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In sooth I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me, you say it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,
55I am to learn.
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me
That I have much ado to know myself.
Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
There where your argosies with portly sail
1010(Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea)
Do overpeer the petty traffickers
That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
1515Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
Piring in maps for ports and piers and roads;
2020And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.
My wind cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague when I thought
2525What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hourglass run
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy docked in sand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs
3030To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
3535Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
And, in a word, but even now worth this
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
4040But tell not me: I know Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
4545Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
Why then you are in love.
Fie, fie!
Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad
5050Because you are not merry; and ’twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say you are merry
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed
Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
5555Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper,
And other of such vinegar aspect
That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
6060Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well.
We leave you now with better company.
I would have stayed till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
6565Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it your own business calls on you,
And you embrace th’ occasion to depart.
Good morrow, my good lords.
Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say,
7070when?
You grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?
We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.
My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you. But at dinner time
7575I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
I will not fail you.
You look not well, Signior Antonio.
You have too much respect upon the world.
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
8080Believe me, you are marvelously changed.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Let me play the fool.
8585With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
9090Sleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio
(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks):
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond
9595And do a willful stillness entertain
With purpose to be dressed in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say “I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”
100100O my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing, when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers
105105fools.
I’ll tell thee more of this another time.
But fish not with this melancholy bait
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.—
Come, good Lorenzo.—Fare you well a while.
110110I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.
Well, we will leave you then till dinner time.
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
Well, keep me company but two years more,
115115Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own
tongue.
Fare you well. I’ll grow a talker for this gear.
Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable
In a neat’s tongue dried and a maid not vendible.
120120Is that anything now?
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as
two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you
shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
125125have them, they are not worth the search.
Well, tell me now what lady is the same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you today promised to tell me of?
’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
130130How much I have disabled mine estate
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance.
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate. But my chief care
135135Is to come fairly off from the great debts
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most in money and in love,
And from your love I have a warranty
140140To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honor, be assured
145145My purse, my person, my extremest means
Lie all unlocked to your occasions.
In my school days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight
The selfsame way with more advisèd watch
150150To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a willful youth,
That which I owe is lost. But if you please
155155To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
160160You know me well, and herein spend but time
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
In making question of my uttermost
Than if you had made waste of all I have.
165165Then do but say to me what I should do
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest unto it. Therefore speak.
In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
170170Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
To Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
175175For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renownèd suitors, and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
180180O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift
That I should questionless be fortunate!
Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;
185185Neither have I money nor commodity
To raise a present sum. Therefore go forth:
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be racked even to the uttermost
To furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.
190190Go presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is, and I no question make
To have it of my trust, or for my sake.
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary
of this great world.
195You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes
5are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that
surfeit with too much as they that starve with
nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be
200seated in the mean. Superfluity comes sooner by
white hairs, but competency lives longer.
10Good sentences, and well pronounced.
They would be better if well followed.
If to do were as easy as to know what were
205good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor
men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine
15that follows his own instructions. I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done than to be one of
the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain
210may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper
leaps o’er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the
20youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the
cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
choose me a husband. O, me, the word “choose”! I
215may neither choose who I would nor refuse who I
dislike. So is the will of a living daughter curbed by
25the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that
I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?
Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men
220at their death have good inspirations. Therefore the
lottery that he hath devised in these three chests of
30gold, silver, and lead, whereof who chooses his
meaning chooses you, will no doubt never be
chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly
225love. But what warmth is there in your affection
towards any of these princely suitors that are already
35come?
I pray thee, overname them, and as thou
namest them, I will describe them, and according
230to my description level at my affection.
First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
40Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
talk of his horse, and he makes it a great appropriation
to his own good parts that he can shoe him
235himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother
played false with a smith.
45Then is there the County Palatine.
He doth nothing but frown, as who should say
“An you will not have me, choose.” He hears
240merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the
weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so
50full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had
rather be married to a death’s-head with a bone in
his mouth than to either of these. God defend me
245from these two!
How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le
55Bon?
God made him, and therefore let him pass for
a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker,
250but he!—why, he hath a horse better than the
Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than
60the Count Palatine. He is every man in no man. If a
throstle sing, he falls straight a-cap’ring. He will
fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I
255should marry twenty husbands! If he would despise
me, I would forgive him, for if he love me to
65madness, I shall never requite him.
What say you then to Falconbridge, the young
baron of England?
260You know I say nothing to him, for he understands
not me, nor I him. He hath neither Latin,
70French, nor Italian; and you will come into the
court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in
the English. He is a proper man’s picture, but alas,
265who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly
he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy,
75his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany,
and his behavior everywhere.
What think you of the Scottish lord, his
270neighbor?
That he hath a neighborly charity in him, for
80he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman,
and swore he would pay him again when he was
able. I think the Frenchman became his surety and
275sealed under for another.
How like you the young German, the Duke of
85Saxony’s nephew?
Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober,
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk.
280When he is best he is a little worse than a man, and
when he is worst he is little better than a beast. An
90the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift
to go without him.
If he should offer to choose, and choose the
285right casket, you should refuse to perform your
father’s will if you should refuse to accept him.
95Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set
a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary
casket, for if the devil be within and that temptation
290without, I know he will choose it. I will do
anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.
100You need not fear, lady, the having any of
these lords. They have acquainted me with their
determinations, which is indeed to return to their
295home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless
you may be won by some other sort than your
105father’s imposition depending on the caskets.
If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
chaste as Diana unless I be obtained by the manner
300of my father’s will. I am glad this parcel of wooers
are so reasonable, for there is not one among them
110but I dote on his very absence. And I pray God
grant them a fair departure!
Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s
305time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came
hither in company of the Marquess of Montferrat?
115Yes, yes, it was Bassanio—as I think so was he
called.
True, madam. He, of all the men that ever my
310foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a
fair lady.
120I remember him well, and I remember him
worthy of thy praise.
Enter a Servingman.
How now, what news?
315The four strangers seek for you, madam,
to take their leave. And there is a forerunner come
125from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings
word the Prince his master will be here tonight.
If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good
320heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should
be glad of his approach. If he have the condition of
130a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather
he should shrive me than wive me.
Come, Nerissa. To Servingman. Sirrah, go before.—
325Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another
knocks at the door.
Three thousand ducats, well.
Ay, sir, for three months.
For three months, well.
330For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall
5be bound.
Antonio shall become bound, well.
May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?
335Three thousand ducats for three months,
10and Antonio bound.
Your answer to that?
Antonio is a good man.
Have you heard any imputation to the
340contrary?
15Ho, no, no, no, no! My meaning in saying he
is a good man is to have you understand me that he
is sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition: he
hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the
345Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto,
20he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and
other ventures he hath squandered abroad. But
ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land
rats and water rats, water thieves and land
350thieves—I mean pirates—and then there is the
25peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is,
notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats.
I think I may take his bond.
Be assured you may.
355I will be assured I may. And that I may be
30assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with
Antonio?
If it please you to dine with us.
Yes, to smell pork! To eat of the habitation
360which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the
35devil into! I will buy with you, sell with you, talk
with you, walk with you, and so following; but I
will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with
you.—What news on the Rialto?—Who is he comes
365here?
40This is Signior Antonio.
How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him for he is a Christian,
But more for that in low simplicity
370He lends out money gratis and brings down
45The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
375Even there where merchants most do congregate,
50On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls “interest.” Cursèd be my tribe
If I forgive him!
Shylock, do you hear?
380I am debating of my present store,
55And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
385Will furnish me. But soft, how many months
60Do you desire? To Antonio. Rest you fair, good
signior!
Your Worship was the last man in our mouths.
Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow
390By taking nor by giving of excess,
65Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
I’ll break a custom. To Bassanio. Is he yet
possessed
How much you would?
395Ay, ay, three thousand
70ducats.
And for three months.
I had forgot—three months. To Bassanio.
You told me so.—
400Well then, your bond. And let me see—but hear
75you:
Methoughts you said you neither lend nor borrow
Upon advantage.
I do never use it.
405When Jacob grazed his Uncle Laban’s sheep—
80This Jacob from our holy Abram was
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf)
The third possessor; ay, he was the third—
And what of him? Did he take interest?
410No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
85Directly “interest.” Mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromised
That all the eanlings which were streaked and pied
Should fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes being rank
415In end of autumn turnèd to the rams,
90And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
The skillful shepherd pilled me certain wands,
And in the doing of the deed of kind
420He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
95Who then conceiving did in eaning time
Fall parti-colored lambs, and those were Jacob’s.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
And thrift is blessing if men steal it not.
425This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for,
100A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But swayed and fashioned by the hand of heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?
430I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.
105But note me, signior—
Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose!
An evil soul producing holy witness
435Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
110A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Three thousand ducats. ’Tis a good round sum.
Three months from twelve, then let me see, the
440rate—
115Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances.
445Still have I borne it with a patient shrug
120(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe).
You call me misbeliever, cutthroat dog,
And spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
450Well then, it now appears you need my help.
125Go to, then. You come to me and you say
“Shylock, we would have moneys”—you say so,
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
455Over your threshold. Moneys is your suit.
130What should I say to you? Should I not say
“Hath a dog money? Is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman’s key,
460With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,
135Say this: “Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday
last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me “dog”; and for these courtesies
465I’ll lend you thus much moneys”?
140I am as like to call thee so again,
To spet on thee again, to spurn thee, too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends, for when did friendship take
470A breed for barren metal of his friend?
145But lend it rather to thine enemy,
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
Exact the penalty.
Why, look you how you storm!
475I would be friends with you and have your love,
150Forget the shames that you have stained me with,
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me!
This is kind I offer.
480This were kindness!
155This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
485In such a place, such sum or sums as are
160Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.
490Content, in faith. I’ll seal to such a bond,
165And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
You shall not seal to such a bond for me!
I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.
Why, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it!
495Within these two months—that’s a month before
170This bond expires—I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
500The thoughts of others! Pray you tell me this:
175If 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,
505As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
180To buy his favor I extend this friendship.
If he will take it, so. If not, adieu;
And for my love I pray you wrong me not.
Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
510Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s.
185Give 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
515I’ll be with you.
190Hie thee, gentle Jew.
Shylock exits.
The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.
Come on, in this there can be no dismay;
520My ships come home a month before the day.
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,
To whom I am a neighbor and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
5525Where 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
10530The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have loved it too. I would not change this hue
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;
15535Besides, 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,
20540Yourself, renownèd prince, then stood as fair
As any comer I have looked on yet
For my affection.
Even for that I thank you.
Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets
25545To 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,
30550Pluck 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 Lychas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
35555May 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.
40560You 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.
45565Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.
First, forward to the temple. After dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Good fortune then,
To make me blest—or cursed’st among men!
570Certainly 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,
Lancelet Gobbo, good Lancelet,” or “good Gobbo,”
5or “good Lancelet Gobbo, use your legs, take
575the start, run away.” My conscience says “No. Take
heed, honest Lancelet, take heed, honest Gobbo,”
or, as aforesaid, “honest Lancelet Gobbo, do not
run; scorn running with thy heels.” Well, the most
10courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” says the
580fiend. “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
15Lancelet, being an honest man’s son”—or rather,
585an honest woman’s son, for indeed my father did
something smack, something grow to—he had a
kind of taste—well, my conscience says “Lancelet,
budge not.” “Budge,” says the fiend. “Budge not,”
20says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you
590counsel 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
25ruled by the fiend, who (saving your reverence) is
595the 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
30friendly counsel. I will run, fiend. My heels are at
600your commandment. I will run.
Master young man, you, I pray you, which is
the way to Master Jew’s?
O heavens, this is my true begotten
35father, who being more than sandblind, high gravelblind,
605knows me not. I will try confusions with him.
Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is
the way to Master Jew’s?
Turn up on your right hand at the next
40turning, but at the next turning of all on your left;
610marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand,
but turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.
Be God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit.
Can you tell me whether one Lancelet, that dwells
45with him, dwell with him or no?
615Talk you of young Master Lancelet? Aside.
Mark me now, now will I raise the waters.—Talk
you of young Master Lancelet?
No master, sir, but a poor man’s son. His
50father, though I say ’t, is an honest exceeding poor
620man and, God be thanked, well to live.
Well, let his father be what he will, we talk
of young Master Lancelet.
Your Worship’s friend, and Lancelet, sir.
55But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech
625you, talk you of young Master Lancelet?
Of Lancelet, an ’t please your mastership.
Ergo, Master Lancelet. Talk not of Master
Lancelet, father, for the young gentleman, according
60to Fates and Destinies, and such odd sayings, the
630Sisters Three, and such branches of learning, is
indeed deceased, or, as you would say in plain
terms, gone to heaven.
Marry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff
65of my age, my very prop.
635Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post,
a staff or a prop?—Do you know me, father?
Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman.
But I pray you tell me, is my boy, God rest his
70soul, alive or dead?
640Do you not know me, father?
Alack, sir, I am sandblind. I know you not.
Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might
fail of the knowing me. It is a wise father that
75knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you
645news 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.
80Pray you, sir, stand up! I am sure you are not
650Lancelet my boy.
Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about
it, but give me your blessing. I am Lancelet, your
boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall
85be.
655I cannot think you are my son.
I know not what I shall think of that; but I
am Lancelet, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery
your wife is my mother.
90Her name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if
660thou be Lancelet, thou art mine own flesh and
blood. Lord worshiped 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.
95It should seem, then, that
665Dobbin’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.
Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou
100and thy master agree? I have brought him a present.
670How ’gree you now?
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.
105Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am
675famished 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
110will run as far as God has any ground. O rare
680fortune, here comes the man! To him, father, for I
am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.
You may do so, but let it be
so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five
115of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the
685liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come
anon to my lodging.
To him, father.
God bless your Worship.
120Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me?
690Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy—
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man,
that would, sir, as my father shall specify—
He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say,
125to serve—
695Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify—
His master and he (saving your Worship’s
reverence) are scarce cater-cousins—
130To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew,
700having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my
father being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto
you—
I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow
135upon your Worship, and my suit is—
705In 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—
140One speak for both. What would you?
710Serve you, sir.
That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
I know thee well. Thou hast obtained thy suit.
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
145And hath preferred thee, if it be preferment
715To leave a rich Jew’s service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
The old proverb is very well parted between
my master Shylock and you, sir: you have “the
150grace of God,” sir, and he hath “enough.”
720Thou speak’st it well.—Go, father, with thy son.—
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
My lodging out. To an Attendant. Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows’. See it done.
155Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have
725ne’er a tongue in my head! Well, studying 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
160small trifle of wives—alas, fifteen wives is nothing;
730eleven 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
featherbed! Here are simple ’scapes. Well, if Fortune
165be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear.
735Father, come. I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the
twinkling.
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
Handing him a paper.
These things being bought and orderly bestowed,
170Return in haste, for I do feast tonight
740My best esteemed acquaintance. Hie thee, go.
My best endeavors shall be done herein.
Where’s your master?
Yonder, sir, he walks.
Leonardo exits.175Signior Bassanio!
745Gratiano!
I have suit to you.
You have obtained it.
You must not deny me. I must go with you
180to Belmont.
750Why 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.
185But where thou art not known—why, there they
755show
Something too liberal. Pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
190I be misconstered in the place I go to,
760And lose my hopes.
Signior Bassanio, hear me.
If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
195Wear prayer books in my pocket, look demurely,
765Nay 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
200To please his grandam, never trust me more.
770Well, we shall see your bearing.
Nay, but I bar tonight. You shall not gauge me
By what we do tonight.
No, that were pity.
205I would entreat you rather to put on
775Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment. But fare you well.
I have some business.
And I must to Lorenzo and the rest.
210But we will visit you at supper time.
780I 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,
5And, Lancelet, soon at supper shalt thou see
785Lorenzo, 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.
10Adieu. Tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful
790pagan, most sweet Jew. If a Christian do not
play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.
But adieu. These foolish drops do something drown
my manly spirit. Adieu.
15Farewell, good Lancelet.
Lancelet exits.
795Alack, 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,
20If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
800Become a Christian and thy loving wife.
Nay, we will slink away in supper time,
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour.
We have not made good preparation.
5805We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.
’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered,
And better in my mind not undertook.
’Tis now but four o’clock. We have two hours
To furnish us.
Enter Lancelet.
10810Friend Lancelet, what’s the news?
An it shall please you to break up this, it
shall seem to signify.
I know the hand; in faith, ’tis a fair hand,
And whiter than the paper it writ on
15815Is the fair hand that writ.
Love news, in faith!
By your leave, sir.
Whither goest thou?
Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to
20820sup tonight with my new master the Christian.
Hold here, take this. Giving him money. Tell gentle
Jessica
I will not fail her. Speak it privately.
Lancelet exits.
Go, gentlemen,
25825Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
I am provided of a torchbearer.
Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.
And so will I.
Meet me and Gratiano
30830At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.
’Tis good we do so.
Salarino and Solanio exit.
Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
How I shall take her from her father’s house,
35835What 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
40840Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me. Peruse this as thou goest;
Handing him the letter.
Fair Jessica shall be my torchbearer.
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
845The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—
What, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize
As thou hast done with me—what, Jessica!—
5And sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out.—
Why, Jessica, I say!
850Why, Jessica!
Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
Your Worship was wont to tell me I could
10do nothing without bidding.
Call you? What is your will?
855I am bid forth to supper, Jessica.
There are my keys.—But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love. They flatter me.
15But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian.—Jessica, my girl,
860Look 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.
20I beseech you, sir, go. My young master
doth expect your reproach.
865So do I his.
And they have conspired together—I will
not say you shall see a masque, but if you do, then it
25was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on
Black Monday last, at six o’clock i’ th’ morning,
870falling out that year on Ash Wednesday was four
year in th’ afternoon.
What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica,
30Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-necked fife,
875Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnished faces,
35But stop my house’s ears (I mean my casements).
Let not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter
880My 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.
40Say I will come.
I will go before, sir. Aside to Jessica. Mistress,
885look out at window for all this.
There will come a Christian by
Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.
45What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?
His words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else.
890The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wildcat. Drones hive not with me,
50Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
895His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in.
Perhaps I will return immediately.
Do as I bid you. Shut doors after you.
55Fast bind, fast find—
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.
900Farewell, and if my fortune be not crossed,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.
This is the penthouse under which Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.
His hour is almost past.
905And it is marvel he outdwells his hour,
5For lovers ever run before the clock.
O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly
To seal love’s bonds new-made than they are wont
To keep obligèd faith unforfeited.
910That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast
10With 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,
915Are with more spirit chasèd than enjoyed.
15How like a younger or a prodigal
The scarfèd bark puts from her native bay,
Hugged and embracèd by the strumpet wind;
How like the prodigal doth she return
920With overweathered ribs and raggèd sails,
20Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind!
Here comes Lorenzo. More of this hereafter.
Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode.
Not I but my affairs have made you wait.
925When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
25I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach.
Here dwells my father Jew.—Ho! Who’s within?
Who are you? Tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.
930Lorenzo, and thy love.
30Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed,
For who love I so much? And now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
935Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
35I 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,
940For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
40To see me thus transformèd to a boy.
Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.
What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
945Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love,
45And I should be obscured.
So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once,
950For the close night doth play the runaway,
50And we are stayed for at Bassanio’s feast.
I will make fast the doors and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
Now, by my hood, a gentle and no Jew!
955Beshrew me but I love her heartily,
55For 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,
960Shall she be placèd in my constant soul.
Enter Jessica, below.
60What, art thou come? On, gentleman, away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
Who’s there?
Signior Antonio?
965Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
65’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.
970I am glad on ’t. I desire no more delight
70Than to be under sail and gone tonight.
Go, draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.
A curtain is drawn.
Now make your choice.
975This first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
5“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
980deserves”;
10This 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?
985The one of them contains my picture, prince.
15If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
Some god direct my judgment! Let me see.
I will survey th’ inscriptions back again.
What says this leaden casket?
990“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he
20hath.”
Must give—for what? For lead? Hazard for lead?
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all
Do it in hope of fair advantages.
995A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
25I’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.”
1000As much as he deserves—pause there, Morocco,
30And weigh thy value with an even hand.
If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady.
1005And yet to be afeard of my deserving
35Were 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,
1010But more than these, in love I do deserve.
40What 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.”
1015Why, that’s the lady! All the world desires her.
45From 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
1020For princes to come view fair Portia.
50The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spets 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.
1025One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
55Is ’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,
1030Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
60O, 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;
1035But here an angel in a golden bed
65Lies all within.—Deliver me the key.
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may.
There, take it, prince. Handing him the key. And if
my form lie there,
1040Then I am yours.
70O hell! What have we here?
A carrion death within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing:
All that glisters is not gold—
1045Often have you heard that told.
75Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
1050Young in limbs, in judgment old,
80Your answer had not been enscrolled.
Fare you well, your suit is cold.
Cold indeed and labor lost!
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost.
1055Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
85To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.
A gentle riddance! Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
1060With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.
The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke,
5Who went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.
He came too late; the ship was under sail.
1065But there the Duke was given to understand
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica.
10Besides, Antonio certified the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
1070I never heard a passion so confused,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets.
15“My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
1075Justice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter,
A sealèd bag, two sealèd bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter,
20And jewels—two stones, two rich and precious
stones—
1080Stol’n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.”
Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
25Crying “His stones, his daughter, and his ducats.”
Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
1085Or he shall pay for this.
Marry, well remembered.
I reasoned with a Frenchman yesterday
30Who told me, in the Narrow Seas that part
The French and English, there miscarrièd
1090A vessel of our country richly fraught.
I thought upon Antonio when he told me,
And wished in silence that it were not his.
35You were best to tell Antonio what you hear—
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
1095A kinder gentleman treads not the Earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
40Of his return. He answered “Do not so.
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
1100But 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.
45Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship and such fair ostents of love
1105As shall conveniently become you there.”
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
50And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio’s hand—and so they parted.
1110I think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee, let us go and find him out
And quicken his embracèd heaviness
55With some delight or other.
Do we so.
They exit.
1115Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.
The Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath
And comes to his election presently.
Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince.
5If you choose that wherein I am contained,
1120Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized.
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
I am enjoined by oath to observe three things:
10First, never to unfold to anyone
1125Which 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,
15Immediately to leave you, and be gone.
1130To these injunctions everyone doth swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
And so have I addressed me. Fortune now
To my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.
20“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he
1135hath.”
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
25desire.”
1140What 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,
30Which pries not to th’ interior, but like the martlet
1145Builds 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
35And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
1150Why, 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.”
40And well said, too; for who shall go about
1155To cozen fortune and be honorable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeservèd dignity.
O, that estates, degrees, and offices
45Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor
1160Were 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
50From the true seed of honor? And how much honor
1165Picked 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.”
55I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
He is given a key.
1170And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
Too long a pause for that which you find there.
What’s here? The portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.—
60How much unlike art thou to Portia!
1175How 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?
65Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?
1180To offend and judge are distinct offices
And of opposèd natures.
What is here?
He reads.
The fire seven times tried this;
70Seven times tried that judgment is
1185That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow’s bliss.
There be fools alive, iwis,
75Silvered o’er—and so was this.
1190Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head.
So begone; you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
80By the time I linger here.
1195With 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.
85Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
1200O, these deliberate fools, when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
The ancient saying is no heresy:
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
90Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter Messenger.
1205Where is my lady?
Here. What would my
lord?
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
95A young Venetian, one that comes before
1210To 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
100So likely an ambassador of love.
1215A day in April never came so sweet,
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard
105Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
1220Thou 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.
Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!
Now, what news on the Rialto?
1225Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio
hath a ship of rich lading wracked on the
Narrow Seas—the Goodwins, I think they call the
5place—a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the
carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say,
1230if my gossip Report be an honest woman of her
word.
I would she were as lying a gossip in that as
10ever knapped ginger or made her neighbors believe
she wept for the death of a third husband. But
1235it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing
the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio,
the honest Antonio—O, that I had a title good
15enough to keep his name company!—
Come, the full stop.
1240Ha, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he
hath lost a ship.
I would it might prove the end of his losses.
20Let me say “amen” betimes, lest the devil
cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness
1245of a Jew.
Enter Shylock.
How now, Shylock, what news among the
merchants?
25You knew, none so well, none so well as you,
of my daughter’s flight.
1250That’s certain. I for my part knew the tailor
that made the wings she flew withal.
And Shylock for his own part knew the bird
30was fledge, and then it is the complexion of them
all to leave the dam.
1255She is damned for it.
That’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.
My own flesh and blood to rebel!
35Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these
years?
1260I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.
There is more difference between thy flesh
and hers than between jet and ivory, more between
40your bloods than there is between red wine and
Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio
1265have had any loss at sea or no?
There I have another bad match! A bankrout,
a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on
45the Rialto, a beggar that was used to come so smug
upon the mart! Let him look to his bond. He was
1270wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond. He
was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy; let
him look to his bond.
50Why, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not
take his flesh! What’s that good for?
1275To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else,
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me and
hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses,
55mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted
my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies—
1280and what’s his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not
a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions,
senses, affections, passions? Fed with the
60same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to
the same diseases, healed by the same means,
1285warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer
as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not
bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you
65poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall
we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
1290resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong
a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian
70example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I
will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the
1295instruction.
Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his
house and desires to speak with you both.
75We have been up and down to seek him.
Enter Tubal.
Here comes another of the tribe; a third
1300cannot be matched unless the devil himself turn
Jew.
How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa?
80Hast thou found my daughter?
I often came where I did hear of her, but
1305cannot find her.
Why, there, there, there, there! A diamond
gone cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfurt!
85The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I
never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that,
1310and other precious, precious jewels! I would my
daughter were dead at my foot and the jewels in her
ear; would she were hearsed at my foot and the
90ducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And
I know not what’s spent in the search! Why, thou
1315loss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so
much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no
revenge, nor no ill luck stirring but what lights a’ my
95shoulders, no sighs but a’ my breathing, no tears but
a’ my shedding.
1320Yes, other men have ill luck, too. Antonio, as I
heard in Genoa—
What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?
100—hath an argosy cast away coming from
Tripolis.
1325I thank God, I thank God! Is it true, is it true?
I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped
the wrack.
105I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good
news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa—
1330Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one
night fourscore ducats.
Thou stick’st a dagger in me. I shall never
110see my gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting,
fourscore ducats!
1335There came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my
company to Venice that swear he cannot choose
but break.
115I am very glad of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll
torture him. I am glad of it.
1340One of them showed me a ring that he had of
your daughter for a monkey.
Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It
120was my turquoise! I had it of Leah when I was a
bachelor. I would not have given it for a wilderness
1345of monkeys.
But Antonio is certainly undone.
Nay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal,
125fee me an officer. Bespeak him a fortnight before. I
will have the heart of him if he forfeit, for were he
1350out of Venice I can make what merchandise I will.
Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue. Go, good
Tubal, at our synagogue, Tubal.
I pray you tarry, pause a day or two
Before you hazard, for in choosing wrong
1355I lose your company; therefore forbear a while.
There’s something tells me (but it is not love)
5I would not lose you, and you know yourself
Hate counsels not in such a quality.
But lest you should not understand me well
1360(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought)
I would detain you here some month or two
10Before you venture for me. I could teach you
How to choose right, but then I am forsworn.
So will I never be. So may you miss me.
1365But if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
15They have o’erlooked me and divided me.
One half of me is yours, the other half yours—
Mine own, I would say—but if mine, then yours,
1370And so all yours. O, these naughty times
Puts bars between the owners and their rights!
20And so though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
Let Fortune go to hell for it, not I.
I speak too long, but ’tis to peize the time,
1375To eche it, and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.
25Let me choose,
For as I am, I live upon the rack.
Upon the rack, Bassanio? Then confess
1380What treason there is mingled with your love.
None but that ugly treason of mistrust,
30Which makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love.
There may as well be amity and life
’Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.
1385Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack
Where men enforcèd do speak anything.
35Promise me life and I’ll confess the truth.
Well, then, confess and live.
“Confess and love”
1390Had been the very sum of my confession.
O happy torment, when my torturer
40Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.
Away, then. I am locked in one of them.
1395If you do love me, you will find me out.—
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.
45Let music sound while he doth make his choice.
Then if he lose he makes a swanlike end,
Fading in music. That the comparison
1400May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
And wat’ry deathbed for him. He may win,
50And what is music then? Then music is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
To a new-crownèd monarch. Such it is
1405As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear
55And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
With no less presence but with much more love
Than young Alcides when he did redeem
1410The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster. I stand for sacrifice;
60The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
With blearèd visages, come forth to view
The issue of th’ exploit. Go, Hercules!
1415Live thou, I live. With much much more dismay
I view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray.
65Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourishèd?
1420Reply, reply.
It is engendered in the eye,
70With gazing fed, and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring fancy’s knell.
1425I’ll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.
75So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt
1430But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
80What damnèd error but some sober brow
Will bless it and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
1435There is no vice so simple but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
85How many cowards whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
1440Who inward searched have livers white as milk,
And these assume but valor’s excrement
90To render them redoubted. Look on beauty,
And you shall see ’tis purchased by the weight,
Which therein works a miracle in nature,
1445Making them lightest that wear most of it.
So are those crispèd snaky golden locks,
95Which maketh such wanton gambols with the wind
Upon supposèd fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
1450The skull that bred them in the sepulcher.
Thus ornament is but the guilèd shore
100To a most dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
1455To entrap the wisest. Therefore, then, thou gaudy
gold,
105Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee.
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
’Tween man and man. But thou, thou meager lead,
1460Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught,
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence,
110And here choose I. Joy be the consequence!
How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts and rash embraced despair,
1465And shudd’ring fear, and green-eyed jealousy!
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
115In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
I feel too much thy blessing. Make it less,
For fear I surfeit.
1470What find I here?
Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demigod
120Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are severed lips
1475Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
125The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh t’ entrap the hearts of men
Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes!
1480How could he see to do them? Having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his
130And leave itself unfurnished. Yet look how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
1485Doth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll,
The continent and summary of my fortune.
He reads the scroll.
135You that choose not by the view
Chance as fair and choose as true.
Since this fortune falls to you,
1490Be content and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this
140And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kiss.
1495A gentle scroll! Fair lady, by your leave,
I come by note to give and to receive.
145Like one of two contending in a prize
That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes,
Hearing applause and universal shout,
1500Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no,
150So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirmed, signed, ratified by you.
1505You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am. Though for myself alone
155I would not be ambitious in my wish
To wish myself much better, yet for you
I would be trebled twenty times myself,
1510A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich, that only to stand high in your account
160I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account. But the full sum of me
Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
1515Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed;
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
165But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit
1520Commits itself to yours to be directed
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
170Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours
Is now converted. But now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
1525Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself
175Are yours, my lord’s. I give them with this ring,
Handing him a ring.
Which, when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,
1530And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Madam, you have bereft me of all words.
180Only my blood speaks to you in my veins,
And there is such confusion in my powers
As after some oration fairly spoke
1535By a belovèd prince there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleasèd multitude,
185Where every something being blent together
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy
Expressed and not expressed. But when this ring
1540Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence.
O, then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!
190My lord and lady, it is now our time,
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,
To cry “Good joy, good joy, my lord and lady!”
1545My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy that you can wish,
195For I am sure you can wish none from me.
And when your honors mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you
1550Even at that time I may be married too.
With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
200I thank your Lordship, you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.
1555You loved, I loved; for intermission
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
205Your fortune stood upon the caskets there,
And so did mine, too, as the matter falls.
For wooing here until I sweat again,
1560And swearing till my very roof was dry
With oaths of love, at last (if promise last)
210I got a promise of this fair one here
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Achieved her mistress.
1565Is this true, Nerissa?
Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.
215And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?
Yes, faith, my lord.
Our feast shall be much honored in your marriage.
1570We’ll play with them the first boy for a
thousand ducats.
220What, and stake down?
No, we shall ne’er win at that sport and
stake down.
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio, a messenger
from Venice.
1575But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?
What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio?
225Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither—
If that the youth of my new int’rest here
Have power to bid you welcome. To Portia. By
1580your leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen,
230Sweet Portia, welcome.
So do I, my lord. They are entirely welcome.
I thank your Honor. For my part, my lord,
1585My purpose was not to have seen you here,
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
235He did entreat me past all saying nay
To come with him along.
I did, my lord,
1590And I have reason for it.Handing him a paper.
Signior Antonio
240Commends him to you.
Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.
1595Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind,
Nor well, unless in mind. His letter there
245Will show you his estate.
Nerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome.—
Your hand, Salerio. What’s the news from Venice?
1600How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know he will be glad of our success.
250We are the Jasons, we have won the Fleece.
I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.
There are some shrewd contents in yond same
1605paper
That steals the color from Bassanio’s cheek.
255Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?—
1610With leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself,
And I must freely have the half of anything
260That this same paper brings you.
O sweet Portia,
Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words
1615That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love to you,
265I freely told you all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins: I was a gentleman.
And then I told you true; and yet, dear lady,
1620Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart. When I told you
270My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing; for indeed
I have engaged myself to a dear friend,
1625Engaged my friend to his mere enemy
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,
275The paper as the body of my friend,
And every word in it a gaping wound
Issuing life blood.—But is it true, Salerio?
1630Hath all his ventures failed? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
280From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,
And not one vessel ’scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?
1635Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear that if he had
285The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it. Never did I know
A creature that did bear the shape of man
1640So keen and greedy to confound a man.
He plies the Duke at morning and at night,
290And doth impeach the freedom of the state
If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,
The Duke himself, and the magnificoes
1645Of greatest port have all persuaded with him,
But none can drive him from the envious plea
295Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.
When I was with him, I have heard him swear
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
1650That he would rather have Antonio’s flesh
Than twenty times the value of the sum
300That he did owe him. And I know, my lord,
If law, authority, and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.
1655Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
305The best conditioned and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies, and one in whom
The ancient Roman honor more appears
1660Than any that draws breath in Italy.
What sum owes he the Jew?
310For me, three thousand ducats.
What, no more?
Pay him six thousand and deface the bond.
1665Double six thousand and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
315Shall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault.
First go with me to church and call me wife,
And then away to Venice to your friend!
1670For never shall you lie by Portia’s side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
320To pay the petty debt twenty times over.
When it is paid, bring your true friend along.
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
1675Will live as maids and widows. Come, away,
For you shall hence upon your wedding day.
325Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
But let me hear the letter of your friend.
1680Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my
creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to
330the Jew is forfeit, and since in paying it, it is impossible
I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I if
I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use
1685your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to
come, let not my letter.
335O love, dispatch all business and begone!
Since I have your good leave to go away,
I will make haste. But till I come again,
1690No bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay,
Nor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.
Jailer, look to him. Tell not me of mercy.
This is the fool that lent out money gratis.
Jailer, look to him.
1695Hear me yet, good Shylock—
5I’ll have my bond. Speak not against my bond.
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
Thou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
1700The Duke shall grant me justice.—I do wonder,
10Thou naughty jailer, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request.
I pray thee, hear me speak—
I’ll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak.
1705I’ll have my bond, and therefore speak no more.
15I’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not!
I’ll have no speaking. I will have my bond.
1710It is the most impenetrable cur
20That ever kept with men.
Let him alone.
I’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
He seeks my life. His reason well I know:
1715I oft delivered from his forfeitures
25Many that have at times made moan to me.
Therefore he hates me.
I am sure the Duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
1720The Duke cannot deny the course of law,
30For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of the state,
Since that the trade and profit of the city
1725Consisteth of all nations. Therefore go.
35These griefs and losses have so bated me
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
Tomorrow to my bloody creditor.—
Well, jailer, on.—Pray God Bassanio come
1730To see me pay his debt, and then I care not.
Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of godlike amity, which appears most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
51735But if you knew to whom you show this honor,
How true a gentleman you send relief,
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know you would be prouder of the work
Than customary bounty can enforce you.
101740I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now; for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
151745Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me think that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestowed
201750In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish cruelty!
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore no more of it. Hear other things:
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
251755The husbandry and manage of my house
Until my lord’s return. For mine own part,
I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
To live in prayer and contemplation,
Only attended by Nerissa here,
301760Until her husband and my lord’s return.
There is a monastery two miles off,
And there we will abide. I do desire you
Not to deny this imposition,
The which my love and some necessity
351765Now lays upon you.
Madam, with all my heart.
I shall obey you in all fair commands.
My people do already know my mind
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
401770In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
So fare you well till we shall meet again.
Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!
I wish your Ladyship all heart’s content.
I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
451775To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.
Lorenzo and Jessica exit.
Now, Balthazar,
As I have ever found thee honest true,
So let me find thee still: take this same letter,
And use thou all th’ endeavor of a man
501780In speed to Padua. See thou render this
Into my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario.
She gives him a paper.
And look what notes and garments he doth give
thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
551785Unto the traject, to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
But get thee gone. I shall be there before thee.
Madam, I go with all convenient speed.
Come on, Nerissa, I have work in hand
601790That you yet know not of. We’ll see our husbands
Before they think of us.
Shall they see us?
They shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit
That they shall think we are accomplishèd
651795With that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accoutered like young men,
I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
And speak between the change of man and boy
701800With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies
How honorable ladies sought my love,
Which I denying, they fell sick and died—
751805I could not do withal!—then I’ll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not killed them.
And twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell,
That men shall swear I have discontinued school
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
801810A thousand raw tricks of these bragging jacks
Which I will practice.
Why, shall we turn to men?
Fie, what a question’s that,
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
851815But come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device
When I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
For we must measure twenty miles today.
Yes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father
1820are to be laid upon the children. Therefore I
promise you I fear you. I was always plain with you,
and so now I speak my agitation of the matter.
5Therefore be o’ good cheer, for truly I think you
are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do
1825you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope
neither.
And what hope is that, I pray thee?
10Marry, you may partly hope that your father
got you not, that you are not the Jew’s daughter.
1830That were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so
the sins of my mother should be visited upon me!
Truly, then, I fear you are damned both by
15father and mother; thus when I shun Scylla your
father, I fall into Charybdis your mother. Well, you
1835are gone both ways.
I shall be saved by my husband. He hath made
me a Christian.
20Truly the more to blame he! We were Christians
enow before, e’en as many as could well live
1840one by another. This making of Christians will
raise the price of hogs. If we grow all to be pork
eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the
25coals for money.
I’ll tell my husband, Lancelet, what you say.
1845Here he comes.
I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Lancelet,
if you thus get my wife into corners!
30Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo. Lancelet
and I are out. He tells me flatly there’s no mercy for
1850me in heaven because I am a Jew’s daughter; and
he says you are no good member of the commonwealth,
for in converting Jews to Christians you
35raise the price of pork.
I shall answer that better to the commonwealth
1855than you can the getting up of the Negro’s
belly! The Moor is with child by you, Lancelet.
It is much that the Moor should be more
40than reason; but if she be less than an honest
woman, she is indeed more than I took her for.
1860How every fool can play upon the word! I
think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into
silence, and discourse grow commendable in none
45only but parrots. Go in, sirrah, bid them prepare for
dinner.
1865That is done, sir. They have all stomachs.
Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you!
Then bid them prepare dinner.
50That is done too, sir, only “cover” is the
word.
1870Will you cover, then, sir?
Not so, sir, neither! I know my duty.
Yet more quarreling with occasion! Wilt
55thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an
instant? I pray thee understand a plain man in his
1875plain meaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover the
table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to
dinner.
60For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for
the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in
1880to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humors and conceits
shall govern.
O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
65The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words, and I do know
1885A many fools that stand in better place,
Garnished like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica?
70And now, good sweet, say thy opinion
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife?
1890Past all expressing. It is very meet
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life,
For having such a blessing in his lady
75He finds the joys of heaven here on Earth,
And if on Earth he do not merit it,
1895In reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match,
And on the wager lay two earthly women,
80And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawned with the other, for the poor rude world
1900Hath not her fellow.
Even such a husband
Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.
85Nay, but ask my opinion too of that!
I will anon. First let us go to dinner.
1905Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach!
No, pray thee, let it serve for table talk.
Then howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things
90I shall digest it.
Well, I’ll set you forth.
They exit.1910What, is Antonio here?
Ready, so please your Grace.
I am sorry for thee. Thou art come to answer
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,
5Uncapable of pity, void and empty
1915From any dram of mercy.
I have heard
Your Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify
His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,
10And that no lawful means can carry me
1920Out of his envy’s reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury, and am armed
To suffer with a quietness of spirit
The very tyranny and rage of his.
15Go, one, and call the Jew into the court.
1925He is ready at the door. He comes, my lord.
Make room, and let him stand before our face.—
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice
20To the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought,
1930Thou ’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
And where thou now exacts the penalty,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,
25Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
1935But, touched with humane gentleness and love,
Forgive a moi’ty of the principal,
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses
That have of late so huddled on his back,
30Enow to press a royal merchant down
1940And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars never trained
To offices of tender courtesy.
35We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
1945I have possessed your Grace of what I purpose,
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
To have the due and forfeit of my bond.
If you deny it, let the danger light
40Upon your charter and your city’s freedom!
1950You’ll ask me why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
Three thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that,
But say it is my humor. Is it answered?
45What if my house be troubled with a rat,
1955And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answered yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping pig,
Some that are mad if they behold a cat,
50And others, when the bagpipe sings i’ th’ nose,
1960Cannot contain their urine; for affection
Masters oft passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loathes. Now for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be rendered
55Why he cannot abide a gaping pig,
1965Why he a harmless necessary cat,
Why he a woolen bagpipe, but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame
As to offend, himself being offended,
60So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
1970More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answered?
This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
65To excuse the current of thy cruelty.
1975I am not bound to please thee with my answers.
Do all men kill the things they do not love?
Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
Every offence is not a hate at first.
70What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?
1980I pray you, think you question with the Jew.
You may as well go stand upon the beach
And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf
75Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
1985You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops and to make no noise
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
You may as well do anything most hard
80As seek to soften that than which what’s harder?—
1990His Jewish heart. Therefore I do beseech you
Make no more offers, use no farther means,
But with all brief and plain conveniency
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.
85For thy three thousand ducats here is six.
1995If every ducat in six thousand ducats
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them. I would have my bond.
How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none?
90What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
2000You have among you many a purchased slave,
Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
You use in abject and in slavish parts
Because you bought them. Shall I say to you
95“Let them be free! Marry them to your heirs!
2005Why sweat they under burdens? Let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be seasoned with such viands”? You will answer
“The slaves are ours!” So do I answer you:
100The pound of flesh which I demand of him
2010Is dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it.
If you deny me, fie upon your law:
There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
I stand for judgment. Answer: shall I have it?
105Upon my power I may dismiss this court
2015Unless Bellario, a learnèd doctor
Whom I have sent for to determine this,
Come here today.
My lord, here stays without
110A messenger with letters from the doctor,
2020New come from Padua.
Bring us the letters. Call the messenger.
Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all
115Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood!
2025I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death. The weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.
You cannot better be employed, Bassanio,
120Than to live still and write mine epitaph.
2030Came you from Padua, from Bellario?
From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.
Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?
To cut the forfeiture from that bankrout there.
125Not on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
2035Thou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can,
No, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?
No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.
130O, be thou damned, inexecrable dog,
2040And for thy life let justice be accused;
Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,
To hold opinion with Pythagoras
That souls of animals infuse themselves
135Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit
2045Governed a wolf who, hanged for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,
Infused itself in thee, for thy desires
140Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.
2050Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
Thou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud.
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.
145This letter from Bellario doth commend
2055A young and learnèd doctor to our court.
Where is he?
He attendeth here hard by
To know your answer whether you’ll admit him.
150With all my heart.—Some three or four of you
2060Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
Attendants exit.
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.
He reads.
Your Grace shall understand that, at the receipt of
your letter, I am very sick, but in the instant that your
155messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a
2065young doctor of Rome. His name is Balthazar. I
acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
the Jew and Antonio the merchant. We turned o’er
many books together. He is furnished with my opinion,
160which, bettered with his own learning (the greatness
2070whereof I cannot enough commend), comes with
him at my importunity to fill up your Grace’s request
in my stead. I beseech you let his lack of years be no
impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation, for I
165never knew so young a body with so old a head. I
2075leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial
shall better publish his commendation.
You hear the learnèd Bellario what he writes.
Enter Portia for Balthazar, disguised as a doctor of
laws, with Attendants.
And here I take it is the doctor come.—
170Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?
2080I did, my lord.
You are welcome. Take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court?
175I am informèd throughly of the cause.
2085Which is the merchant here? And which the Jew?
Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.
Is your name Shylock?
Shylock is my name.
180Of a strange nature is the suit you follow,
2090Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
To Antonio. You stand within his danger, do you
not?
185Ay, so he says.
2095Do you confess the bond?
I do.
Then must the Jew be merciful.
On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.
190The quality of mercy is not strained.
2100It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
195The thronèd monarch better than his crown.
2105His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway.
200It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings;
2110It is an attribute to God Himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this:
205That in the course of justice none of us
2115Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,
210Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
2120Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant
there.
My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
215Is he not able to discharge the money?
2125Yes. Here I tender it for him in the court,
Yea, twice the sum. If that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o’er
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.
220If this will not suffice, it must appear
2130That malice bears down truth. To the Duke. And I
beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority.
To do a great right, do a little wrong,
225And curb this cruel devil of his will.
2135It must not be. There is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree establishèd;
’Twill be recorded for a precedent
And many an error by the same example
230Will rush into the state. It cannot be.
2140A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel.
O wise young judge, how I do honor thee!
I pray you let me look upon the bond.
Here ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.
235Shylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee.
2145An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven!
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice!
Why, this bond is forfeit,
240And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
2150A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant’s heart.—Be merciful;
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
When it is paid according to the tenor.
245It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
2155You know the law; your exposition
Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law,
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear
250There is no power in the tongue of man
2160To alter me. I stay here on my bond.
Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
Why, then, thus it is:
255You must prepare your bosom for his knife—
2165O noble judge! O excellent young man!
For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
260’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,
2170How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
Therefore lay bare your bosom—
Ay, his breast!
So says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?
265“Nearest his heart.” Those are the very words.
2175It is so.
Are there balance here to weigh the flesh?
I have them ready.
Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
270To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
2180Is it so nominated in the bond?
It is not so expressed, but what of that?
’Twere good you do so much for charity.
I cannot find it. ’Tis not in the bond.
275You, merchant, have you anything to say?
2185But little. I am armed and well prepared.—
Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well.
Grieve not that I am fall’n to this for you,
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
280Than is her custom: it is still her use
2190To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
An age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
285Commend me to your honorable wife,
2195Tell her the process of Antonio’s end,
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death,
And when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
290Repent but you that you shall lose your friend
2200And he repents not that he pays your debt.
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
I’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.
Antonio, I am married to a wife
295Which is as dear to me as life itself,
2205But life itself, my wife, and all the world
Are not with me esteemed above thy life.
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
300Your wife would give you little thanks for that
2210If she were by to hear you make the offer.
I have a wife who I protest I love.
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
305’Tis well you offer it behind her back.
2215The wish would make else an unquiet house.
These be the Christian husbands! I have a
daughter—
Would any of the stock of Barabbas
310Had been her husband, rather than a Christian!
2220We trifle time. I pray thee, pursue sentence.
A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Most rightful judge!
315And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
2225The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Most learnèd judge! A sentence!—Come, prepare.
Tarry a little. There is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood.
320The words expressly are “a pound of flesh.”
2230Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,
But in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate
325Unto the state of Venice.
2235O upright judge!—Mark, Jew.—O learnèd judge!
Is that the law?
Thyself shalt see the act.
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
330Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st.
2240O learnèd judge!—Mark, Jew, a learnèd judge!
I take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice
And let the Christian go.
Here is the money.
335Soft! The Jew shall have all justice. Soft, no haste!
2245He shall have nothing but the penalty.
O Jew, an upright judge, a learnèd judge!
Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
340But just a pound of flesh. If thou tak’st more
2250Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance
Or the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple—nay, if the scale do turn
345But in the estimation of a hair,
2255Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
A second Daniel! A Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.
Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.
350Give me my principal and let me go.
2260I have it ready for thee. Here it is.
He hath refused it in the open court.
He shall have merely justice and his bond.
A Daniel still, say I! A second Daniel!—
355I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
2265Shall I not have barely my principal?
Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
Why, then, the devil give him good of it!
360I’ll stay no longer question.
2270Tarry, Jew.
The law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
If it be proved against an alien
365That by direct or indirect attempts
2275He seek the life of any citizen,
The party ’gainst the which he doth contrive
Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state,
370And the offender’s life lies in the mercy
2280Of the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice.
In which predicament I say thou stand’st,
For it appears by manifest proceeding
That indirectly, and directly too,
375Thou hast contrived against the very life
2285Of the defendant, and thou hast incurred
The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.
Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself!
380And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
2290Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
Therefore thou must be hanged at the state’s
charge.
That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,
385I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.
2295For half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s;
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.
390Nay, take my life and all. Pardon not that.
2300You take my house when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house; you take my life
When you do take the means whereby I live.
What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
395A halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake!
2305So please my lord the Duke and all the court
To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
I am content, so he will let me have
The other half in use, to render it
400Upon his death unto the gentleman
2310That lately stole his daughter.
Two things provided more: that for this favor
He presently become a Christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
405Here in the court, of all he dies possessed
2315Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.
He shall do this, or else I do recant
The pardon that I late pronouncèd here.
Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?
410I am content.
2320Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
I pray you give me leave to go from hence.
I am not well. Send the deed after me
And I will sign it.
415Get thee gone, but do it.
2325In christ’ning shalt thou have two godfathers.
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.
Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.
420I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon.
2330I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet I presently set forth.
I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.—
Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
425For in my mind you are much bound to him.
2335Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties, in lieu whereof
Three thousand ducats due unto the Jew
430We freely cope your courteous pains withal.
2340And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.
He is well paid that is well satisfied,
And I, delivering you, am satisfied,
435And therein do account myself well paid.
2345My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you know me when we meet again.
I wish you well, and so I take my leave.
Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further.
440Take some remembrance of us as a tribute,
2350Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you:
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
You press me far, and therefore I will yield.
Give me your gloves; I’ll wear them for your sake—
445And for your love I’ll take this ring from you.
2355Do not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more,
And you in love shall not deny me this.
This ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle.
I will not shame myself to give you this.
450I will have nothing else but only this.
2360And now methinks I have a mind to it.
There’s more depends on this than on the value.
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
And find it out by proclamation.
455Only for this, I pray you pardon me.
2365I see, sir, you are liberal in offers.
You taught me first to beg, and now methinks
You teach me how a beggar should be answered.
Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife,
460And when she put it on, she made me vow
2370That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.
That ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
And if your wife be not a madwoman,
And know how well I have deserved this ring,
465She would not hold out enemy forever
2375For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you.
My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.
Let his deservings and my love withal
Be valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.
470Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him.
2380Give him the ring, and bring him if thou canst
Unto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste.
Gratiano exits.
Come, you and I will thither presently,
And in the morning early will we both
475Fly toward Belmont.—Come, Antonio.
2385Inquire the Jew’s house out; give him this deed
And let him sign it. She gives Nerissa a paper. We’ll
away tonight,
And be a day before our husbands home.
5This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.
2390Fair sir, you are well o’erta’en.
My Lord Bassanio, upon more advice,
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.
10That cannot be.
2395His ring I do accept most thankfully,
And so I pray you tell him. Furthermore,
I pray you show my youth old Shylock’s house.
That will I do.
15Sir, I would speak with you.
2400Aside to Portia. I’ll see if I can get my husband’s
ring,
Which I did make him swear to keep forever.
Thou mayst, I warrant! We shall have old swearing
20That they did give the rings away to men;
2405But we’ll outface them, and outswear them, too.—
Away, make haste! Thou know’st where I will tarry.
Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?
The moon shines bright. In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
2410And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls
5And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents
Where Cressid lay that night.
In such a night
2415Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew
And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself
10And ran dismayed away.
In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
2420Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.
15In such a night
Medea gathered the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Aeson.
2425In such a night
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
20And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
As far as Belmont.
In such a night
2430Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
25And ne’er a true one.
In such a night
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
2435Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
I would out-night you did nobody come,
30But hark, I hear the footing of a man.
Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
A friend.
2440A friend? What friend? Your name, I pray you,
friend.
35Stephano is my name, and I bring word
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about
2445By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.
40Who comes with her?
None but a holy hermit and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet returned?
2450He is not, nor we have not heard from him.—
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
45And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.
Sola, sola! Wo ha, ho! Sola, sola!
2455Who calls?
Sola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master
50Lorenzo, sola, sola!
Leave holloaing, man! Here.
Sola! Where, where?
2460Here!
Tell him there’s a post come from my master
55with his horn full of good news. My master will
be here ere morning, sweet soul.
Let’s in, and there expect their coming.
2465And yet no matter; why should we go in?—
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
60Within the house, your mistress is at hand,
And bring your music forth into the air.
Stephano exits.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
2470Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
65Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.
2475There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
70Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubins.
Such harmony is in immortal souls,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
2480Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Enter Stephano and musicians.
Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn.
75With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,
And draw her home with music.
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
2485The reason is, your spirits are attentive.
For do but note a wild and wanton herd
80Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood,
2490If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
85You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet
2495Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and
floods,
90Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
2500Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
95The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.
2505That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
100So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
When the moon shone we did not see the candle.
So doth the greater glory dim the less.
2510A substitute shines brightly as a king
Until a king be by, and then his state
105Empties itself as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music, hark!
It is your music, madam, of the house.
2515Nothing is good, I see, without respect.
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
110Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended, and I think
2520The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
115No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection!
2525Peace—how the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awaked!
120That is the voice,
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.
He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
2530By the bad voice.
Dear lady, welcome home.
125We have been praying for our husbands’ welfare,
Which speed we hope the better for our words.
Are they returned?
2535Madam, they are not yet,
But there is come a messenger before
130To signify their coming.
Go in, Nerissa.
Give order to my servants that they take
2540No note at all of our being absent hence—
Nor you, Lorenzo—Jessica, nor you.
135Your husband is at hand. I hear his trumpet.
We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.
This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
2545It looks a little paler. ’Tis a day
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
140We should hold day with the Antipodes
If you would walk in absence of the sun.
Let me give light, but let me not be light,
2550For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
And never be Bassanio so for me.
145But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.
I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Antonio,
2555To whom I am so infinitely bound.
You should in all sense be much bound to him,
150For as I hear he was much bound for you.
No more than I am well acquitted of.
Sir, you are very welcome to our house.
2560It must appear in other ways than words;
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.
155By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong!
In faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk.
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
2565Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
A quarrel ho, already! What’s the matter?
160About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world like cutler’s poetry
2570Upon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”
What talk you of the posy or the value?
165You swore to me when I did give it you
That you would wear it till your hour of death,
And that it should lie with you in your grave.
2575Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective and have kept it.
170Gave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge,
The clerk will ne’er wear hair on ’s face that had it.
He will, an if he live to be a man.
2580Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
175A kind of boy, a little scrubbèd boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,
A prating boy that begged it as a fee.
2585I could not for my heart deny it him.
You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
180To part so slightly with your wife’s first gift,
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
2590I gave my love a ring and made him swear
Never to part with it, and here he stands.
185I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
2595You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief.
An ’twere to me I should be mad at it.
190Why, I were best to cut my left hand off
And swear I lost the ring defending it.
My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
2600Unto the judge that begged it, and indeed
Deserved it, too. And then the boy, his clerk,
195That took some pains in writing, he begged mine,
And neither man nor master would take aught
But the two rings.
2605What ring gave you, my lord?
Not that, I hope, which you received of me.
200If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it, but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it. It is gone.
2610Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed
205Until I see the ring!
Nor I in yours
Till I again see mine!
2615Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
210If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
2620When naught would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
215If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honor to contain the ring,
2625You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
220If you had pleased to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
2630Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
I’ll die for ’t but some woman had the ring!
225No, by my honor, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
2635And begged the ring, the which I did deny him
And suffered him to go displeased away,
230Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
I was enforced to send it after him.
2640I was beset with shame and courtesy.
My honor would not let ingratitude
235So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady,
For by these blessèd candles of the night,
Had you been there, I think you would have begged
2645The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.
Let not that doctor e’er come near my house!
240Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you:
2650I’ll not deny him anything I have,
No, not my body, nor my husband’s bed.
245Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.
Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus.
If you do not, if I be left alone,
2655Now by mine honor, which is yet mine own,
I’ll have that doctor for my bedfellow.
250And I his clerk. Therefore be well advised
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Well, do you so. Let not me take him, then,
2660For if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.
I am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels.
255Sir, grieve not you. You are welcome
notwithstanding.
Portia, forgive me this enforcèd wrong,
2665And in the hearing of these many friends
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
260Wherein I see myself—
Mark you but that!
In both my eyes he doubly sees himself,
2670In each eye one. Swear by your double self,
And there’s an oath of credit.
265Nay, but hear me.
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
I never more will break an oath with thee.
2675I once did lend my body for his wealth,
Which but for him that had your husband’s ring
270Had quite miscarried. I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.
2680Then you shall be his surety. Give him this,
Giving Antonio a ring.
And bid him keep it better than the other.
275Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.
By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!
I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio,
2685For by this ring, the doctor lay with me.
And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,
280For that same scrubbèd boy, the doctor’s clerk,
In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.
Why, this is like the mending of highways
2690In summer, where the ways are fair enough!
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?
285Speak not so grossly.—You are all amazed.
She hands a paper to Bassanio.
Here is a letter; read it at your leisure.
It comes from Padua from Bellario.
2695There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
Nerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here
290Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
And even but now returned. I have not yet
Entered my house.—Antonio, you are welcome,
2700And I have better news in store for you
Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon.
Handing him a paper.
295There you shall find three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbor suddenly.
You shall not know by what strange accident
2705I chancèd on this letter.
I am dumb.
300Were you the doctor and I knew you not?
Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?
Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
2710Unless he live until he be a man.
Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow.
305When I am absent, then lie with my wife.
Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
For here I read for certain that my ships
2715Are safely come to road.
How now, Lorenzo?
310My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
Ay, and I’ll give them him without a fee.
Handing him a paper.
There do I give to you and Jessica,
2720From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possessed of.
315Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starvèd people.
It is almost morning,
2725And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
Of these events at full. Let us go in,
320And charge us there upon inter’gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.
Let it be so. The first inter’gatory
2730That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is
Whether till the next night she had rather stay
325Or go to bed now, being two hours to day.
But were the day come, I should wish it dark
Till I were couching with the doctor’s clerk.
2735Well, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.