The Merchant of Venice

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Original text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Morochus a
tawnie Moore all in white, and three or foure followers
accordingly, with Portia, Nerrissa, and their traine. Flo. Cornets.

Mor.
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed liuerie of the burnisht sunne,
To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred.
Bring me the fairest creature North-ward borne,
Where Phoebus fire scarce thawes the ysicles,
And let vs make incision for your loue,
To proue whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
I tell thee Ladie this aspect of mine
Hath feard the valiant, (by my loue I sweare)
The best regarded Virgins of our Clyme
Haue lou'd it to: I would not change this hue,
Except to steale your thoughts my gentle Queene.

Por.
In tearmes of choise I am not solie led
By nice direction of a maidens eies:
Besides, the lottrie of my destenie
Bars me the right of voluntarie choosing:
But if my Father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit to yeelde my selfe
His wife, who wins me by that meanes I told you,
Your selfe (renowned Prince) than stood as faire
As any commer I haue look'd on yet
For my affection.

Mor.
Euen for that I thanke you,
Therefore I pray you leade me to the Caskets
To trie my fortune: By this Symitare
That slew the Sophie, and a Persian Prince
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would ore-stare the sternest eies that looke:
Out-braue the heart most daring on the earth:
Plucke the yong sucking Cubs from the she Beare,
Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for pray
To win the Ladie. But alas, the while
If Hercules and Lychas plaie at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turne by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his rage,
And so may I, blinde fortune leading me
Misse that which one vnworthier may attaine,
And die with grieuing.

Port.
You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or sweare before you choose, if you choose wrong
Neuer to speake to Ladie afterward
In way of marriage, therefore be aduis'd.

Mor.
Nor will not, come bring me vnto my chance.

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

Mor.
Good fortune then,
To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
Cornets. Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene II
Enter the Clowne alone .

Clo.
Certainely, my conscience will serue me to run
from this Iew my Maister: the fiend is at mine elbow, and
tempts me, saying to me, Iobbe, Launcelet Iobbe,
good Launcelet, or good Iobbe, or good Launcelet
Iobbe, vse your legs, take the start, run awaie: my conscience
saies no; take heede honest Launcelet, take
heed honest Iobbe, or as afore-said honest Launcelet
Iobbe, doe not runne, scorne running with thy heeles; well,
the most coragious fiend bids me packe, fia saies the
fiend, away saies the fiend, for the heauens rouse vp a
braue minde saies the fiend, and run; well, my conscience
hanging about the necke of my heart, saies verie
wisely to me: my honest friend Launcelet, being an
honest mans sonne, or rather an honest womans sonne, for
indeede my Father did something smack, something grow
too; he had a kinde of taste; wel, my conscience saies
Lancelet bouge not, bouge saies the fiend, bouge
not saies my conscience, conscience say I you counsaile
well, fiend say I you counsaile well, to be rul'd
by my conscience I should stay with the Iew my Maister,
(who God blesse the marke) is a kinde of diuell; and to run
away from the Iew I should be ruled by the fiend, who
sauing your reuerence is the diuell himselfe: certainely the
Iew is the verie diuell incarnation, and in my conscience,
my conscience is a kinde of hard conscience, to offer to
counsaile me to stay with the Iew; the fiend giues the
more friendly counsaile: I will runne fiend, my heeles are at
your commandement, I will runne.
Enter old Gobbo with a Basket.

Gob.
Maister yong-man, you I praie you, which is the
waie to Maister Iewes?

Lan.
O heauens, this is my true begotten
Father, who being more then sand-blinde, high grauel blinde,
knows me not, I will trie confusions with him.

Gob.
Maister yong Gentleman, I praie you which is the
waie to Maister Iewes.

Laun.
Turne vpon your right hand at the next turning,
but at the next turning of all on your left; marrie at
the verie next turning, turne of no hand, but turn down
indirectlie to the Iewes house.

Gob.
Be Gods sonties 'twill be a hard waie to hit, can
you tell me whether one Launcelet that dwels with him,
dwell with him or no.

Laun.
Talke you of yong Master Launcelet,
marke me now, now will I raise the waters; talke
you of yong Maister Launcelet?

Gob.
No Maister sir, but a poore mans sonne, his Father
though I say't is an honest exceeding poore man, and
God be thanked well to liue.

Lan.
Well, let his Father be what a will, wee talke of
yong Maister Launcelet.

Gob.
Your worships friend and Launcelet.

Laun.
But I praie you ergo old man, ergo I beseech
you, talke you of yong Maister Launcelet.

Gob.
Of Launcelet, ant please your maistership.

Lan.
Ergo Maister Lancelet, talke not of maister
Lancelet Father, for the yong gentleman according to
fates and destinies, and such odde sayings, the sisters
three, & such branches of learning, is indeede deceased,
or as you would say in plaine tearmes, gone to heauen.

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

Lau.
Do I look like a cudgell or a houell-post, a
staffe or a prop: doe you know me Father.

Gob.
Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman,
but I praie you tell me, is my boy God rest his soule
aliue or dead.

Lan.
Doe you not know me Father.

Gob.
Alacke sir I am sand blinde, I know you not.

Lan.
Nay, indeede if you had your eies you might
faile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knowes his
owne childe. Well, old man, I will tell you newes of your
son, giue me your blessing, truth will come
to light, murder cannot be hid long, a mans sonne may,
but in the end truth will out.

Gob.
Praie you sir stand vp, I am sure you are not
Lancelet my boy.

Lan.
Praie you let's haue no more fooling about it,
but giue mee your blessing: I am Lancelet your boy
that was, your sonne that is, your childe that shall be.

Gob.
I cannot thinke you are my sonne.

Lan.
I know not what I shall thinke of that: but I
am Lancelet the Iewes man, and I am sure Margerie
your wife is my mother.

Gob.
Her name is Margerie indeede, Ile be sworne if thou
be Lancelet, thou art mine owne flesh and blood: Lord
worshipt might he be, what a beard hast thou got;
thou hast got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my
philhorse has on his taile.

Lan.
It should seeme then that Dobbins taile growes
backeward. I am sure he had more haire of his
taile then I haue of my face when I lost saw him.

Gob.
Lord how art thou chang'd: how doost thou and
thy Master agree, I haue brought him a present; how
gree you now?

Lan.
Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue
set vp my rest to run awaie, so I will not rest till I haue
run some ground; my Maister's a verie Iew, giue him a
present, giue him a halter, I am famisht in his seruice.
You may tell euerie finger I haue with my ribs: Father I
am glad you are come, giue me your present to one
Maister Bassanio, who indeede giues rare new Liuories, if
I serue not him, I will run as far as God has anie ground.
O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for
I am a Iew if I serue the Iew anie longer.
Enter Bassanio with a follower or two.

Bass.
You may doe so, but let it be so hasted that supper
be readie at the farthest by fiue of the clocke: see these
Letters deliuered, put the Liueries to making, and desire
Gratiano to come anone to my lodging.

Lan.
To him Father.

Gob.
God blesse your worship.

Bass.
Gramercie, would'st thou ought with me.

Gob.
Here's my sonne sir, a poore boy.

Lan.
Not a poore boy sir, but the rich Iewes man that
would sir as my Father shall specifie.

Gob.
He hath a great infection sir, as one would say
to serue.

Lan.
Indeede the short and the long is, I serue the
Iew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specifie.

Gob.
His Maister and he (sauing your worships reuerence)
are scarce catercosins.

Lan.
To be briefe, the verie truth is, that the Iew
hauing done me wrong, doth cause me as my Father
being I hope an old man shall frutifie vnto you.

Gob.
I haue here a dish of Doues that I would bestow
vpon your worship, and my suite is.

Lan.
In verie briefe, the suite is impertinent to
my selfe, as your worship shall know by this honest old
man, and though I say it, though old man, yet poore man
my Father.

Bass.
One speake for both, what would you?

Lan.
Serue you sir.

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

Bass.
I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suite,
Shylocke thy Maister spoke with me this daie,
And hath prefer'd thee, if it be preferment
To leaue a rich Iewes seruice, to become
The follower of so poore a Gentleman.

Clo.
The old prouerbe is verie well parted betweene
my Maister Shylocke and you sir, you haue the grace of
God sir, and he hath enough.

Bass.
Thou speak'st it well; go Father with thy Son,
Take leaue of thy old Maister, and enquire
My lodging out, giue him a Liuerie
More garded then his fellowes: see it done.

Clo.
Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I haue
nere a tongue in my head, well: if
anie man in Italie haue a fairer table which doth offer to
sweare vpon a booke, I shall haue good fortune; goe too,
here's a simple line of life, here's a small trifle of wiues,
alas, fifteene wiues is nothing, a leuen widdowes and nine
maides is a simple comming in for one man, and then to
scape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with
the edge of a featherbed, here are simple scapes: well,
if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gere:
Father come, Ile take my leaue of the Iew in the
twinkling.
Exit Clowne.

Bass.
I praie thee good Leonardo thinke on this,
These things being bought and orderly bestowed
Returne in haste, for I doe feast to night
My best esteemd acquaintance, hie thee goe.

Leon.
My best endeuors shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.

Gra.
Where's your Maister.

Leon.
Yonder sir he walkes.
Exit Le.

Gra.
Signior Bassanio.

Bas.
Gratiano.

Gra.
I haue a sute to you.

Bass.
You haue obtain'd it.

Gra.
You must not denie me, I must goe with you to Belmont.

Bass.
Why then you must: but heare thee Gratiano,
Thou art to wilde, to rude, and bold of voyce,
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appeare not faults;
But where they are not knowne, why there they show
Something too liberall, pray thee take paine
To allay with some cold drops of modestie
Thy skipping spirit, least through thy wilde behauiour
I be misconsterd in the place I goe to,
And loose my hopes.

Gra.
Signor Bassanio, heare me,
If I doe not put on a sober habite,
Talke with respect, and sweare but now and than,
Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say Amen:
Vse all the obseruance of ciuillitie
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his Grandam, neuer trust me more.

Bas.
Well, we shall see your bearing.

Gra.
Nay but I barre to night, you shall not gage me
By what we doe to night.

Bas.
No that were pittie,
I would intreate you rather to put on
Your boldest suite of mirth, for we haue friends
That purpose merriment: but far you well,
I haue some businesse.

Gra.
And I must to Lorenso and the rest,
But we will visite you at supper time.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Iessica and the Clowne.

Ies.
I am sorry thou wilt leaue my Father so,
Our house is hell, and thou a merrie diuell
Did'st rob it of some taste of tediousnesse;
But far thee well, there is a ducat for thee,
And Lancelet, soone at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new Maisters guest,
Giue him this Letter, doe it secretly,
And so farwell: I would not haue my Father
See me talke with thee.

Clo.
Adue, teares exhibit my tongue, most beautifull
Pagan, most sweete Iew, if a Christian doe not play
the knaue and get thee, I am much deceiued; but adue,
these foolish drops doe somewhat drowne my manly
spirit: adue.

Ies.
Farewell good Lancelet.
Exit.
Alacke, what hainous sinne is it in me
To be ashamed to be my Fathers childe,
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,
If thou keepe promise I shall end this strife,
Become a Christian, and thy louing wife.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene IV
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Slarino, and Salanio.

Lor.
Nay, we will slinke away in supper time,
Disguise vs at my lodging, and returne
all in an houre.

Gra.
We haue not made good preparation.

Sal.
We haue not spoke vs yet of Torch-bearers.

Sol.
'Tis vile vnlesse it may be quaintly ordered,
And better in my minde not vndertooke.

Lor.
'Tis now but foure of clock, we haue two houres
To furnish vs;
Enter Lancelet with a Letter.
friend Lancelet what's the newes.

Lan.
And it shall please you to breake vp this, shall it
seeme to signifie.

Lor.
I know the hand, in faith 'tis a faire hand
And whiter then the paper it writ on,
I the faire hand that writ.

Gra.
Loue newes in faith.

Lan.
By your leaue sir.

Lor.
Whither goest thou?

Lan.
Marry sir to bid my old Master the Iew to
sup to night with my new Master the Christian.

Lor.

Hold here, take this, tell gentle Iessica
I will not faile her, speake it priuately:
Exit. Clowne.
Go Gentlemen,
will you prepare you for this Maske to night,
I am prouided of a Torch-bearer.

Sal.
I marry, ile be gone about it strait.

Sol.
And so will I.

Lor.
Meete me and Gratiano
at Gratianos lodging / Some houre hence.

Sal.
'Tis good we do so.
Exit.

Gra.
Was not that Letter from faire Iessica?

Lor.
I must needes tell thee all, she hath directed
How I shall take her from her Fathers house,
What gold and iewels she is furnisht with,
What Pages suite she hath in readinesse:
If ere the Iew her Father come to heauen,
It will be for his gentle daughters sake;
And neuer dare misfortune crosse her foote,
Vnlesse she doe it vnder this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithlesse Iew:
Come goe with me, pervse this as thou goest,
Faire Iessica shall be my Torch-bearer.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene V
Enter Iew, and his man that
was the Clowne.

Iew.
Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy iudge,
The difference of old Shylocke and Bassanio;
What Iessica, thou shalt not gurmandize
As thou hast done with me: what Iessica?
And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.
Why Iessica I say.

Clo.
Why Iessica.

Shy.
Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

Clo.
Your worship was wont to tell me / I could doe
nothing without bidding.
Enter Iessica.

Ies.
Call you? what is your will?

Shy.
I am bid forth to supper Iessica,
There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for loue, they flatttr me,
But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vpon
The prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,
Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,
There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,
For I did dreame of money bags to night.

Clo.
I beseech you sir goe, my yong Master
Doth expect your reproach.

Shy.
So doe I his.

Clo.
And they haue conspired together, I will not say
you shall see a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not
for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on blacke monday
last, at six a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere
on ashwensday was foure yeere in th' afternoone.

Shy.
What are their maskes? heare you me Iessica,
Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-neckt Fife,
Clamber not you vp to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publique streete
To gaze on Christian fooles with varnisht faces:
But stop my houses eares, I meane my casements,
Let not the sound of shallow fopperie enter
My sober house. By Iacobs staffe I sweare,
I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:
But I will goe: goe you before me sirra,
Say I will come.

Clo.
I will goe before sir.
Mistris looke out at window for all this;
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Iewes eye.

Shy.
What saies that foole of Hagars off-spring? ha.

Ies.
His words were farewell mistris, nothing else.

Shy.
The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder:
Snaile-slow in profit, but he sleepes by day
More then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me,
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would haue him helpe to waste
His borrowed purse. Well Iessica goe in,
Perhaps I will returne immediately;
Doe as I bid you, shut dores after you,
fast binde, fast finde,
A prouerbe neuer stale in thriftie minde.
Exit.

Ies.
Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,
I haue a Father, you a daughter lost.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene VI
Enter the Maskers, Gratiano and Salino.

Gra.
This is the penthouse vnder which Lorenzo
Desired vs to make a stand.

Sal.
His houre is almost past.

Gra.
And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre,
For louers euer run before the clocke.

Sal.
O ten times faster Venus Pidgions flye
To steale loues bonds new made, then they are wont
To keepe obliged faith vnforfaited.

Gra.
That euer holds, who riseth from a feast
With that keene appetite that he sits downe?
Where is the horse that doth vntread againe
His tedious measures with the vnbated fire,
That he did pace them first: all things that are,
Are with more spirit chased then enioy'd.
How like a yonger or a prodigall
The skarfed barke puts from her natiue bay,
Hudg'd and embraced by the strumpet winde:
How like a prodigall doth she returne
With ouer-wither'd ribs and ragged sailes,
Leane, rent, and begger'd by the strumpet winde?

Salino.
Heere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.



Lor.
Sweete friends, your patience for my long abode,
Not I, but my affaires haue made you wait:
When you shall please to play the theeues for wiues
Ile watch as long for you then: approach
Here dwels my father Iew. Hoa, who's within?
Iessica aboue.

Iess.
Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit Ile sweare that I do know your tongue.

Lor.
Lorenzo, and thy Loue.

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

Lor.
Heauen and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

Ies.
Heere, catch this casket, it is 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 pretty follies that themselues commit,
For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

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

Ies.
What, must 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 you are sweet,
Euen in the louely garnish of a boy:
but come at once,
For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.

Ies.
I will make fast the doores and guild my selfe
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.



Gra.
Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Iew.

Lor.
Beshrew me but I loue her heartily.
For she is wise, if I can iudge of her,
And faire she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she hath prou'd her selfe:
And therefore like her selfe, wise, faire, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soule.
Enter Iessica.
What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away,
Our masking mates by this time for vs stay.
Exit.
Enter Anthonio.

Ant.
Who's there?

Gra.
Signior Anthonio?

Ant.
Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
'Tis nine a clocke, our friends all stay for you,
No maske to night, the winde is come about,
Bassanio presently will goe aboord,
I haue sent twenty out to seeke for you.

Gra.
I am glad on't, I desire no more delight
Then to be vnder saile, and gone to night.
Exeunt
Original text
Act II, Scene VII
Enter Portia with Morrocho, and
both their traines.

Por.
Goe, draw aside the curtaines, and discouer
The seuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:
Now make your choyse.

Mor.
The first of gold, who this inscription beares,
Who chooseth me, shall gaine what men desire.
The second siluer, which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.
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 doe choose the right? How shall I know if I doe choose the right.

Por.
The one of them containes my picture Prince,
If you choose that, then I am yours withall.

Mor.
Some God direct my iudgement, let me see,
I will suruay the inscriptions, backe againe:
What saies this leaden casket?
Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.
Must giue, for what? for lead, hazard for lead?
This casket threatens men that hazard all
Doe it in hope of faire aduantages:
A golden minde stoopes not to showes of drosse,
Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead.
What saies the Siluer with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.
As much as he deserues; pause there Morocho,
And weigh thy value with an euen hand,
If thou beest rated by thy estimation
Thou doost deserue enough, and yet enough
May not extend so farre as to the Ladie:
And yet to be afeard of my deseruing,
Were but a weake disabling of my selfe.
As much as I deserue, why that's the Lady.
I doe in birth deserue her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more then these, in loue I doe deserue.
What if I strai'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying grau'd in gold.
Who chooseth me shall gaine what many men desire:
Why that's the Lady, all the world desires her:
From the foure corners of the earth they come
To kisse this shrine, this mortall breathing Saint.
The Hircanion deserts, and the vaste wildes
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For Princes to come view faire Portia.
The waterie Kingdome, whose ambitious head
Spets in the face of heauen, is no barre
To stop the forraine spirits, but they come
As ore a brooke to see faire Portia.
One of these three containes her heauenly picture.
Is't like that Lead containes her? 'twere damnation
To thinke so base a thought, it were too grose
To rib her searecloath in the obscure graue:
Or shall I thinke in Siluer she's immur'd
Being ten times vndervalued to tride gold;
O sinfull thought, neuer so rich a Iem
Was set in worse then gold! They haue in England
A coyne that beares the figure of an Angell
Stampt in gold, but that's insculpt vpon:
But here an Angell in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliuer me the key:
Here doe I choose, and thriue I as I may.

Por.
There take it Prince, and if my forme lye there
Then I am yours.

Mor.
O hell! what haue we here,
a carrion death, / Within whose emptie eye
there is a written scroule;
Ile reade the writing.
All that glisters is not gold,
Often haue you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold;
Guilded timber doe wormes infold:
Had you beene as wise as bold,
Yong in limbs, in iudgement old,
Your answere had not beene inscrold,
Fareyouwell, your suite is cold,
Cold indeede, and labour lost,
Then farewell heate, and welcome frost:
Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heart
To take a tedious leaue: thus loosers part.

Por.
A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go:
Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene VIII
Enter Salarino and Solanio. Flo. Cornets.

Sal.
Why man I saw Bassanio vnder sayle,
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

Sol.
The villaine Iew with outcries raisd the Duke.
Who went with him to search Bassanios ship.

Sal.
He comes too late, the ship was vndersaile;
But there the Duke was giuen to vnderstand
That in a Gondilo were seene together
Lorenzo and his amorous Iessica.
Besides, Anthonio certified the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

Sol.
I neuer heard a passion so confusd,
So strange, outragious, and so variable,
As the dogge Iew did vtter in the streets;
My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter,
Fled with a Christian, O my Christian ducats!
Iustice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter;
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stolne from me by my daughter,
And iewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stolne by my daughter: iustice, finde the girle,
She hath the stones vpon her, and the ducats.

Sal.
Why all the boyes in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

Sol.
Let good Anthonio looke he keepe his day
Or he shall pay for this.

Sal.
Marry well remembred,
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscaried
A vessell of our countrey richly fraught:
I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me,
And wisht in silence that it were not his.

Sol.
Yo were best to tell Anthonio what you heare.
Yet doe not suddainely, for it may grieue him.

Sal.
A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth,
I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part,
Bassanio told him he would make some speede
Of his returne: he answered, doe not so,
Slubber not businesse for my sake Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time,
And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your minde of loue:
Be merry, and imploy your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such faire ostents of loue
As shall conueniently become you there;
And euen there his eye being big with teares,
Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him,
And with affection wondrous sencible
He wrung Bassanios hand, and so they parted.

Sol.
I thinke he onely loues the world for him,
I pray thee let vs goe and finde him out
And quicken his embraced heauinesse
With some delight or other.

Sal.
Doe we so.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene IX
Enter Nerrissa and a Seruiture.

Ner.
Quick, quick I pray thee, draw the curtain strait,
The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia. Flor. Cornets.

Por.
Behold, there stand the caskets noble Prince,
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptiall rights be solemniz'd:
But if thou faile, without more speech my Lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

Ar.
I am enioynd by oath to obserue three things;
First, neuer to vnfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I faile
Of the right casket, neuer in my life
To wooe a maide in way of marriage:
Lastly,
if I doe faile in fortune of my choyse,
Immediately to leaue you, and be gone.

Por.
To these iniunctions euery one doth sweare
That comes to hazard for my worthlesse selfe.

Ar.
And so haue I addrest me, fortune now
To my hearts hope: gold, siluer, and base lead.
Who chooseth me must giue and hazard all he hath.
You shall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard.
What saies the golden chest, ha, let me see:
Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire:
What many men desire, that many may be meant
By the foole multitude that choose by show,
Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach,
Which pries not to th' interior, but like the Martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Euen in the force and rode of casualtie.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not iumpe with common spirits,
And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why then to thee thou Siluer treasure house,
Tell me once more, what title thou doost beare;
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues:
And well said too; for who shall goe about
To cosen Fortune, and be honourable
Without the stampe of merrit, let none presume
To weare an vndeserued dignitie:
O that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriu'd corruptly, and that cleare honour
Were purchast by the merrit of the wearer;
How many then should couer that stand bare?
How many be commanded that command?
How much low pleasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seede of honor? And how much honor
Pickt from the chaffe and ruine of the times,
To be new varnisht: Well, but to my choise.
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues.
I will assume desert; giue me a key for this,
And instantly vnlocke my fortunes here.

Por.
Too long a pause for that which you finde there.

Ar.
What's here, the portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a scedule, I will reade it:
How much vnlike art thou to Portia?
How much vnlike my hopes and my deseruings?
Who chooseth me, shall haue as much as he deserues.
Did I deserue no more then a fooles head,
Is that my prize, are my deserts no better?

Por.
To offend and iudge are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.

Ar.
What is here?
The fier seauen times tried this,
Seauen times tried that iudement is,
That did neuer choose amis,
Some there be that shadowes kisse,
Such haue but a shadowes blisse:
There be fooles aliue Iwis
Siluer'd o're, and so was this:
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will euer be your head:
So be gone, you are sped.
Still more foole I shall appeare
By the time I linger here,
With one fooles head I came to woo,
But I goe away with two.
Sweet adue, Ile keepe my oath,
Patiently to beare my wroath.

Por.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moath:
O these deliberate fooles when they doe choose,
They haue the wisdome by their wit to loose.

Ner.
The ancient saying is no heresie,
Hanging and wiuing goes by destinie.

Por.
Come draw the curtaine Nerrissa.
Enter Messenger.

Mes.
Where is my Lady?

Por.
Here, what would my Lord?

Mes.
Madam, there is a-lighted at your gate
A yong Venetian, one that comes before
To signifie th' approaching of his Lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit (besides commends and curteous breath)
Gifts of rich value; yet I haue not seene
So likely an Embassador of loue.
A day in Aprill neuer came so sweete
To show how costly Sommer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his Lord.

Por.
No more I pray thee, I am halfe a-feard
Thou wilt say anone he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him:
Come, come Nerryssa, for I long to see
Quicke Cupids Post, that comes so mannerly.

Ner.
Bassanio Lord, loue if thy will it be.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act II, Scene I
Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a
tawny Moor all in white, and three or four followers
accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa, and their train

MOROCCO
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the burnished 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 feared the valiant. By my love I swear,
The best-regarded virgins of our clime
Have loved it too. I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA
In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes.
Besides, the lott'ry 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 looked on yet
For my affection.

MOROCCO
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 o'erstare the sternest eyes that look,
Outbrave 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.

PORTIA
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 advised.

MOROCCO
Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA
First, forward to the temple; after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO
Good fortune then,
To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
Flourish of cornets. Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene II
Enter Launcelot Gobbo, alone

LAUNCELOT
Certainly my conscience will serve me to run
from this Jew my master. The fiend is at 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. ‘ Fia!’ 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, something 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 I, ‘ 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

GOBBO
Master young man, you I pray you, which is the
way to Master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT
(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.

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

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
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?

LAUNCELOT
Talk you of young Master Launcelot?
(aside) Mark me now, now will I raise the waters. – Talk
you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO
No master, sir, but a poor man's son. His father,
though I say't, is an honest exceeding poor man and,
God be thanked, well to live.

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

GOBBO
Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT
But I pray you, ergo old man, ergo I beseech
you, talk you of young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
Marry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of
my age, my very prop.

LAUNCELOT
Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a
staff or a prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBO
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?

LAUNCELOT
Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind! I know you not.

LAUNCELOT
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. (He 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.

GOBBO
Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are not
Launcelot my boy.

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT
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.

GOBBO
Her name is Margery indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou
be Launcelot thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord
worshipped might he be, what a beard hast thou got!
Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my
fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT
It should seem then that Dobbin's tail grows
backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I
have on my face when I last saw him.

GOBBO
Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and
thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How
'gree you now?

LAUNCELOT
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 famished 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 a follower or two

BASSANIO
You may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper
be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these
letters delivered, put the liveries to making, and desire
Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Exit one of his men

LAUNCELOT
To him, father!

GOBBO
God bless your worship!

BASSANIO
Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBO
Here's my son, sir, a poor boy ...

LAUNCELOT
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man
that would, sir, as my father shall specify ...

GOBBO
He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say,
to serve ...

LAUNCELOT
Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify ...

GOBBO
His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
are scarce cater-cousins.

LAUNCELOT
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 ...

GOBBO
I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow
upon your worship, and my suit is ...

LAUNCELOT
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 ...

BASSANIO
One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT
Serve you, sir.

GOBBO
That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO
I know thee well, thou hast obtained thy suit.
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
And hath preferred thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's service to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.

LAUNCELOT
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.

BASSANIO
Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son;
Take leave of thy old master and inquire
My lodging out. (To a Servant) Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows'. See it done.

LAUNCELOT
Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have
ne'er a tongue in my head, well! (He looks at 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.
Exeunt Launcelot, with Old Gobbo

BASSANIO
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
These things being bought and orderly bestowed,
Return in haste, for I do feast tonight
My best-esteemed acquaintance. Hie thee, go.

LEONARDO
My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano

GRATIANO
Where is your master?

LEONARDO
Yonder, sir, he walks.
Exit

GRATIANO
Signor Bassanio!

BASSANIO
Gratiano!

GRATIANO
I have suit to you.

BASSANIO
You have obtained it.

GRATIANO
You must not deny me. I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO
Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano:
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice,
Parts that become thee happily enough
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults,
But where thou art not known, why there they show
Something too liberal. Pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour
I be misconstered in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO
Signor Bassanio, hear me:
If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer books in my pocket, look demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say amen,
Use all the observance of civility
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO
Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO
Nay, but I bar tonight. You shall not gauge me
By what we do tonight.

BASSANIO
No, that were pity.
I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment. But fare you well;
I have some business.

GRATIANO
And I must to Lorenzo and the rest,
But we will visit you at supper-time.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Jessica and Launcelot the Clown

JESSICA
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.

LAUNCELOT
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 deceived. But adieu.
These foolish drops do something drown my manly
spirit. Adieu!

JESSICA
Farewell, good Launcelot.
Exit Launcelot
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
To be ashamed 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.
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene IV
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salerio, and Solanio

LORENZO
Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
Disguise us at my lodging, and return,
All in an hour.

GRATIANO
We have not made good preparation.

SALERIO
We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SOLANIO
'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered,
And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO
'Tis now but four of clock. We have two hours
To furnish us.
Enter Launcelot with a letter
Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

LAUNCELOT
An it shall please you to break up this, it
shall seem to signify.

LORENZO
I know the hand. In faith, 'tis a fair hand,
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO
Love-news, in faith!

LAUNCELOT
By your leave, sir.

LORENZO
Whither goest thou?

LAUNCELOT
Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to
sup tonight with my new master the Christian.

LORENZO
(Gives money)
Hold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her. Speak it privately.
Exit Launcelot
Go, gentlemen;
Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
I am provided of a torchbearer.

SALERIO
Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SOLANIO
And so will I.

LORENZO
Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALERIO
'Tis good we do so.
Exit with Solanio

GRATIANO
Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO
I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
How I shall take her from her father's house,
What gold and jewels she is furnished with,
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake;
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest.
Fair Jessica shall be my torchbearer.
Exit with Gratiano
Modern text
Act II, Scene V
Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelot, his man that
was, the Clown

SHYLOCK
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio....
What, Jessica! Thou shalt not gormandize
As thou hast done with me ... What, Jessica!...
And sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out...
Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT
Why, Jessica!

SHYLOCK
Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOT
Your worship was wont to tell me I could do
nothing without bidding.
Enter Jessica

JESSICA
Call you? What is your will?

SHYLOCK
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 tonight.

LAUNCELOT
I beseech you, sir, go. My young master
doth expect your reproach.

SHYLOCK
So do I his.

LAUNCELOT
And they have conspired together. I 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'th' morning, falling out that year
on Ash Wednesday was four year in th' afternoon.

SHYLOCK
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-necked fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnished 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
I have no mind of feasting forth tonight,
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah.
Say I will come.

LAUNCELOT
I will go before, sir.
Mistress, look out at window for all this:
There will come a Christian by
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
Exit

SHYLOCK
What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?

JESSICA
His words were ‘ Farewell mistress ’, nothing else.

SHYLOCK
The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in.
Perhaps I will return immediately.
Do as I bid you; shut doors after you.
Fast bind, fast find,
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.
Exit

JESSICA
Farewell; and if my fortune be not crossed,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene VI
Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salerio

GRATIANO
This is the penthouse under which Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.

SALERIO
His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO
And it is marvel he outdwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALERIO
O ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new-made than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO
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 enjoyed.
How like a younger or a prodigal
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugged and embraced by the strumpet wind.
How like the prodigal doth she return,
With overweathered ribs and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind.

SALERIO
Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.
Enter Lorenzo

LORENZO
Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode.
Not I but my affairs have made you wait.
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then. Approach.
Here dwells my father Jew! Ho! Who's within?
Enter Jessica above, in boy's clothes

JESSICA
Who are you? Tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO
Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA
Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed,
For who love I so much? And now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO
Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA
Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange.
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO
Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA
What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
And I should be obscured.

LORENZO
So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once,
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stayed for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICA
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
Exit above

GRATIANO
Now by my hood, a gentle and no Jew!

LORENZO
Beshrew me but I love her heartily!
For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she hath proved herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
Enter Jessica below
What, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
Exit with Jessica and Salerio
Enter Antonio

ANTONIO
Who's there?

GRATIANO
Signor Antonio?

ANTONIO
Fie, fie, Gratiano! Where are all the rest?
'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you.
No masque tonight. The wind is come about;
Bassanio presently will go aboard.
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANO
I am glad on't. I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail and gone tonight.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene VII
Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with Morocco and
both their trains

PORTIA
Go, draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble Prince.
Now make your choice.

MOROCCO
The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;
The second, silver, which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do choose the right?

PORTIA
The one of them contains my picture, Prince.
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO
Some god direct my judgement! Let me see:
I will survey th' inscriptions back again.
What says this leaden casket?
Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give, for what? For lead! Hazard for lead?
This casket threatens; men that hazard all
Do it in hope of fair advantages.
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves? Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand.
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady,
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve? Why that's the lady!
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I strayed no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold:
Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.
Why, that's the lady! All the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For princes to come view fair Portia.
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come
As o'er a brook to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
To think so base a thought; it were too gross
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold – but that's insculped upon;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliver me the key.
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

PORTIA
There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours.
He opens the golden casket

MOROCCO
O hell! What have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing.
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgement old,
Your answer had not been inscrolled.
Fare you well, your suit is cold.
Cold indeed, and labour lost.
Then farewell heat, and welcome frost.
Portia, adieu, I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.
Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets

PORTIA
A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene VIII
Enter Salerio and Solanio

SALERIO
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
With him is Gratiano gone along,
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SOLANIO
The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALERIO
He came too late, the ship was under sail,
But there the Duke was given to understand
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica.
Besides, Antonio certified the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SOLANIO
I never heard a passion so confused,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:
‘ My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
Justice! The law! My ducats and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.’

SALERIO
Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SOLANIO
Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.

SALERIO
Marry, well remembered.
I reasoned with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country richly fraught.
I thought upon Antonio when he told me,
And wished in silence that it were not his.

SOLANIO
You were best to tell Antonio what you hear,
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALERIO
A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part;
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
Of his return; he answered, ‘ Do not so.
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time.
And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love.
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there.’
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SOLANIO
I think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee let us go and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.

SALERIO
Do we so.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act II, Scene IX
Enter Nerissa and a Servitor

NERISSA
Quick, quick I pray thee! Draw the curtain straight.
The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Flourish of cornets. Enter Arragon, his train, and Portia

PORTIA
Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince.
If you choose that wherein I am contained,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON
I am enjoined by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to anyone
Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage;
Lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIA
To these injunctions everyone doth swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON
And so have I addressed me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.
Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.
You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest? Ha, let me see.
Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire; that ‘ many ’ may be meant
By the fool multitude that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach,
Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why then, to thee, thou silver treasure house.
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.
And well said too, for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.
O that estates, degrees, and offices
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover that stand bare,
How many be commanded that command;
How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honour, and how much honour
Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times
To be new varnished. Well, but to my choice.
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
He opens the silver casket

PORTIA
Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON
What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia!
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?

PORTIA
To offend and judge are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON
What is here?
The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgement is
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss.
There be fools alive iwis,
Silvered o'er, and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head.
So be gone; you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here.
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.
Exit with his train

PORTIA
Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O these deliberate fools! When they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA
The ancient saying is no heresy:
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA
Come draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter Messenger

MESSENGER
Where is my lady?

PORTIA
Here. What would my lord?

MESSENGER
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify th' approaching of his lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love.
A day in April never came so sweet
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA
No more, I pray thee, I am half afeard
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.
Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA
Bassanio Lord, love if thy will it be!
Exeunt
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