How like a younger or a prodigall,
The skarfed Barke puts from her natiue bay,
Hugd and embraced by the ftrumpet winde,
How like the prodigall doth fhe returue
With ouer-wetherd ribs and ragged fayles,
Leane,rent,and beggerd by the ftrumpet wind?

Enter Lorenzo.

Sal.Here comes Lorenzo,more of this hereafter.
Lo.Sweet friends,your patience for my long abode
Not I,but my affaires haue made you waite :
When you hal pleafe to play the theeues for wiues
Ile watch as long for you then: approch,
Here dwels my father Iew.Ho,whofe within
Ieffica abone.

Ieff.Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit lle fweare that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo and thy loue.

leff. Lorenzo certaine,and my loue indeed, For who loue I fo much? and now who knowes But you Lorenzo,whether I am yours?

Lo. Heauen & thy thoghts are witnes that thou art
Jeff.Here,catch this Casket, tis worth the paines,
I am glad tis night you do not looke on me,
For I am much afham'd of my exchange:
But loue is blinde, and louers cannot fee
The pretty follies that themfelues commit,
For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blufh
To fee ine thus transformed to a boy.

Lor.Defcend, for you must be my torch-bearer,
Ieff.What,muft I hold a Candle to my fhames,
They in themfelues goodfooth are too too light.
Why tis an office of difcouery, Loue,
And I fhould be obfcur'd.

Lor. So are you sweete,

Euen in the louely garnish of a boy,
But come at once, for the clofe night

Doth

Doth play the run-away,

And we are ftaid for at Bassanies feaft.

Jeff.I will make faft the doores, and guild ny felfe
With fome mo ducats, and be with you ftraight.
Grat. Now by my hood,a Gentile and no lew.
Lor.Befhrew me but I loue her hartily,

For fhe is wife, if I can judge of her,
And faire fhe is,if that mine eyes be true,
And true he is,as the hath proo'ud herfelfe,
And therefore like herselfe,wife,faire and true,
Shall fhe be placed in my conftant foule.
Enter leffica.

What,art thou come? on gentlemen,away,
Our masking mates by this time for vs ftay. Exit.
Enter Anthonio.

Ant.Who's there?

Gra.Signior Anthonio.

Ant.Fie,fic Gratiano, where are all the reft?
Tis nine a clocke,our friends all ftay for you,
No maske to night,the winde is come abour,
Baffanie prefently will goe aboard,
I am glad on't, I defire no more delight
Then to be vnder fayle,& gone to night.

Enter Portia with Morrocho,and both their traines,

Por.Goe,draw afide the Curtaines, and difcouer
The feuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:
Now make your choife.

Mor.The first of gold,who this infcription beares,
Who chooseth me,shall gaine what many men defire.
The second filuer,which this promife carries,
Who chooseth me,fhall get as much as he deferues.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chooseth me,must giue and hazard all he hath..
How shall I know if I do choose the right ?.

D3

1

Mafter Launcelet.

Gob. Your worships friend, and Lancelet fir.

Lan. But I pray you ergo olde inan, ergo Ibeseech you, talke you of yong M.Lancelet.

Gob, Of Lancelet an't please your mastership.

Lan. Ergo mafter Lancelet, talke not of inaifter Lancelet Father; for the yong Gentleman according to fates and deftinies, and fuch odd fayings, the tifters three, and fuch braunches of learning, is indeed deceased, or as you would say in plain terms, gone to heauen.

Gob. Marry God forbid, the boy was the verie staffe of my age, my very prop.

Lance. Do I looke like a cudgell or a houell pofte, a staffe, or a prop: do you know me Father.

Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman, but I pray you tell mee, is my boy (GOD reft his foule) aliue or dead.

Lance. Do you not know me Father?

Gob. Alacke fir, I am fand blinde, I know you not.

Lan. Nay, in deede if you had your eyes you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wife Father that knowes his own child. Well, olde man, I will tell you newes of your fonne, giue mee your bleffing; Trueth will come to light, Murther cannot be hidde long, a mans fonne may, but at the length trueth will

out.

Gobbo. Pray you fir ftand vp, I am fure you are not Launcelet my boy.

Lance. Pray you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue me your bleffing; I am Lancelot your boy that was, your fon that is, your child that fhall be.

Gob. I cannot thinke you are my fonne.

Lance. I know not what I fhall thinke of that, but I am Lancelet the Iews man, and I am fure Margery your wife is my mo

ther.

Gob. Her name is Margery indeede, ile be fworne if thou bee Lancelet, thou art mine owne flesh and blood: Lord worshipt

might he be, what a beard haft thou got? thou haft got more haire on thy chin,then Dobbin my pilhorfe has on his tale.

Lan. It fhould feeme then that Dobbins taile growes backward. I am fure he had more haire of his tayle then I haue of my face,when I laft faw him.

Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd: how doeft thou and thy Mafter agree? I haue brought him a prefent; how agree you

now?

Lance. Well, well,but for mine owne part,as I haue fet vp my reft to runne away,fo I will not reft till I haue run fome ground; My mafter's a very lew, giue him a prefent,giue him a halter, I am famifht in his feruice. You may tell euery finger I haue with ribs: Father I am glad you are come, giue me your prefent my to one Mafter Baffanio, who indeed giues rare new liueries, if I ferue not him, I will runne as farre as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a lew if I ferue the Iew any longer.

Enter Baffanio with a follower or two.

Baff. You may doe fo, but let it be fo hafted that fupper be ready at the fartheft by fiue of the clocke: fee thefe Letters deliuered,put the Lyueries to making,and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Lance. To him Father.

Gob.God bleffe your Worship.

Exit one of his men.

Baff. Gramercy,wouldst thou ought with me?`
Gob. Here's my fonne fir,a poore boy.

Lance.Not a poore boy fir,but the rich Iewes man that wold fir,as my father fhall fpecific.

Gob.He hath a great infection fir, as one would fay to ferue. Lance. Indeed the fhort and the long is, I ferue the Iew, and haue a defire as my Father fhall fpecific.

Gob. His Mafter and he (fauing your worships reuerence) are fcarfe catercofins..

C 3

Lan..

Lan. To be briefe, the very truth is,that the Iew hauing don me wrong, doth cause me as my Father, being I hope, an olde man, fhall frutifie vnto you.

Gob. I haue heere a dish of Doues that I would bestow vpon your worship: and my fute is

Lan. In very briefe, the fute is impertinent to my felfe, as your worship hal know by this honeft old man, and though I fay it, though old man,yet poore man my father.

Baff. One fpeake for both, what would you?

Lan. Serue you fir.

Gob. That is the verie defect of the matter fir.

Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy fute,

Shylocke thy mafter spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
To leaue a rich lewes feruice, to become

The follower of fo poore a Gentleman.

Lan. The old Prouerbe is very well parted between my mafter Shylock and you fir, You haue the grace of God fir, and hee hath enough.

Baff. Thou speak ft it well. Go Father with thy fonne, Take leaue of thy old mafter, and enquire

My Lodging out. Giue him a Liuery

More garded then his fellowes, fee it done.

Lan. Father in, I cannot get a feruice, no, I ha nere a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy haue a fairer table which doth offer to fweare vppon a booke, I fhall haue good fortune.. Go too, heere's a fimple line of life, here's a fmal trifle of wiues: Alas, fifteene wiues is nothing, eleuen VViddowes and nine maids, is á fimple comming in for one man, and then to escape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of a feather-bed, heere are fimple fcapes: well, if Fortune bee a woman, fhee's a good wench for this geere. Father, come, take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling of an eye. Exit Clowne:

Baff. I pray thee good Leonardo thinke on this, Thefe things being bought, and orderly beftow'd,

ile

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