Kath. Not so, my lord;-a twelvemonth and I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Biron. Studies my lady? mistress look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there; Impose some service on me for thy love. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit: [brain; To weed this wormwood from your fruitful And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, (Without the which I am not to be won,) You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall With all the fierce* endeavour of your wit, [be, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of It cannot be; it is impossible: [death? Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Of him that hears it, never in the tongue groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal; But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation." Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. [befal, Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the KING. King. No, madam: we will bring you on Enter ARMADO. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,Prin. Was not that Hector? Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to JaqueArm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take netta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla! approach. Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, Moth, spring; the one maintained by the owl, the This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, III. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, To-whit, to-who, a merry note, IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, To-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this [Exeunt. + Wild apples. way. * Cool. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. DUKE OF VENICE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. PRINCE OF MOROCCO,Suitors to Portia. PRINCE OF ARRAGON, S ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice. BASSANIO, his Friend. SALANIO, PORTIA, a rich Heiress. SALARINO,Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. NERISSA, her Waiting-maid. GRATIANO, LORENZO, in love with Jessica. SHYLOCK, a Jew. TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shy lock. OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. ACT I. SCENE 1.-Venice.-A Street. And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, + Lowering. Ships of large burthen. you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO. Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you: but, at dinner time, Bass. I will not fail you. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it, that do buy it with much care. Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Gra. Let me play the Fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; ears, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till din ner-time: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. I shot his fellow of the self-same flight To wind about my love with circumstance; And many Jasons come in quest of her. at sea; o hold a rival place with one of them, I have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are Nor have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth, Try what my credit can in Venice do; That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and so will I, Where money is; and I no question make, To have it of my trust, or for my sake. Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, [tongue. Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; tor silence only is commendable [ble. In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendi[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO. Ant. Is that any thing now? Bass. 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 have them, they SCENE II.-Belmont.-A Room in PORTIA'S are not worth the search. Aut. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same .To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? Bass. "Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How 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 abridg'd From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is, 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 To unburden all my plots and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe. Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, [it; Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Obtinate silence. House. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. [Exeunt. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary 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 aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starye with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine, that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, 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 may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father:-Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, 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 love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come? Por. I pray thee, overname them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them: and, according to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his good parts, that he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then, is there the county+ Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choose: he hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full 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 from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Mon sieur Le Bon ? Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the count Palatine: he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands: If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England? Por. You know, I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in the English. He is a proper man's picture; But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he 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 sealed under for another. * A heady, gay youngster Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew? Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever 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 perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. Por. Therefore, 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 without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; they have acquainted me with their determination: which is indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit; unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets. Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be abtained by the manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the marquis of Montferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. Por. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise.-How now! what news? Enter a SERVANT. Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa.-Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Venice.-A public place. Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. 1 Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Shy. Ho, 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 Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad: But ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats, and water-rats, waterthieves, and land-thieves; I mean, pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks: The man is, notwithstanding, suffieient; three thousand ducats;-I think, I may take his bond. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me: May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 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 here? Enter ANTONIO. Bass. This is signior Antonio. Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. When Laban and himself were compromis'd, That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied, [rank, Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being In the end of autumn turned to the rams: And when the work of generation was Between these woolly breeders in the act, The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, And, in the doing of the deed of kind,* He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes; Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; A thing not in his power to bring to pass, But sway'd, and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. Was this inserted to make interest good? Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! he looks! I hate him for he is a Christian : He lends out money gratis, and brings down On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Buss. Shylock, do you hear? Shy. I am debating of my present store; Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Shy. I had forgot,-three months, you told Shy. Three thousand ducats,-'tis a good round sum. [rate. Three months from twelvè, then let me see the Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, Shy. Why, look you, how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have your love, [with, Forget the shames that you have stain'd me Supply your present wants, and take no doit * Nature. + Interest. |