Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,
002 The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d sun,
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
004 Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
005 Where Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,
And 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
010 The best-regarded virgins of our clime
011 Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
013 Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;
015 Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
But if my father had not scanted me
018 And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
020 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair
As any comer I have look’d on yet
For my affection.
Even for that I thank you:
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets.
024 To try my fortune. By this scimitar
025 That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
027 I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
030 Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
031 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:
035 So is Alcides beaten by his page;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me.
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.
You must take your chance;
And either not attempt to choose at all,
040 Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage: therefore be advised.
043 Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.
Por. First, forward to the temple: after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
045 Good fortune then!
046 To make me blest or cursed’st among men. [Cornets, and exeunt.
001 Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and 003 tempts me, saying to me, ‘Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,’ or ‘good Gobbo,’ or ‘good Launcelot Gobbo, 005 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 008 run; scorn running with thy heels.’ Well, the most courageous 009 fiend bids me pack: ‘Via!’ says the fiend; ‘away!’ 010 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 015 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 019 counsel well:’ to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay 020 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 023 himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; 024 and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard 025 conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my 027 heels are at your command; I will run.
028 Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s?
030 Laun. [Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, 032 knows me not: I will try confusions with him.
Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s?
035 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 038 to the Jew’s house.
039 Gob. By God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. 040 Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?
Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot?
045 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man’s son: his father, 046 though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.
050 Gob. Your worship’s friend, and Launcelot, sir.
Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech 052 you, talk you of young Master Launcelot?
Gob. Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership.
Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master 055 Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters 057 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 060 my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff 062 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 065 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 070 child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: 071 give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder 072 cannot be hid long; a man’s son may; but, at the length, 073 truth will out.
Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not 075 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.
080 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, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. 085 Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my 087 fill-horse has on his tail.
Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail than 090 I have of my face when I last saw him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. 093 How ’gree you now?
Laun. Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have 095 set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in his service; 098 you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present to one 100 Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if 101 I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for 103 I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.
Bass. You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that 105 supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making; and 107 desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant.
Laun. To him, father.
Gob. God bless your worship!
110 Bass. Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?
Gob. Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,—
Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man; that would, sir,—as my father shall specify,—
Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, 115 to serve,—
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire,—as my father shall specify,—
Gob. His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence, are scarce cater-cousins,—
120 Laun. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me,—as my father, 122 being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you,—
Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is,—
125 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.
Bass. One speak for both. What would you?
Laun. Serve you, sir.
130 Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass. I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit:
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew’s service, to become
135 The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough.
139 Bass. Thou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
140 Take leave of thy old master and inquire
My lodging out. Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows’: see it done.
143 Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have 144 ne’er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy have 145 a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I 146 shall have good fortune. Go to, here’s a simple line of life: here’s a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is 148 nothing! a’leven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in 149 for one man: and then to ’scape drowning thrice, 150 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 153 leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo.
Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
155 These things being bought and orderly bestow’d,
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
157 My best-esteem’d acquaintance: hie thee, go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
159 Gra. Where is your master?
Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit.
160 Gra. Signior Bassanio,—
Bass. Gratiano!
162 Gra. I have a suit to you.
You have obtain’d it.
163 Gra. You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.
165 Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano:
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;
Parts that become thee happily enough,
168 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they show
170 Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behaviour,
173 I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
174 And lose my hopes.
Signior Bassanio, hear me:
175 If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
177 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say ‘amen;’
180 Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
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 gauge me
By what we do to-night.
185 No, that were pity:
I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
188 That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
I have some business.
190 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt.
001 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:
005 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
009 See me in talk with thee.
010 Laun. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful 011 pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu: 013 these foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit: adieu.
015 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. [Exit Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
017 To be ashamed to be my father’s child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
020 If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit.
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour.
Gra. We have not made good preparation.
005 Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.
Salan. ’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,
And better in my mind not undertook.
008 Lor. ’Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours
009 To furnish us.
Friend Launcelot, what’s the news?
010 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;
013 And whiter than the paper it writ on
014 Is the fair hand that writ.
Love-news, in faith.
015 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
020 I will not fail her; speak it privately.
021 Go, gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot.
022 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.
025 Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.
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 hath directed
030 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:
035 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.
001 Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:—
What, Jessica!—thou shalt not gormandise,
As thou hast done with me:—What, Jessica!—
005 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;—
Why, Jessica, I say!
Why, Jessica!
007 Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
008 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me that I could
do nothing without bidding.
010 Jes. Call you? what is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon
015 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.
Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth 020 expect your reproach.
Shy. So do I his.
Laun. And they have conspired together, I 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 025 last at six o’clock i’ the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon.
027 Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
029 And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,
030 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 casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
035 My sober house. By Jacob’s staff, I swear
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
Say I will come.
039 Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at 040 window, for all this;
There will come a Christian by,
042 Will be worth a Jewess’ eye. [Exit.
Shy. What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?
Jes. His words were, ‘Farewell, mistress;’ nothing else.
045 Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
046 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him; and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
050 His borrow’d purse. Well, Jessica, go in:
Perhaps I will return immediately:
052 Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
053 Fast bind, fast find,
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit.
055 Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit.
Gra. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
002 Desired us to make stand.
His hour is almost past.
Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
005 Salar. O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly
006 To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
010 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.
014 How like a younker or a prodigal
015 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!
017 How like the prodigal doth she return,
018 With over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!
020 Salar. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
024 I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach;
025 Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?
Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed,
030 For who love I so much? And now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
033 Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,
034 For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.
040 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
041 Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscured.
044 So are you, sweet,
045 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once;
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.
Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
050 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exit above.
051 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
052 Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
055 And true she is, as she hath proved herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
058 What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
059 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. [Exit with Jessica and Salarino.
060 Ant. Who’s there?
Gra. Signior Antonio!
061 Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
’Tis nine o’clock: our friends all stay for you.
No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
065 Bassanio presently will go aboard:
066 I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
067 Gra. I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [Exeunt.