You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog, A curre can lend three thoufand ducats? or Ant.I am as like to call thee fo againe, Who if he breake, thou maift with better face Shy. Why looke you how you ftorme, I would be friends with you, and haue your loue, Baff. This were kindneffe. Shy. This kindnesse will I show, Goe with me to a Notarie,feale me there If you repay me not on fuch a day Ia fuch a place,fuch fumme or fummes as are Ant, Content ifaith,ile feale to such a bond, An,Why feare not man, I will not forfet it, Shy.O father Abram, what thefe Chriftians are, A pound of mans flesh taken from a man, And for my loue, I pray you wrong me not. Ant. Yes Shylocke, I will feale vnto this bond. Giue him direction for this merry bond, Ile be with you. Exit. Ant.Hie thee gentle lew: the Hebrew will turne Christian, he growes fo kinde. Baff.I like not faire termes, and a villaines minde, My My fhips come home a month before the day.. Exeunt Enter Morochusa tawny Moore all in white, and three or Moroc. Miflike me not for my complexion, Hath fear'd the valiant (by my Loue I fweare) Hath lou'd it too: I would not change this hue, By nice direction of a maydens eyes. Barres me the right of voluntary choofing: But if my father had not scanted me, And hedg'd me by his wit, to yeeld my selfe His wife, who winnes me by that meanes I told you, For my affection. Mor. Euen for that I thanke you, Therefore I pray you leade me to the Caskets Yea, Yea, mocke the Lyon when he rores for prey, Which is the better man, the greater throw And fo may I, blinde fortune leading mee, Portia. You must take your chance, And either not attempt to choofe at all, In way of marriage, therefore be ad uifde. Mor.Nor will not, come bring me to my chance Por. First forward to the Temple, after dinner Your hazard fhall be made. Mor. Good fortune then, To make me bleft,or curfedit among men. Enter the Clowne alone. Exeunt. Clowne. Certainly, my confcience will ferue me to run from this lew my mafter. The fiend is at mine elbow,and tempts me faying to mee, Gobbo, Lancelet Gobbo, good Lancelet, or good Gobbo, or good Lancelet Gobbo, vle your legges, take the starte, runne away: My Confcience fayes no; take heed honeft Lancelet, take heede honeft Gobbo, or as aforefaide, honeft Launcelet Gobbo, do not runne, fcorne running with thy heeles. Well, the moft couragious fiend bids me packe. fia fayes the fiend, away fayes the fiend, for the heauens roufe vp a braue mind fayes the fiend, and runne. Well, my confcience hanging about the neck of my heart, fayes very wifely to me; My honeft friend Lancelet, being an honeft mans fonne, or rather an honeft womans fonne, for indeede my Father did fomething fmack, fomething grow too, he had a kinde of tafte: well, my confcience fayes bouge bouge not; bouge faies the fiend; bouge not fayes my Confcience. Confcience fay I you counfell well; Fiend fay I you counfell ill. To be rul'd by my Confcience, I fhould ftay with the Iew my mafter, who (God bleffe the marke) isa kinde of diuell; and to runne away from the Iew, I fhould be rul'de by the fiend, who (fauing your reuerence) is the Diuell himselfe. Certainly the Iew is the very diuell incarnall,and in my conscience, my confcience is but a kinde of hard confcience, to offer to counfell me to ftay with the Iew. The fiende giues the more friendly counfaile, I will run fiend, my heeles are at your command, I will run. Enter old Gobbo with a Basket. Gobbo.Mafter yong man, you I pray you, which is the way to Mafter lewes? Lance. O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, who be ing more then fand blind, high grauell blinde, knowes me not, I will try conclufions with him. Gobbo. Mafter yong Gentleman, I pray you which is the way to mafter Iewes? Lance. Turne vp on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marry at the verie nexte turning turne of no hand, but turne downe indirectly vnto the Iewes house. Gobbo. Be Gods fonties twill bee a hard way to hit, can you tell me whither one Lancelet that dwels with him, dwell with him, or no? Lancelet. Talke you of young mafter Lancelet? Marke mee now, now will I raife the waters: Talke you of yong M. Lancelet? Gobbo. No mafter fir, but a poore mans fonne. His Father (though I fay it) Is an honeft exceeding poore man, And God be thanked, well to liue. Lancelet. Well let his Father be what a will, we talk of yong Ca mafter |