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to, be had a kind of taste; well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge not; budge, says the Bend; budge not, says my conscience: Conscience, says I, you counsel well; fiend, says I, you counsel well to be ruled by my conscience, IE should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God bless the mark !) is a kind of devil; and to run t away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the b fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself; Certainly, the Jew is the very devil g incarnation; and, in my conscience, my con- t science is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer b to counsel me to stay with the Jew: The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, t fiend; my heels are at your commandment, I a will run.

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Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your master-sh ship.

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell ine, is my boy, (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead?

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of Je master Launcelot, father; for the young gentle- my man (acccording to fates and destinies, and such un odd saying, the sisters three, and such branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you wo would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. is,

E

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-old post, a staff, or a prop ?-Do you know me, fa- yet ther?

J

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you

not.

1

my

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1

Shy

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you And might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father, To that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will The tell you news of your son: Give me your blessing truth will come to light; murder cannot be bety hid long, a man's son may; but, in the end, have truth will out. B

L

Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure, you are not Launcelot, my boy.

Take

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling My about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your Mor child that shall be.

Le

no;

Gob. I cannot think, you are my son.

Laun. I know not what I shall think of that : || Loc

• Experiments.

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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 GOBRO. Bass. 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; hi thee, go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done
herein.

Enter GRATIANO. Gra. Where is your master? Leon. Youder, Sir, he walks.

Gra. Signior Bassanio,-Bass. Gratiano!

Laun. Adieu !-tears exhibit my tongue.— Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived; But, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit; [Exit. adieu !

[Exit LEONARDO.

Gra. I have a suit to you.
Bass. You have obtain'd it.

Gra. You must not deny me; I must go with you to Belmont.

Bass. Why, then you must;-But hear thee, Gratiano;

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.-
Alack, what heinous sin it is 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: 0 Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

[Exit.

Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;-
Parts, that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as our's appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they
show

Something too liberal: +-pray thee, take pains
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild be-
haviour,

I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

Gra. 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 de-
murely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine
eyes
Thas with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen;
Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent t
To please his grandam, never trust me more,
Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. $
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not
gage me
By what we do to-night.

Bass. 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 bave some business.

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest; But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same.-A Room in SHYLOCK's House.

SCENE IV.-The same.-A street.
Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and
SALANIO.

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

• The chiromatic term for the lines of the hand. + Too gross

1 Show of staid or serious demeanour. Deportment.

Gra. We have not made good preparation. Sular. We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly
order'd ;

And better, in my mind, not undertook.
Lor. 'Tis now but four a clock; we have two
hours
To furnish us :-

Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

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

Lor. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;

And whiter than the paper it writ on,
Is the fair hand that writ.

Gra. Love-news, in faith.

Laun. By your leave, Sir.
Lor. Whither goest thou?

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

Lor. Hold here, take this :-tell gentle Jessica,

Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT. Jes. 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 talk with thee.

I will not fail her ;-speak it privately; go.-
[Exit LAUNCELOT.
Gentlemen,
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.

Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it

straight.

Salan. And so will I.

Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano,

At Gratiano's lodging some hour bence. Salar. 'Tis good we do so.

[Exeunt SALAR. and SALAN. Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? Lor. I must needs tell thee all: she bath

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. SCENE V.-The same-Before SHYLOCK'S House.

Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT.

Shy. Well thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be
thy judge,

The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio :-
What, Jessica!-thou shalt not gormandize,
As thou hast done with me ;--What, Jessica!-
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ;-
Why, Jessica, I say!

With that keen appetite that be 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,

Enter JESSICA.

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return;

Jes. Call you? what is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
There are my keys :-But wherefore should I With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Leau, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
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.

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long
abode;

Laun. I beseech you, Sir, go; my young mas-Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait; ter doth expect your reproach. When you shall please to play the thieves for Shy. So do I bis. wives,

watch as long for you then.-Approach; Here dwells my father Jew: Ho! who's within.

Laun. And they have conspired together,-II'll 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 after

noon.

Laun. Why, Jessica!
Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee
call.

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing without bidding.

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Shy. What are there masques? Hear you me,
Jessica :

Look up my doors; and when you hear the
drum,

And the vile squeaking 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 case-I

ments;

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Salar. Oh! ten times faster Venns' pigeons fly To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont,

Enter LORENZO.

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ;-more of this hereafter.

.

Enter JESSICA above, in boy's clothes.

Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more cer
tainty,

Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed;
For who love I so much? And Dow who knows,
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am your's?
Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness
that thou art.

Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the
paius.

am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much asham'd of my exchange:
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves comit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would biasa
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-
bearer.

Jes. What, must I hold a cradle to my shames ? They in themselves, good south, are too ide

• Invited.

+ Easter Monday: so called from Edward III. losing large part of his army (then besieging Paris) by celd the day was very dark and misty.

light.

And I should be obscur'd.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;

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Ant. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio?

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?

To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever bolds: Who rises from a Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you :

feast,

No masque to-night; the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard:

I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

• Decorated with fings.

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light,

Than to be under sail, and goue to-night.

Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more de- | Lies all within.-Deliver me the key;
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may !
Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form
lie there,
Then I am your's.

[Exeunt.

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

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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 grav'd 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 through-fares 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 pic-

ture.

Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere dam-
nation,

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 immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have
England

A coin, that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold; but that's insculp'd + upɔn;
But here an angel in a golden bed

↑ Engraven.

• Enclose.

[He unlocks the golden casket.
Mor. O hell what have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll? I'll read the writing.
All that glisters 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 infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed; and labour lost;

Then, farewell, heat; and welcome, frost.
Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave; thus losers part.

[Exit. Por. A gentle riddance:--Draw the curtains, go;

Let all of his complexion choose me so.

[Exeunt. SCENE VIII.-Venice.-A Street.

Enter SALARINO and SALANIO.
Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along ;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.
Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd
the duke;

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A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, [ter!
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daugh-
And jewels; two stones, two rich and pre-
cious stones,
[girl!
Stol'n by my daughter!-Justice! find the
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow
him,
[ducats.
Crying, bis stones, his daughter, and his
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his
Or he shall pay for this.
(day,

Salar. 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.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what
you hear;

Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
(earth.
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return; he answer'd-Do not so,
Stubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,

in 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

Justice! the law ! my ducats, and my daugh

ter

• Conversed. carelessly.

† To slubber, is to do a thing

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

bim.

Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. SCENEIX-Belmont.-A Room in PORTIA'S

House.

Enter NERISSA, with a Servant.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;

The prince of Arragon bath ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their Trains.

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:

If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd; But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately.

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three First, never to unfold to any one [things: 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 you choice, Immediately to leave you and be gone.

Por. To these injunctions every one doth

swear,

now

That comes to hazard for my worthless self. Ar. And so have I address'd me: Fortune [lead. To my heart's hope !-Gold, silver, and base Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath: You shall look fairer, ere 1 give, or hazard. What says the golden chest? ha! let me see : Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men [meant What many men desire. That many may be By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; Which pries not to the anterior, but, like the martlet,

desire.

Builds in the weather on the outward wall.
Even in the force and road of casuality.
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.
Oh! that estates, degrees, and offices,

Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour

Were purchas'd 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.
Por. Too long a pause for that which you
find there.

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Ar. 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 may deserv ings?

Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves.

Agree with.

Did I deserve no more than a fool's head!
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better !
Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
Ar. What is here ?

The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgment is,
That did never choose amiss:
Some there be, that shadow's 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 begone, Sir, 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.
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

Ner. The ancient saying is no beresy ;— Hanging and wiving goes by destiny,

Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Where is my lady?

Por. Here; what would my lord?

A young Venetian, one that comes before
Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
To signify the approaching of his lord:
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;+
To wit, besides commends, and
breath,
Gifts of rich value; Yet I bave not seen
So likely an embassador of love:
A day in April never came so sweet
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
To show how costly summer was at hand,

Por. 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 bim.

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Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly.
Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be!
[Exeunt

ACT III.

SCENE I.-Venice.-A Street.

Enter SALANIO and SALARINO. Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto f Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck ̋d, that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck d on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship live buried, as they say, if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word.

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapp'd ginger, or made ber neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband: But it is true, without say slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain highway of talk,-that the good Antonio, the bonest Antonio,--O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!

• Know.

+ Salutations.

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