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How like a younger or a prodigall,
The skarfed Barke puts from her natiuc bay,
Hugd and embraced by the strumpet winde,
How like the prodigall doch she recurue
With ouer-wetherd ribs and ragged sayles,
Leane,renc,and beggerd by the strumpet wind?

Enter Lorenzo.
Sal.Here comes Lorenzo,more of this hercafer.
Lo.Sweet friends,your patience for my long abode
Not I,but my affaires haue roade you waite:
When you shal please to play the thecues for wiues
Ile watch as long for you then : approch,
Herc dwels my father low.Ho,whose within :

lefica abone,
lor.Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeic lle sweare that I do know your tongue.

Lor. Lorenzo and thy loue.

lef. Lorenzo certaine and my loue indeed,
For who louc I so much ? and now who knowes
But you Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Lo.Hcauen & thy thoghts are witnes that thou art

lef.Here,catch this Casket,tis worth the paines,
I am glad tis night you do not looke on me,
For I am much asham'd of my exchange:
But loue is blinde, and louers cannot see
The precry follies that themselues commit,
For if they could,Cupid himselfe would blush
Tofecinc thus transformed to a boy.

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

Tel.What,mult I hold a Candle to my shames,
They in themselues goodsooth are too too light.
Why tis an office of discouery, Loue,
And I should be obscur'd.

Lor.So are you sweete,
Euen in the louely garnish of a boy,
But comc at once, for the close night


Doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Baffanios feaft.

lef.I will make fast the doores, and guilding Celfe With some mo ducats, and be with you straight.

Grat. Now by my hood, a Gentile and no lcw.

Lor.Beshrew me but I loue her hartily,
For she is wise, if I can iudge of her,
And faire she is if that minc.cyes be true,
And true lhe is, as the hath proo'ud herselfe,
And therefore like herselfc, wise, faire and truc,
Shall she be placed in my conftant soule.

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

Enter Antbonio,
Ant. Who's there?
Gra.Signior Anthovio.

Ant.Fic,fic Gratiano, where are all the reft?
Tis ninc a clocke,our friends all Atay for you,
No maske co night,che winde is comc about,
Baffanio presently will goe aboard,
I am glad on't, I defire no more delight
Then to be under faylc,& gone to night.


Enter Portia with Morrocho, and boshtbeir traies,

Por, Goc;draw aside the Curtaines, and discouer,
The scuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:
Now make your choife.

Mor. The first of gold,who this inscription beares,
Who chooseth me, shall gæine what many men desire.
The second filuer,which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me,hall get as much as he deserucs..
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 choofe the right 2.

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gone to heauen.

Master Launceler.

Gob. Your worships friend, and Lancelet fir.

Lan. But I pray you ergo olde inan, ergo I beseech you, talke you of yong Ň. Lancelet.

Gob, Of Lancelet an't please your mastership,

Lan. Ergo master Lancelet, talke not of inailter Lancelet Father; for the yong Gentleman according to fates and deftinics, and such odd sayings, the tisters three, and such braunches of learning, is indeed deceased, or as you would lay in plain terms,

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

Lance. Dollooke like a cudgellor a houell poste, a staffe, or a prop: do you knowine Father. Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong

you not yong Gentleman, buc I pray you tell mee, is my boy (GOD reft his soule), aliúe or dead.

Lance. Do you not know me Father?
Gob. Alacke fir, I am sand blinde, I know you not.

Lan. Nay, in deede if you had your eyes you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knowes his own child. Well, oldeinan, I will tell you newes of your sonne, giuc ince your blessing; Truech will come to light, Murther cannot be hidde long, a mans sonnc may, but at the length trueth will

Gobbo. Pray you fir stand vp, I am sure you are not Launcelet

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

Gob. I cannot thinke you are my sonne.

Lance. I know not what I shall thinke of that, but I am Lancelet the lews man, and I am sure Margery

, your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery indeede, ile be sworne if thou bec Lancelet, thou are mine owncflesh and blood: Lord worship


my boy.

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

Lan. It should seeme then that Dobbins tailc growes backward. I am sure he had more haire of his tayle then I haue of my face, when I last saw him.

Gob. Lord how art thou chang’d: how does chou and thy Mafter agrec? I haue brought him a present; how agree you

Lance. Well, well, but for mine owne parejas I haue (et vp my rest to runne away, so I will not rett till Thaue run fome ground; My master's a very lew, giuc him a present,giuc him a halter, I am famishțin his feruice. You may cell cuery finger I haue with my ribs : Father I am glad you are come, giue me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed giues rare new liueries, if I ferue not him, I will runne as farre as God has any ground. O rare fortunc, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a lew if I serue the lew any longer:


Enter Bassanio with a follower or two. Baff. You may doe so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the fartheft by fiuc of the clocke: see these Letters deliuered, put the Lyueries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Exit one of his men.
Lance. To him Father.
Gob.God blesse your Worship.
Baff. Gramercy,wouldīt thou ought with nie?
GÖ6. Here's my sonne fir,a poore boy.

Lance. Not a poore boy fir, but the rich Iewes iman that wold, firgas my father shall specific.

Gob. He hath a great infe&tion fır, as one would say co ferue.

Lance.Indeed the short and the long is, I serue the lew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specific.

Gob.His Master and he (fauing your worships rcucrence) are. scarle catercofins..


C 3

Lan. To be briefe, the very truth is that the low having don me wrong, doth cause me as my Father, being I hope, an olde man, shall frucific vnto you.

Gob.l haue hecre a dish of Doues that I would be tow vpon your worship: and my

Lan. In very briefe, the sute is impertinent to my felfe, as your worship Thal know by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man,yet poore man my father.

Baff. One speake for both, what would you?
Lar. 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 master spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferinent
To Icaue a rich lewes seruice, 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.

Bass. Thou speakft it well. Go Father with thy fonne,
Take leaue of thy old master, and enquire
My Lodging out. Giue him a Liuery
More garded then his fellowes, fee it done.

Lan, Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I ha nere a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy haue

a fairer cable which doth offer to sweare vppon a bookc, I shall haue good fortune. Go too, heere's a simple line of life, here's a smal trifle of wiucs: Alas, fiftcene wiues is nothing, elčuen VViddowes and nine maids, is a fimple comming in for one man, and then to escape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of å feather-bed, hcere are fimple scapes: well, if Fortune bec a woman, shee's a good wench for this geere. Father, comc, ile take my lcauc of the lew in the ewinkling of an eye.

Exit Clowne:
Bal. I pray thee good Leonardo thinke on this,
These things being boughc, and orderly bcftow'd,


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