Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
Shy. O, father Abraham! what these Christians

are,

Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others!-Pray you, tell me this;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?

A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's.
Give him direction for this merry bond,
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
I will be with you.
Ant.
Hie thee, gentle Jew.
The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 1.-Belmont. An Apartment in PORTIA's House.

Enter the Prince of Morocco, and his Followers; PORTIA, NERISSA, and other of her train. Flourish of cornets.

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phoebus' 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,
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd it too. I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing;
But, if my father had not scanted me,

And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself

His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair,
As any comer I have look'd on yet,

For my affection.

Mor.

Even for that I thank you : Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, To try my fortune. By this scimitar,That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince,

That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,-
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
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:
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.

Por.

You must take your chance; And either not attempt to choose at all, Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage: therefore be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not: come, bring me unto my chance.

Por. First, forward to the temple: after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

Mor.

Good fortune then.

mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, 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 run; scorn running with thy heels." Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; "Via!" says the fiend; "away!" 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 something smack, some

66

thing 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 1, you counsel well: to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay 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 himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I will run.

Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket. Gob. Master, young man, you; I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. [Aside.] O heavens! this is my true begotten father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not:-I will try confusions with him.

Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

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 to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. 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 wa

ters.

[To him.]-Talk you of young master Launcelot ?

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 1 man; and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot ? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot. Talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters 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 my age, my very prop.

Laun. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a

hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?-[To him.]-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 soul!) alive, or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

not.

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you

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

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are not 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.

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. Lord! worshipp'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my phill-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 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. How agree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have 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 famish'd in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries. If 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 I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and Followers.

Bass. You may do so;-but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the furthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered: put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant.

Laun. To him, father.

Gob. God bless your worship! Bass. Gramercy. Would'st 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, 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.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me,-as my father, 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,

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your lordship 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.

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
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.

Bass. Thou speak'st it well.-Go, father, with thy son.

Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
My lodging out.—Give him a livery

[To his Followers. More guarded than his fellows: see it done.

Laun. Father, in.-I cannot get a service,-no; I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well ;-[Looking on his palm.]—if any man in Italy have 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 GOBBO. 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-esteemed acquaintance: hie thee; go. Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Enter GRATIANO.

Gra. Where is your master?
Leon.

Gra. Signior Bassanio!
Bass. Gratiano.

Gra. I have a suit to you.
Bass.

Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit LEONARDO.

You have obtain❜d it. I must go with

Gra. You must not deny me. you to Belmont.

Bass. Why, then you must; but, hear thee,

SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in SHYLOCK'S House.

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 in talk with thee.

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: adieu!

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

SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street.

[Exit.

[Exit.

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
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 expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspired together:-1 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 afternoon.

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

Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum.
And the vile squealing 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 casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear,

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?
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,
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like a prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
Enter LORENZO.

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

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

Not I, but my affairs have made vou wait: