« PreviousContinue »
marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house,
Gob. By, God's fonties, 'will 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? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters ;) talk you of young master Launcelot
Gob. No master, Sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what he 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 maiter 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 definies, and such odd sayings, the filters three, and such branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceafed ; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.
Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a ftaff 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 reft his soul, alive or dead? Laun. Do
you not know me, father? Gob. Alack, Sir, I am fand-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 child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your blessing, truth will come to Jight; murder cannot be bid 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 bleffing ; 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, Mar. gery your wife, is my mother.
Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood : lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horse has on his tail (10).
Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backwark; I am sure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?
Laun. Well, well, but for my own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, so I will not rett 'till I have sun some ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter : I am familh'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. . Father, I am glad you are come, give me your prefent to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I serve him not, 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 a follower or
two more. Bal. You may do fo; but let it be fo hafted, that fupper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock : fee these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Laun. To him, father. (10) than Dobbin my Thill-borse] Some of the editions have it Phill, others Fill-horse; both, erroneously. It must be thill-borse ; i. c. the horfe, which draws in the Shafts, or I bill, of the carriage.
Gob. God bless your worship!
Laun. Not a poor buy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father hall specify.
Gob. He hath a great infection, Sir, as one would say, to serve.
Laun. Indeed, the fort and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire as my father shall specify:
Gob. His master and he, faving your worship’s reverence, are scarce cater-coulins.
Lavn. 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.
Göb. 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 worship shall know by this honest old man ; and though I say it, though old man, yet poor man my father.
Ball. One speak for both, what would you ?
Baf. I know thee well, thou haft obtain’d thy fuit;
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.
Baj. Thou speak't it well; go, father, with thy fon : Take leave of thy old master, and erquire My lodging out; give him a livery, More guarded than his fellows: fee it done.
Laun. Father, in ; I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head ? well, if any man in Italy have (11) a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon
(11) Well, if any man in Italy have &c.]. This stubborn piece of nonsense seems to have taken its rise from this accident. In transcribe
a book, I Mall have good fortune; go to, here's a simple
[Ex. Laun. and Goba
Gra. You must not deny me, I must go with you to
Baj. Why, then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano,
* offer to swear upon a book, 1 fall have good fortune. 'Tis
, if any man in Italy bave a fairer table, which doth [promise good luck, I am mistaken, I durit almof] offer to swear upon a book, I fall bare good fortune.
I be misconstru'd in the place I go to,
Gra. Signior Baffanio, hear me.
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night, you shall not gage me By what we do to-night.
Baf. No, that were pity.
Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the reft:
SCENE changes to Shylock's house.
Enter Jeffica and Launcelot Jef. I'm sorry, thou wilt leave
father fo; Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didit rob it of some taste of tedioufness; But fare thee well, there is a ducat for tliee. 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 farewel: I would not have my
father See me talk with thee.
Laur, Adieu ; tears exhibit my tongue; most beautiful Pagan, most sweet Jew! if a christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceiv'd; but adicu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly fpirit: adicu!