Moone. This Lanthorne doth the horned Moone present
De. He should haue worne the hornes on his head
Du. Hee is no crescent, and his hornes are inuisible,within the circumference
Moon. This lanthorne doth the horned Moone present:My selfe, the man i'th Moone doth seeme to be
Du. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the manShould be put into the Lanthorne. How is it els the mani'th Moone?Dem. He dares not come there for the candle.For you see, it is already in snuffe
Dut. I am wearie of this Moone; would he wouldchange
Du. It appeares by his smal light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet in courtesie, in all reason, we must stay the time
Lys. Proceed Moone
Moon. All that I haue to say, is to tell you, that the Lanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the Moone; this thorne bush; my thorne bush; and this dog, my dog
Dem. Why all these should be in the Lanthorne: for they are in the Moone. But silence, heere comes Thisby. Enter Thisby.
This. This is old Ninnies tombe: where is my loue?Lyon. Oh.
The Lion roares, Thisby runs off.
Dem. Well roar'd Lion
Du. Well run Thisby
Dut. Well shone Moone.Truly the Moone shines with a good grace
Du. Wel mouz'd Lion
Dem. And then came Piramus
Lys. And so the Lion vanisht.Enter Piramus.
Pyr. Sweet Moone, I thank thee for thy sunny beames,I thanke thee Moone, for shining now so bright:For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beames,I trust to taste of truest Thisbies sight.But stay: O spight! but marke, poore Knight,What dreadful dole is heere?Eyes do you see! How can it be!O dainty Ducke: O Deere!Thy mantle good; what staind with blood!Approch you furies fell:O Fates! come, come: Cut thred and thrum,Quaile, crush, conclude, and quell
Du. This passion, and the death of a deare friend,Would go neere to make a man looke sad
Dut. Beshrew my heart, but I pittie the man
Pir. O wherefore Nature, did'st thou Lions frame?Since lion vilde hath heere deflour'd my deere:Which is: no, no, which was the fairest DameThat liu'd, that lou'd, that like'd, that look'd with cheere.Come teares, confound: Out sword, and woundThe pap of Piramus:I, that left pap, where heart doth hop;Thus dye I, thus, thus, thus.Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soule is in the sky,Tongue lose thy light, Moone take thy flight,Now dye, dye, dye, dye, dye
Dem. No Die, but an ace for him; for he is but one
Lis. Lesse then an ace man. For he is dead, he is nothing
Du. With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet recouer,and proue an Asse
Dut. How chance Moone-shine is gone before?Thisby comes backe, and findes her Louer.Enter Thisby.
Duke. She wil finde him by starre-light.Heere she comes, and her passion ends the play
Dut. Me thinkes shee should not vse a long one forsuch a Piramus: I hope she will be breefe
Dem. A Moth wil turne the ballance, which Piramuswhich Thisby is the better
Lys. She hath spyed him already, with those sweete eyes
Dem. And thus she meanes, videlicit
This. Asleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue?O Piramus arise:Speake, speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombeMust couer thy sweet eyes.These Lilly Lips, this cherry nose,These yellow Cowslip cheekesAre gone, are gone: Louers make mone:His eyes were greene as Leekes.O Sisters three, come, come to mee,With hands as pale as Milke,Lay them in gore, since you haue shorewith sheeres, his thred of silke.Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword:Come blade, my brest imbrue:And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends;Adieu, adieu, adieu
Duk. Moone-shine & Lion are left to burie the dead
Deme. I, and Wall too
Bot. No, I assure you, the wall is downe, that parted their Fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our company? Duk. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Neuer excuse; for when the plaiers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee that writ it had plaid Piramus, and hung himselfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it is truely, and very notably discharg'd. but come, your Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue. Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time. I feare we shall out-sleepe the comming morne, As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht. This palpable grosse play hath well beguil'd The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity. In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie.
Exeunt.
Enter Pucke.
Puck. Now the hungry Lyons rores,And the Wolfe beholds the Moone:Whilest the heauy ploughman snores,All with weary taske fore-done.Now the wasted brands doe glow,Whil'st the scritch-owle, scritching loud,Puts the wretch that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shrowd.Now it is the time of night,That the graues, all gaping wide,Euery one lets forth his spright,In the Church-way paths to glide,And we Fairies, that do runne,By the triple Hecates teame,From the presence of the Sunne,Following darkenesse like a dreame,Now are frollicke; not a MouseShall disturbe this hallowed house.I am sent with broome before,To sweep the dust behinde the doore.Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine.
Ob. Through the house giue glimmering light,By the dead and drowsie fier,Euerie Elfe and Fairie spright,Hop as light as bird from brier,And this Ditty after me, sing and dance it trippinglie,Tita. First rehearse this song by roate,To each word a warbling note.Hand in hand, with Fairie grace,Will we sing and blesse this place.
The Song.
Now vntill the breake of day,Through this house each Fairy stray.To the best Bride-bed will we,Which by vs shall blessed be:And the issue there create,Euer shall be fortunate:So shall all the couples three,Euer true in louing be:And the blots of Natures hand,Shall not in their issue stand.Neuer mole, harelip, nor scarre,nor mark prodigious, such as areDespised in Natiuitie,Shall vpon their children be.With this field dew consecrate,Euery Fairy take his gate,And each seuerall chamber blesse,Through this Pallace with sweet peace,Euer shall in safety rest.And the owner of it blest.Trip away, make no stay;Meet me all by breake of day
Robin. If we shadowes haue offended,Thinke but this (and all is mended)That you haue but slumbred heere,While these Visions did appeare.And this weake and idle theame,No more yeelding but a dreame,Gentles, doe not reprehend.If you pardon, we will mend.And as I am an honest Pucke,If we haue vnearned lucke,Now to scape the Serpents tongue,We will make amends ere long:Else the Pucke a lyar call.So good night vnto you all.Giue me your hands, if we be friends,And Robin shall restore amends.
FINIS. A MIDSOMMER Nights Dreame.
The Merchant of Venice
Actus primus.
Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio.
Anthonio. 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 stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne,I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes ofmee,That I haue much ado to know my selfe
Sal. Your minde is tossing on the Ocean,There where your Argosies with portly saileLike Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood,Or as it were the Pageants of the sea,Do ouer-peere the pettie TraffiquersThat curtsie to them, do them reuerenceAs they flye by them with their wouen wings
Salar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth,The better part of my affections, wouldBe with my hopes abroad. I should be stillPlucking the grasse to know where sits the winde,Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes:And euery obiect that might make me feareMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubtWould make me sad
Sal. My winde cooling my broth,Would blow me to an Ague, when I thoughtWhat harme a winde too great might doe at sea.I should not see the sandie houre-glasse runne,But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats,And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand,Vailing her high top lower then her ribsTo kisse her buriall; should I goe to ChurchAnd see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks,Which touching but my gentle Vessels sideWould scatter all her spices on the streame,Enrobe the roring waters with my silkes,And in a word, but euen now worth this,And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thoughtTo thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thoughtThat such a thing bechaunc'd would make me sad?But tell me, I know AnthonioIs sad to thinke vpon his merchandize
Anth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it,My ventures are not in one bottome trusted,Nor to one place; nor is my whole estateVpon the fortune of this present yeere:Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad
Sola. Why then you are in loue
Anth. Fie, fie
Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs say you are sadBecause you are not merry: and 'twere as easieFor you to laugh and leape, and say you are merryBecause you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ianus,Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time:Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes,And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.And other of such vineger aspect,That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,Though Nestor sweare the iest be laughable.Enter Bassanio, Lorenso, and Gratiano.
Sola. Heere comes Bassanio,Your most noble Kinsman,Gratiano, and Lorenso. Faryewell,We leaue you now with better company
Sala. I would haue staid till I had made you merry,If worthier friends had not preuented me
Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard.I take it your owne busines calls on you,And you embrace th' occasion to depart
Sal. Good morrow my good Lords
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?Sal. Wee'll make our leysures to attend on yours.
Exeunt. Salarino, and Solanio.
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you haue found AnthonioWe two will leaue you, but at dinner timeI pray you haue in minde where we must meete
Bass. I will not faile you
Grat. You looke not well signior Anthonio,You haue too much respect vpon the world:They loose it that doe buy it with much care,Beleeue me you are maruellously chang'd
Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano,A stage, where euery man must play a part,And mine a sad one
Grati. Let me play the foole,With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come,And let my Liuer rather heate with wine,Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.Why should a man whose bloud is warme within,Sit like his Grandsire, cut in Alablaster?Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the IaundiesBy being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio,I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes:There are a sort of men, whose visagesDo creame and mantle like a standing pond,And do a wilfull stilnesse entertaine,With purpose to be drest in an opinionOf wisedome, grauity, profound conceit,As who should say, I am sir an Oracle,And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke.O my Anthonio, I do know of theseThat therefore onely are reputed wise,For saying nothing; when I am verie sureIf they should speake, would almost dam those earesWhich hearing them would call their brothers fooles:Ile tell thee more of this another time.But fish not with this melancholly baiteFor this foole Gudgin, this opinion:Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while,Ile end my exhortation after dinner
Lor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time.I must be one of these same dumbe wise men.For Gratiano neuer let's me speake
Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo,Thou shalt not know the sound of thine owne tongue
Ant. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare
Gra. Thankes ifaith, for silence is onely commendableIn a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible.Enter.
Ant. It is that any thing now
Bas. Gratiano speakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reasons are two graines of wheate hid in two bushels of chaffe: you shall seeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the search
An. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the sameTo whom you swore a secret PilgrimageThat you to day promis'd to tel me of?Bas. Tis not vnknowne to you AnthonioHow much I haue disabled mine estate,By something shewing a more swelling portThen my faint meanes would grant continuance:Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'dFrom such a noble rate, but my cheefe careIs to come fairely off from the great debtsWherein my time something too prodigallHath left me gag'd: to you AnthonioI owe the most in money, and in loue,And from your loue I haue a warrantieTo vnburthen all my plots and purposes,How to get cleere of all the debts I owe
An. I pray you good Bassanio let me know it,And if it stand as you your selfe still do,Within the eye of honour, be assur'dMy purse, my person, my extreamest meanesLye all vnlock'd to your occasions
Bass. In my schoole dayes, when I had lost one shaftI shot his fellow of the selfesame flightThe selfesame way, with more aduised watchTo finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both,I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe,Because what followes is pure innocence.I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth,That which I owe is lost: but if you pleaseTo shoote another arrow that selfe wayWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,As I will watch the ayme: Or to finde both,Or bring your latter hazard backe againe,And thankfully rest debter for the first
An. You know me well, and herein spend but timeTo winde about my loue with circumstance,And out of doubt you doe more wrongIn making question of my vttermostThen if you had made waste of all I haue:Then doe but say to me what I should doeThat in your knowledge may by me be done,And I am prest vnto it: therefore speake
Bass. In Belmont is a Lady richly left,And she is faire, and fairer then that word,Of wondrous vertues, sometimes from her eyesI did receiue faire speechlesse messages:Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewdTo Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia,Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,For the four windes blow in from euery coastRenowned sutors, and her sunny locksHang on her temples like a golden fleece,Which makes her seat of Belmont Cholchos strond,And many Iasons come in quest of her.O my Anthonio, had I but the meanesTo hold a riuall place with one of them,I haue a minde presages me such thrift,That I should questionlesse be fortunate
Anth. Thou knowst that all my fortunes are at sea,Neither haue I money, nor commodityTo raise a present summe, therefore goe forthTry what my credit can in Venice doe,That shall be rackt euen to the vttermost,To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia.Goe presently enquire, and so will IWhere money is, and I no question makeTo haue it of my trust, or for my sake.
Exeunt.
Enter Portia with her waiting woman Nerissa.
Portia. By my troth Nerrissa, my little body is a wearie of this great world
Ner. You would be sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I see, they are as sicke that surfet with too much, as they that starue with nothing; it is no smal happinesse therefore to bee seated in the meane, superfluitie comes sooner by white haires, but competencie liues longer
Portia. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd
Ner. They would be better if well followed
Portia. If to doe were as easie as to know what were good to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages Princes Pallaces: it is a good Diuine that followes his owne instructions; I can easier teach twentie what were good to be done, then be one of the twentie to follow mine owne teaching: the braine may deuise lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, such a hare is madnesse the youth, to skip ore the meshes of good counsaile the cripple; but this reason is not in fashion to choose me a husband: O mee, the word choose, I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike, so is the wil of a liuing daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Nerrissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none
Ner. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good inspirations, therefore the lotterie that hee hath deuised in these three chests of gold, siluer, and leade, whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you, wil no doubt neuer be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly loue: but what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these Princely suters that are already come? Por. I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe them, and according to my description leuell at my affection
Ner. First there is the Neopolitane Prince
Por. I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing but talke of his horse, and hee makes it a great appropriation to his owne good parts that he can shoo him himselfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid false with a Smyth
Ner. Than is there the Countie Palentine
Por. He doth nothing but frowne (as who should say, and you will not haue me, choose: he heares merrie tales and smiles not, I feare hee will proue the weeping Phylosopher when he growes old, being so full of vnmannerly sadnesse in his youth.) I had rather to be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to either of these: God defend me from these two
Ner. How say you by the French Lord, Mounsier Le Boune? Por. God made him, and therefore let him passe for a man, in truth I know it is a sinne to be a mocker, but he, why he hath a horse better then the Neopolitans, a better bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, he is euery man in no man, if a Trassell sing, he fals straight a capring, he will fence with his owne shadow. If I should marry him, I should marry twentie husbands: if hee would despise me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue me to madnesse, I should neuer requite him
Ner. What say you then to Fauconbridge, the yong Baron of England? Por. You know I say nothing to him, for hee vnderstands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & sweare that I haue a poore pennie-worth in the English: hee is a proper mans picture, but alas who can conuerse with a dumbe show? how odly he is suited, I thinke he bought his doublet in Italie, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germanie, and his behauiour euery where
Ner. What thinke you of the other Lord his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, for he borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him againe when hee was able: I thinke the Frenchman became his suretie, and seald vnder for another
Ner. How like you the yong Germaine, the Duke of Saxonies Nephew? Por. Very vildely in the morning when hee is sober, and most vildely in the afternoone when hee is drunke: when he is best, he is a little worse then a man, and when he is worst, he is little better then a beast: and the worst fall that euer fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him
Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right Casket, you should refuse to performe your Fathers will, if you should refuse to accept him
Por. Therefore for feare of the worst, I pray thee set a deepe glasse of Reinish-wine on the contrary Casket, for if the diuell be within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will doe any thing Nerrissa ere I will be married to a spunge
Ner. You neede not feare Lady the hauing any of these Lords, they haue acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeede to returne to their home, and to trouble you with no more suite, vnlesse you may be won by some other sort then your Fathers imposition, depending on the Caskets
Por. If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will dye as chaste as Diana: vnlesse I be obtained by the manner of my Fathers will: I am glad this parcell of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I doate on his verie absence: and I wish them a faire departure
Ner. Doe you not remember Ladie in your Fathers time, a Venecian, a Scholler and a Souldior that came hither in companie of the Marquesse of Mountferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I thinke, so was hee call'd
Ner. True Madam, hee of all the men that euer my foolish eyes look'd vpon, was the best deseruing a faire Lady
Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthyof thy praise.Enter a Seruingman.
Ser. The four Strangers seeke you Madam to take their leaue: and there is a fore-runner come from a fift, the Prince of Moroco, who brings word the Prince his Maister will be here to night
Por. If I could bid the fift welcome with so good heart as I can bid the other foure farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he haue the condition of a Saint, and the complexion of a diuell, I had rather hee should shriue me then wiue me. Come Nerrissa, sirra go before; whiles wee shut the gate vpon one wooer, another knocks at the doore.
Exeunt.
Enter Bassanio with Shylocke the Iew.
Shy. Three thousand ducates, well
Bass. I sir, for three months
Shy. For three months, well
Bass. For the which, as I told you,Anthonio shall be bound
Shy. Anthonio shall become bound, well
Bass. May you sted me? Will you pleasure me?Shall I know your answere
Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months,and Anthonio bound
Bass. Your answere to that
Shy. Anthonio is a good man
Bass. Haue you heard any imputation to the contrary
Shy. Ho no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man, is to haue you vnderstand me that he is sufficient, yet his meanes are in supposition: he hath an Argosie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies, I vnderstand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures hee hath squandred abroad, but ships are but boords, Saylers but men, there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues, and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is the perrill of waters, windes, and rocks: the man is not withstanding sufficient, three thousand ducats, I thinke I may take his bond
Bas. Be assured you may
Iew. I will be assured I may: and that I may be assured,I will bethinke mee, may I speake with Anthonio?Bass. If it please you to dine with vs
Iew. Yes, to smell porke, to eate of the habitation which your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuell into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talke with you, walke with you, and so following: but I will not eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you. What newes on the Ryalta, who is he comes here? Enter Anthonio.
Bass. This is signior Anthonio
Iew. How like a fawning publican he lookes.I hate him for he is a Christian:But more, for that in low simplicitieHe lends out money gratis, and brings downeThe rate of vsance here with vs in Venice.If I can catch him once vpon the hip,I will feede fat the ancient grudge I beare him.He hates our sacred Nation, and he railesEuen there where Merchants most doe congregateOn me, my bargaines, and my well-worne thrift,Which he cals interrest: Cursed by my TrybeIf I forgiue him
Bass. Shylock, doe you heare
Shy. I am debating of my present store,And by the neere gesse of my memorieI cannot instantly raise vp the grosseOf full three thousand ducats: what of that?Tuball a wealthy Hebrew of my TribeWill furnish me: but soft, how many monthsDoe you desire? Rest you faire good signior,Your worship was the last man in our mouthes
Ant. Shylocke, albeit I neither lend nor borrowBy taking, nor by giuing of excesse,Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,Ile breake a custome: is he yet possestHow much he would?Shy. I, I, three thousand ducats
Ant. And for three months
Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so.Well then, your bond: and let me see, but heare you,Me thoughts you said, you neither lend nor borrowVpon aduantage
Ant. I doe neuer vse it
Shy. When Iacob graz'd his vncle Labans sheepe,This Iacob from our holy Abram was(As his wise mother wrought in his behalfe)The third possesser; I, he was the third
Ant. And what of him, did he take interrest?Shy. No, not take interest, not as you would sayDirectly interest, marke what Iacob did,When Laban and himselfe were compremyz'dThat all the eanelings which were streakt and piedShould fall as Iacobs hier, the Ewes being rancke,In end of Autumne turned to the Rammes,And when the worke of generation wasBetweene these woolly breeders in the act,The skilfull shepheard pil'd me certaine wands,And in the dooing of the deede of kinde,He stucke them vp before the fulsome Ewes,Who then conceauing, did in eaning timeFall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Iacobs.This was a way to thriue, and he was blest:And thrift is blessing if men steale it not
Ant. This was a venture sir that Iacob seru'd for,A thing not in his power to bring to passe,But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heauen.Was this inserted to make interrest good?Or is your gold and siluer Ewes and Rams?Shy. I cannot tell, I make it breede as fast,But note me signior
Ant. Marke you this Bassanio,The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpose,An euill soule producing holy witnesse,Is like a villaine with a smiling cheeke,A goodly apple rotten at the heart.O what a goodly outside falsehood hath
Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good round sum.Three months from twelue, then let me see the rate
Ant. Well Shylocke, shall we be beholding to you?Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oftIn the Ryalto you haue rated meAbout my monies and my vsances:Still haue I borne it with a patient shrug,(For suffrance is the badge of all our Tribe.)You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog,And spet vpon my Iewish gaberdine,And all for vse of that which is mine owne.Well then, it now appeares you neede my helpe:Goe to then, you come to me, and you say,Shylocke, we would haue moneyes, you say so:You that did voide your rume vpon my beard,And foote me as you spurne a stranger curreOuer your threshold, moneyes is your suite.What should I say to you? Should I not say,Hath a dog money? Is it possibleA curre should lend three thousand ducats? orShall I bend low, and in a bond-mans keyWith bated breath, and whispring humblenesse,Say this: Faire sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;You spurn'd me such a day; another timeYou cald me dog: and for these curtesiesIle lend you thus much moneyes
Ant. I am as like to call thee so againe,To spet on thee againe, to spurne thee too.If thou wilt lend this money, lend it notAs to thy friends, for when did friendship takeA breede of barraine mettall of his friend?But lend it rather to thine enemie,Who if he breake, thou maist with better faceExact the penalties
Shy. Why looke you how you storme,I would be friends with you, and haue your loue,Forget the shames that you haue staind me with,Supplie your present wants, and take no doiteOf vsance for my moneyes, and youle not heare me,This is kinde I offer
Bass. This were kindnesse
Shy. This kindnesse will I showe,Goe with me to a Notarie, seale me thereYour single bond, and in a merrie sportIf you repaie me not on such a day,In such a place, such sum or sums as areExprest in the condition, let the forfeiteBe nominated for an equall poundOf your faire flesh, to be cut off and takenIn what part of your bodie it pleaseth me
Ant. Content infaith, Ile seale to such a bond,And say there is much kindnesse in the Iew
Bass. You shall not seale to such a bond for me,Ile rather dwell in my necessitie
Ant. Why feare not man, I will not forfaite it,Within these two months, that's a month beforeThis bond expires, I doe expect returneOf thrice three times the valew of this bond
Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are,Whose owne hard dealings teaches them suspectThe thoughts of others: Praie you tell me this,If he should breake his daie, what should I gaineBy the exaction of the forfeiture?A pound of mans flesh taken from a man,Is not so estimable, profitable neitherAs flesh of Muttons, Beefes, or Goates, I sayTo buy his fauour, I extend this friendship,If he will take it, so: if not adiew,And for my loue I praie you wrong me not
Ant. Yes Shylocke, I will seale vnto this bond
Shy. Then meete me forthwith at the Notaries,Giue him direction for this merrie bond,And I will goe and purse the ducats straite.See to my house left in the fearefull gardOf an vnthriftie knaue: and presentlieIle be with you.Enter.
Ant. Hie thee gentle Iew. This Hebrew will turneChristian, he growes kinde
Bass. I like not faire tearmes, and a villaines minde
Ant. Come on, in this there can be no dismaie,My Shippes come home a month before the daie.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Morochus a tawnie Moore all in white, and three or foure followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerrissa, and their traine. Flo. Cornets.
Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,The shadowed liuerie of the burnisht sunne,To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred.Bring me the fairest creature North-ward borne,Where Phoebus fire scarce thawes the ysicles,And let vs make incision for your loue,To proue whose blood is reddest, his or mine.I tell thee Ladie this aspect of mineHath feard the valiant, (by my loue I sweare)The best regarded Virgins of our ClymeHaue lou'd it to: I would not change this hue,Except to steale your thoughts my gentle Queene
Por. In tearmes of choise I am not solie ledBy nice direction of a maidens eies:Besides, the lottrie of my destenieBars me the right of voluntarie choosing:But if my Father had not scanted me,And hedg'd me by his wit to yeelde my selfeHis wife, who wins me by that meanes I told you,Your selfe (renowned Prince) than stood as faireAs any commer I haue look'd on yetFor my affection
Mor. Euen for that I thanke you,Therefore I pray you leade me to the CasketsTo trie my fortune: By this SymitareThat slew the Sophie, and a Persian PrinceThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,I would ore-stare the sternest eies that looke:Out-braue the heart most daring on the earth:Plucke the yong sucking Cubs from the she Beare,Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for prayTo win the Ladie. But alas, the whileIf Hercules and Lychas plaie at diceWhich is the better man, the greater throwMay turne by fortune from the weaker hand:So is Alcides beaten by his rage,And so may I, blinde fortune leading meMisse that which one vnworthier may attaine,And die with grieuing
Port. You must take your chance,And either not attempt to choose at all,Or sweare before you choose, if you choose wrongNeuer to speake to Ladie afterwardIn way of marriage, therefore be aduis'd
Mor. Nor will not, come bring me vnto my chance
Por. First forward to the temple, after dinnerYour hazard shall be made
Mor. Good fortune then,
Cornets.
To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
Exeunt.
Enter the Clowne alone.
Clo. Certainely, my conscience will serue me to run from this Iew my Maister: the fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, Iobbe, Launcelet Iobbe, good Launcelet, or good Iobbe, or good Launcelet Iobbe, vse your legs, take the start, run awaie: my conscience saies no; take heede honest Launcelet, take heed honest Iobbe, or as afore-said honest Launcelet Iobbe, doe not runne, scorne running with thy heeles; well, the most coragious fiend bids me packe, fia saies the fiend, away saies the fiend, for the heauens rouse vp a braue minde saies the fiend, and run; well, my conscience hanging about the necke of my heart, saies verie wisely to me: my honest friend Launcelet, being an honest mans sonne, or rather an honest womans sonne, for indeede my Father did something smack, something grow too; he had a kinde of taste; wel, my conscience saies Lancelet bouge not, bouge saies the fiend, bouge not saies my conscience, conscience say I you counsaile well, fiend say I you counsaile well, to be rul'd by my conscience I should stay with the Iew my Maister, (who God blesse the marke) is a kinde of diuell; and to run away from the Iew I should be ruled by the fiend, who sauing your reuerence is the diuell himselfe: certainely the Iew is the verie diuell incarnation, and in my conscience, my conscience is a kinde of hard conscience, to offer to counsaile me to stay with the Iew; the fiend giues the more friendly counsaile: I will runne fiend, my heeles are at your commandement, I will runne. Enter old Gobbe with a Basket.
Gob. Maister yong-man, you I praie you, which is the waie to Maister Iewes? Lan. O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, who being more then sand-blinde, high grauel blinde, knows me not, I will trie confusions with him
Gob. Maister yong Gentleman, I praie you which is the waie to Maister Iewes
Laun. Turne vpon your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marrie at the verie next turning, turne of no hand, but turn down indirectlie to the Iewes house
Gob. Be Gods sonties 'twill be a hard waie to hit, can you tell me whether one Launcelet that dwels with him dwell with him or no
Laun. Talke you of yong Master Launcelet, marke me now, now will I raise the waters; talke you of yong Maister Launcelet? Gob. No Maister sir, but a poore mans sonne, his Father though I say't is an honest exceeding poore man, and God be thanked well to liue
Lan. Well, let his Father be what a will, wee talke of yong Maister Launcelet
Gob. Your worships friend and Launcelet
Laun. But I praie you ergo old man, ergo I beseech you, talke you of yong Maister Launcelet
Gob. Of Launcelet, ant please your maistership
Lan. Ergo Maister Lancelet, talke not of maister Lancelet Father, for the yong gentleman according to fates and destinies, and such odde sayings, the sisters three, & such branches of learning, is indeede deceased, or as you would say in plaine tearmes, gone to heauen
Gob. Marrie God forbid, the boy was the verie staffeof my age, my verie prop
Lau. Do I look like a cudgell or a houell-post, a staffeor a prop: doe you know me Father
Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman, but I praie you tell me, is my boy God rest his soule aliue or dead
Lan. Doe you not know me Father
Gob. Alacke sir I am sand blinde, I know you not
Lan. Nay, indeede if you had your eies you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knowes his owne childe. Well, old man, I will tell you newes of your son, giue me your blessing, truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a mans sonne may, but in the end truth will out
Gob. Praie you sir stand vp, I am sure you are notLancelet my boy
Lan. Praie you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue mee your blessing: I am Lancelet your boy that was, your sonne that is, your childe that shall be
Gob. I cannot thinke you are my sonne
Lan. I know not what I shall thinke of that: but I am Lancelet the Iewes man, and I am sure Margerie your wife is my mother
Gob. Her name is Margerie indeede, Ile be sworne if thou be Lancelet, thou art mine owne flesh and blood: Lord worshipt might he be, what a beard hast thou got; thou hast got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my philhorse has on his taile
Lan. It should seeme then that Dobbins taile growes backeward. I am sure he had more haire of his taile then I haue of my face when I last saw him
Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd: how doost thou and thy Master agree, I haue brought him a present; how gree you now? Lan. Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue set vp my rest to run awaie, so I will not rest till I haue run some ground; my Maister's a verie Iew, giue him a present, giue him a halter, I am famisht in his seruice. You may tell euerie finger I haue with my ribs: Father I am glad you are come, giue me your present to one Maister Bassanio, who indeede giues rare new Liuories, if I serue not him, I will run as far as God has anie ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Iew if I serue the Iew anie longer. Enter Bassanio with a follower or two.
Bass. You may doe so, but let it be so hasted that supper be readie at the farthest by fiue of the clocke: see these Letters deliuered, put the Liueries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anone to my lodging
Lan. To him Father
Gob. God blesse your worship
Bass. Gramercie, would'st thou ought with me
Gob. Here's my sonne sir, a poore boy
Lan. Not a poore boy sir, but the rich Iewes man thatwould sir as my Father shall specifie
Gob. He hath a great infection sir, as one would sayto serue
Lan. Indeede the short and the long is, I serue theIew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specifie
Gob. His Maister and he (sauing your worships reuerence)are scarce catercosins
Lan. To be briefe, the verie truth is, that the Iew hauing done me wrong, doth cause me as my Father being I hope an old man shall frutifie vnto you
Gob. I haue here a dish of Doues that I would bestow vpon your worship, and my suite is
Lan. In verie briefe, the suite is impertinent to my selfe, as your worship shall know by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man, yet poore man my Father
Bass. One speake for both, what would you?Lan. Serue you sir
Gob. That is the verie defect of the matter sir
Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suite,Shylocke thy Maister spoke with me this daie,And hath prefer'd thee, if it be prefermentTo leaue a rich Iewes seruice, to becomeThe follower of so poore a Gentleman
Clo. The old prouerbe is verie well parted betweene my Maister Shylocke and you sir, you haue the grace of God sir, and he hath enough
Bass. Thou speak'st well; go Father with thy Son,Take leaue of thy old Maister, and enquireMy lodging out, giue him a LiuerieMore garded then his fellowes: see it done
Clo. Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I haue nere a tongue in my head, well: if anie man in Italie haue a fairer table which doth offer to sweare vpon a booke, I shall haue good fortune; goe too, here's a simple line of life, here's a small trifle of wiues, alas, fifteene wiues is nothing, a leuen widdowes and nine maides is a simple comming in for one man, and then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of a featherbed, here are simple scapes: well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gere: Father come, Ile take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling.
Exit Clowne.
Bass. I praie thee good Leonardo thinke on this,These things being bought and orderly bestowedReturne in haste, for I doe feast to nightMy best esteemd acquaintance, hie thee goe
Leon. my best endeuors shall be done herein.
Exit Le.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Where's your Maister
Leon. Yonder sir he walkes
Gra. Signior Bassanio
Bas. Gratiano
Gra. I haue a sute to you
Bass. You haue obtain'd it
Gra. You must not denie me, I must goe with you toBelmont
Bass. Why then you must: but heare thee Gratiano,Thou art to wilde, to rude, and bold of voyce,Parts that become thee happily enough,And in such eyes as ours appeare not faults;But where they are not knowne, why there they showSomething too liberall, pray thee take paineTo allay with some cold drops of modestieThy skipping spirit, least through thy wilde behauiourI be misconsterd in the place I goe to,And loose my hopes
Gra. Signor Bassanio, heare me,If I doe not put on a sober habite,Talke with respect, and sweare but now and than,Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely,Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyesThus with my hat, and sigh and say Amen:Vse all the obseruance of ciuillitieLike one well studied in a sad ostentTo please his Grandam, neuer trust me more
Bas. Well, we shall see your bearing
Gra. Nay but I barre to night, you shall not gage meBy what we doe to night
Bas. No that were pittie,I would intreate you rather to put onYour boldest suite of mirth, for we haue friendsThat purpose merriment: but far you well,I haue some businesse
Gra. And I must to Lorenso and the rest,But we will visite you at supper time.
Exeunt.
Enter Iessica and the Clowne.
Ies. I am sorry thou wilt leaue my Father so,Our house is hell, and thou a merrie diuellDid'st rob it of some taste of tediousnesse;But far thee well, there is a ducat for thee,And Lancelet, soone at supper shalt thou seeLorenzo, who is thy new Maisters guest,Giue him this Letter, doe it secretly,And so farewell: I would not haue my Fathersee me talke with thee
Clo. Adue, teares exhibit my tongue, most beautifull Pagan, most sweete Iew, if a Christian doe not play the knaue and get thee, I am much deceiued; but adue, these foolish drops doe somewhat drowne my manly spirit: adue. Enter.
Ies. Farewell good Lancelet.Alacke, what hainous sinne is it in meTo be ashamed to be my Fathers childe,But though I am a daughter to his blood,I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,If thou keepe promise I shall end this strife,Become a Christian, and thy louing wife.Enter.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio.
Lor. Nay, we will slinke away in supper time,Disguise vs at my lodging, and returne all in an houre
Gra. We haue not made good preparation
Sal. We haue not spoke vs yet of Torch-bearers
Sol. 'Tis vile vnlesse it may be quaintly ordered,And better in my minde not vndertooke
Lor. 'Tis now but foure of clock, we haue two houresTo furnish vs; friend Lancelet what's the newes.Enter Lancelet with a Letter.
Lan. And it shall please you to breake vp this, shall itseeme to signifie
Lor. I know the hand, in faith 'tis a faire handAnd whiter then the paper it writ on,Is the faire hand that writ
Gra. Loue newes in faith
Lan. By your leaue sir
Lor. Whither goest thou?Lan. Marry sir to bid my old Master the Iew to supto night with my new Master the Christian
Lor. Hold here, take this, tell gentle IessicaI will not faile her, speake it priuately:Go Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this Maske tonight,I am prouided of a Torch-bearer.
Exit. Clowne
Sal. I marry, ile be gone about it strait
Sol. And so will I
Lor. Meete me and Gratiano at Gratianos lodgingSome houre hence
Sal. 'Tis good we do so.Enter.
Gra. Was not that Letter from faire Iessica?Lor. I must needes tell thee all, she hath directedHow I shall take her from her Fathers house,What gold and iewels she is furnisht with,What Pages suite she hath in readinesse:If ere the Iew her Father come to heauen,It will be for his gentle daughters sake;And neuer dare misfortune crosse her foote,Vnlesse she doe it vnder this excuse,That she is issue to a faithlesse Iew:Come goe with me, pervse this as thou goest,Faire Iessica shall be my Torch-bearer.Enter.
Enter Iew, and his man that was the Clowne.
Iew. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy iudge,The difference of old Shylocke and Bassanio;What Iessica, thou shalt not gurmandizeAs thou hast done with me: what Iessica?And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.Why Iessica I say
Clo. Why Iessica
Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call
Clo. Your worship was wont to tell meI could doe nothing without bidding.Enter Iessica.
Ies. Call you? what is your will?Shy. I am bid forth to supper Iessica,There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?I am not bid for loue, they flatter me,But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vponThe prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,For I did dreame of money bags to night
Clo. I beseech you sir goe, my yong MasterDoth expect your reproach
Shy. So doe I his
Clo. And they haue conspired together, I will not say you shall see a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on blacke monday last, at six a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere on ashwensday was foure yeere in th' afternoone
Shy. What are their maskes? heare you me Iessica,Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drumAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neckt Fife,Clamber not you vp to the casements then,Nor thrust your head into the publique streeteTo gaze on Christian fooles with varnisht faces:But stop my houses eares, I meane my casements,Let not the sound of shallow fopperie enterMy sober house. By Iacobs staffe I sweare,I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:But I will goe: goe you before me sirra,Say I will come
Clo. I will goe before sir,Mistris looke out at window for all this;There will come a Christian by,Will be worth a Iewes eye
Shy. What saies that foole of Hagars off-spring?ha
Ies. His words were farewell mistris, nothing else
Shy. The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder:Snaile-slow in profit, but he sleepes by dayMore then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me,Therefore I part with him, and part with himTo one that I would haue him helpe to wasteHis borrowed purse. Well Iessica goe in,Perhaps I will returne immediately;Doe as I bid you, shut dores after you, fast binde, fastfinde,A prouerbe neuer stale in thriftie minde.Enter.
Ies. Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,I haue a Father, you a daughter lost.Enter.
Enter the Maskers, Gratiano and Salino.
Gra. This is the penthouse vnder which LorenzoDesired vs to make a stand
Sal. His houre is almost past
Gra. And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre,For louers euer run before the clocke
Sal. O ten times faster Venus Pidgions flyeTo steale loues bonds new made, then they are wontTo keepe obliged faith vnforfaited
Gra. That euer holds, who riseth from a feastWith that keene appetite that he sits downe?Where is the horse that doth vntread againeHis tedious measures with the vnbated fire,That he did pace them first: all things that are,Are with more spirit chased then enioy'd.How like a yonger or a prodigallThe skarfed barke puts from her natiue bay,Hudg'd and embraced by the strumpet winde:How like a prodigall doth she returneWith ouer-wither'd ribs and ragged sailes,Leane, rent, and begger'd by the strumpet winde?Enter Lorenzo.
Salino. Heere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter
Lor. Sweete friends, your patience for my long abode,Not I, but my affaires haue made you wait;When you shall please to play the theeues for wiuesIle watch as long for you then: approachHere dwels my father Iew. Hoa, who's within?
Iessica aboue.
Iess. Who are you? tell me for more certainty,Albeit Ile sweare that I do know your tongue
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy Loue
Ies. Lorenzo certaine, and my loue indeed,For who loue I so much? and now who knowesBut you Lorenzo, whether I am yours?Lor. Heauen and thy thoughts are witness that thouart
Ies. Heere, catch this casket, it is worth the paines,I am glad 'tis night, you do not looke on me,For I am much asham'd of my exchange:But loue is blinde, and louers cannot seeThe pretty follies that themselues commit,For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blushTo see me thus transformed to a boy
Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer
Ies. What, must I hold a Candle to my shames?They in themselues goodsooth are too too light.Why, 'tis an office of discouery Loue,And I should be obscur'd
Lor. So you are sweet,Euen in the louely garnish of a boy: but come at once,For the close night doth play the run-away,And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast
Ies. I will make fast the doores and guild my selfeWith some more ducats, and be with you straight
Gra. Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Iew
Lor. Beshrew me but I loue her heartily.For she is wise, if I can iudge of her.And faire she is, if that mine eyes be true,And true she is, as she hath prou'd her selfe:And therefore like her selfe, wise, faire, and true,Shall she be placed in my constant soule.Enter Iessica.
What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away,Our masking mates by this time for vs stay.Enter.
Enter Anthonio.
Ant. Who's there?Gra. Signior Anthonio?Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?'Tis nine a clocke, our friends all stay for you,No maske to night, the winde is come about,Bassanio presently will goe aboord,I haue sent twenty out to seeke for you
Gra. I am glad on't, I desire no more delightThen to be vnder saile, and gone to night.
Exeunt.
Enter Portia with Morrocho, and both their traines.
Por. Goe, draw aside the curtaines, and discouerThe seuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:Now make your choyse
Mor. The first of gold, who this inscription beares,Who chooseth me, shall gaine what men desire.The second siluer, which this promise carries,Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.How shall I know if I doe choose the right?How shall I know if I doe choose the right
Por. The one of them containes my picture Prince,If you choose that, then I am yours withall
Mor. Some God direct my iudgement, let me see,I will suruay the inscriptions, backe againe:What saies this leaden casket?Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.Must giue, for what? for lead, hazard for lead?This casket threatens men that hazard allDoe it in hope of faire aduantages:A golden minde stoopes not to showes of drosse,Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead.What saies the Siluer with her virgin hue?Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.As much as he deserues; pause there Morocho,And weigh thy value with an euen hand,If thou beest rated by thy estimationThou doost deserue enough, and yet enoughMay not extend so farre as to the Ladie:And yet to be afeard of my deseruing,Were but a weake disabling of my selfe.As much as I deserue, why that's the Lady.I doe in birth deserue her, and in fortunes,In graces, and in qualities of breeding:But more then these, in loue I doe deserue.What if I strai'd no farther, but chose here?Let's see once more this saying grau'd in gold.Who chooseth me shall gaine what many men desire:Why that's the Lady, all the world desires her:From the foure corners of the earth they comeTo kisse this shrine, this mortall breathing Saint.The Hircanion deserts, and the vaste wildesOf wide Arabia are as throughfares nowFor Princes to come view faire Portia.The waterie Kingdome, whose ambitious headSpets in the face of heauen, is no barreTo stop the forraine spirits, but they comeAs ore a brooke to see faire Portia.One of these three containes her heauenly picture.Is't like that Lead containes her? 'twere damnationTo thinke so base a thought, it were too groseTo rib her searecloath in the obscure graue:Or shall I thinke in Siluer she's immur'dBeing ten times vndervalued to tride gold;O sinfull thought, neuer so rich a IemWas set in worse then gold! They haue in EnglandA coyne that beares the figure of an AngellStampt in gold, but that's insculpt vpon:But here an Angell in a golden bedLies all within. Deliuer me the key:Here doe I choose, and thriue I as I may
Por. There take it Prince, and if my forme lye thereThen I am yours
Mor. O hell! what haue we here, a carrion death,Within whose emptie eye there is a written scroule;Ile reade the writing.All that glisters is not gold,Often haue you heard that told;Many a man his life hath soldBut my outside to behold;Guilded timber doe wormes infold:Had you beene as wise as bold,Yong in limbs, in iudgement old,Your answere had not beene inscrold,Fareyouwell, your suite is cold,Mor. Cold indeede, and labour lost,Then farewell heate, and welcome frost:Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heartTo take a tedious leaue: thus loosers part.Enter.
Por. A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go:Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Exeunt.
Enter Salarino and Solanio.
Flo. Cornets
Sal. Why man I saw Bassanio vnder sayle;With him is Gratiano gone along;And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not
Sol. The villaine Iew with outcries raisd the Duke.Who went with him to search Bassanios ship
Sal. He comes too late, the ship was vndersaile;But there the Duke was giuen to vnderstandThat in a Gondilo were seene togetherLorenzo and his amorous Iessica.Besides, Anthonio certified the DukeThey were not with Bassanio in his ship
Sol. I neuer heard a passion so confusd,So strange, outragious, and so variable,As the dogge Iew did vtter in the streets;My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter,Fled with a Christian, O my Christian ducats!Iustice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter;A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,Of double ducats, stolne from me by my daughter,And iewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,Stolne by my daughter: iustice, finde the girle,She hath the stones vpon her, and the ducats
Sal. Why all the boyes in Venice follow him,Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats
Sol. Let good Anthonio looke he keepe his dayOr he shall pay for this
Sal. Marry well remembred,I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,Who told me, in the narrow seas that partThe French and English, there miscariedA vessell of our countrey richly fraught:I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me,And wisht in silence that it were not his
Sol. You were best to tell Anthonio what you heare.Yet doe not suddainely, for it may grieue him
Sal. A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth,I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part,Bassanio told him he would make some speedeOf his returne: he answered, doe not so,Slubber not businesse for my sake Bassanio,But stay the very riping of the time,And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me,Let it not enter in your minde of loue:Be merry, and imploy your chiefest thoughtsTo courtship, and such faire ostents of loueAs shall conueniently become you there;And euen there his eye being big with teares,Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him,And with affection wondrous sencibleHe wrung Bassanios hand, and so they parted
Sol. I thinke he onely loues the world for him,I pray thee let vs goe and finde him outAnd quicken his embraced heauinesseWith some delight or other
Sal. Doe we so.
Exeunt.
Enter Nerrissa and a Seruiture.
Ner. Quick, quick I pray thee, draw the curtain strait,The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath,And comes to his election presently.Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia. Flor. Cornets.
Por. Behold, there stand the caskets noble Prince,If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,Straight shall our nuptiall rights be solemniz'd:But if thou faile, without more speech my Lord,You must be gone from hence immediately
Ar. I am enioynd by oath to obserue three things;First, neuer to vnfold to any oneWhich casket 'twas I chose; next, if I faileOf the right casket, neuer in my lifeTo wooe a maide in way of marriage:Lastly, if I doe faile in fortune of my choyse,Immediately to leaue you, and be gone
Por. To these iniunctions euery one doth sweareThat comes to hazard for my worthlesse selfe
Ar. And so haue I addrest me, fortune nowTo my hearts hope: gold, siluer, and base lead.Who chooseth me must giue and hazard all he hath.You shall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard.What saies the golden chest, ha, let me see.Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire:What many men desire, that many may be meantBy the foole multitude that choose by show,Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach,Which pries not to th' interior, but like the MartletBuilds in the weather on the outward wall,Euen in the force and rode of casualtie.I will not choose what many men desire,Because I will not iumpe with common spirits,And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes.Why then to thee thou Siluer treasure house,Tell me once more, what title thou doost beare;Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues:And well said too; for who shall goe aboutTo cosen Fortune, and be honourableWithout the stampe of merrit, let none presumeTo weare an vndeserued dignitie:O that estates, degrees, and offices,Were not deriu'd corruptly, and that cleare honourWere purchast by the merrit of the wearer;How many then should couer that stand bare?How many be commanded that command?How much low pleasantry would then be gleanedFrom the true seede of honor? And how much honorPickt from the chaffe and ruine of the times,To be new varnisht: Well, but to my choise.Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues.I will assume desert; giue me a key for this,And instantly vnlocke my fortunes here
Por. Too long a pause for that which you finde there
Ar. What's here, the portrait of a blinking idiotPresenting me a scedule, I will reade it:How much vnlike art thou to Portia?How much vnlike my hopes and my deseruings?Who chooseth me, shall haue as much as he deserues.Did I deserue no more then a fooles head,Is that my prize, are my deserts no better?Por. To offend and iudge are distinct offices,And of opposed natures