for
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.
Salan. Why then you are in love.
Ant. Fie, fie!

Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say you
are sad,

Because you are not merry: and, 'twere as easy
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are
merry,
(Janus,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their
eyes,

And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper;
And other of such vinegar aspect,

That they'll not show their teeth in way of
smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
Say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on

yours.

[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO. Lor. 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.
Bass. I will not fail you.

Gra. 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 chang'd.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra-
tiano,

A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
kinsman,

Bass, 'Tis not unknown to you, Autonia,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling pert
Than my faint means would grant costia SRECT:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate; but my chief care

Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,

merry,

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.

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know
it ;

Gra. 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 bis grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaun.

dice

I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

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

Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for tas
gear.

Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence only is com-
mendable

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;

In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not rende
[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENJÜ-
Ant. Is that any thing now?

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of so thing, 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.

Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is the

same

To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of!

And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd,
My purse, my person, my extremest mears,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

Bass. In my school days, when I had lost out
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 adventning
both,

1 oft found both: I urg'd 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 picase
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.

Ant. 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,

• Obstinate silence.

+ This is an allusion to the puritan preachers, whe being generally long and tedious, were obliged to post poue that part of their sermon called the cabeftalien, till after dinner.

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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 press'd unto it; therefore, speak,
Bass. 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

Haug on her temples like a golden fleece;

Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos'
strand,

at sea;
Nor 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.

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,

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 had habit of frowning than the count Palatine: he is every

I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are man in uo 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.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.—Belmont.-A Room in PORTIA's

House.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary 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. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 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 :-0 me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father :-Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

Ver. 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?

Ver. 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 appropriation to his good parts, that he can shoe him himself; I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith.

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choose: be bears 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.

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

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England?

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 penny-worth 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 behaviour every where.

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

Por. 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 will be married to a sponge.

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; they have acquainted me with their determination: 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.

Por. 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 Por. I pray thee overname them; and as parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is thou namest them, I will describe them: and, not one among them but I dote on bis very according to my description, level at my affec-absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure.

tion.

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a sol

Por. 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 au

other.

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew?

Por. 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 little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast; an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

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.

• Count.
1. e. If the worst happen that ever, &c

dier, that came hither in company of the mar-Even there where merchants most do congre quis 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 Morecco; who brings word the prince, his master, will be here to-night.

SCENE III-Venice.-A public Place.
Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK.
Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well.
Bass. Ay, Sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months,--well.

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

Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well.
Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure
me? Shall I know your answer?
Shy. Three thousand ducals, for three months,

and Antonio bound.

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so By taking nor by giving of excess,
good a heart as I can bid the other four fare- Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
well, I should be glad of his approach: if he'll break a custom :-Is he yet possess'd, ·
have the condition of a saint, and the com- How much you would!
plexion of a devil, I had rather be should shrive
me, than wive me. Come, Nerissa.-Sirrah, go
before. Whiles we shut the gate upon one
wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt.

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.

Shy. I had forgot,-three mosties, you idd

Bass. Your answer to that.

Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

Shy. 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 bath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he bath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England,--and other ventures be bath, squander'd 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 may be assured, I will bethink me: May 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?

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gate,

On me, my bargains, and my well-won fril,
Which he calls interest: Cursed be my inde,
If I forgive him!

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Bass. Shylock, do you bear!

Shy. 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 ?-Rest you fair, good signior;
To ASTON
Your worship was the last man in our words.
Ant. Shylock, albeit, I neither leud nor bot
row,

me so.

Well then, your bond; and, let me see,-B
hear you;

Methought, you said, you neither lent, se
Upon advantage.
JNTU

Ant. I do never use it.

Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Labar's sheep,

(As bis wise mother wrought in bis betaf,)
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was
The third possessor; ay, he was the third
Ant. And what of him? did he take interest
Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you woul
say,

pied,

Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromise,
That all the eanlings which were stra'd and
Should fall as Jacob's bire; the ewes, de Jag Thak,
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 waÓN,
Aud, in the doing of the deed of kind,;
He stuck them up before the falsome vers;
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning tre
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and Ubase Dick

Jacob's.

This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
And thrift is blessing, if men steal & B

Ant. This was a venture, Sir, that Jand
serv'd for;

A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But sway'd and fashion'd by the head of heaven,
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams!
Was this inserted to make interest good!
Shy. I cannot tell; I make

it breed z

fast:-
Bat note me, signior.

The devil can cite scripture for his pape.
Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio,
An evil soul producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart;
Oh! what a goodly outside falsehood hath'
Shy. Three thousand ducats, is 2 god
round sum.

Three months from twelve, then let me set

rate.

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden tyva
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time, ad c
In the Rialto you have rated ine
About my monies and my usauces:
Still have I borne it with a patient shrne:
For sufferance is the badge of all our rive
You call me misbeliever, ent-thrust deg,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is me gaz.

• Wents which admit ne lenge ca.
4 Informed.
¡ Satere.

$ Interest.

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Well then, it now appears, you need my help:
Go to then you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies: You say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spura a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies 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 humble.
ness,

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
Pil lend you thus much monies.

Ant. 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 may'st with better face
Exact the penalty.

Shy. 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 monies, and you'll not hear

bond,

And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
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;

Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
If be 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, 1 extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this

bond.

ACT II.

may, My ships coine beme a mo.th before the day. [Acunt.

SCENE 1.-Belmont.-A Room in PORTIA'S

House.

me:
This is kind I offer.

Ant. This were kindness.

Shy. 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,

lu 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
ta what part of your body pleaseth me.

And so may 1, blind fortune leading me,

Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO and his Train; PORTIA, NERISSA, und other of her Attendants.

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd son,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
Aud 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 cline
Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
Por. 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 hedg'd 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.

Mor. Even for that I thank you :
Therefore, I pray yon, 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 out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart inost dating on the earth,
Pluck the young suckling 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;

Por. 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 advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.

Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

SCENE II-Venice.-A Street.

Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO.

Shy. 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.

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 couscience 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 tiend; 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 horest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son,

[Exit. Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.

Ant. Come on in this there can be no dis--or rather an honest woman's son; -for, indeed, my father did something stack, something grow

• Red blood is a traditionary sign of lete al righted.

Mor. Good fortune then!

[Cornets.

To make me bless'd, or cursed'st among men.
[Exeunt.

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