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it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on
black Monday1 last, at six o'clock i' the morning, falling
out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the
afternoon.
[Jessica:
Shy. What! are there masques ?-Hear you me,
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements;
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear,

I have no mind of feasting forth to-night;
But I will go.-Go you before me, sirrah;

Say, I will come.

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

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

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts are witness that
thou art.

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

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Jes. What! must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Laun. I will go before, sir.-Mistress, look out at Why, 't is an office of discovery, love,
window, for all this:

There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
[Exit LAUN.
Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring? ha!
Jes. His words were, farewell, mistress; nothing else.
Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder,
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me
Therefore I part with him, and part with him.
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse.-Well, Jessica, go in:
Perhaps I will return immediately.

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Salar.

His hour is almost past. Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salar. O ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly

To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures, with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker, or a prodigal,
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like a prodigal doth she return,
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
Enter LORENZO.

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo-more of this hereafter.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs have made you wait:
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then.-Approach;
Here dwells my father Jew.-Ho! who's within?
Enter JESSICA above, as a boy.

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

And I should be obscur'd.
Lor.

So are you, sweet,
Even in the garnish of a lovely boy.
But come at once;

For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
[Exit, from above.
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily;
For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
Enter JESSICA, to them below.
What, art thou come?-On, gentlemen; away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit with JESSICA and SALARINO.
Enter ANTONIO.

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Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince. [Curtains
Now make your choice.
[drawn aside.

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

Por. 'The one of them contains my picture, prince:
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see,
I will survey th' inscriptions back again:
What says this leaden casket?

1 Stow says, Black Monday got its name from the following occurrence: On Easter-Monday, April 14, 1360, Edward III., with his host, lay before the city of Paris, and the day "was full dark of mist and hail, and so bitter cold that many men died on their horses' backs with the cold.' 2 Fast bind, fast find: in f. e. 3 This direction not in f. e.

"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." | With him is Gratiano gone along;

Must give-For what? for lead? hazard for lead?

This casket threatens: men, that hazard all,

Do it in hope of fair advantages:

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?

"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."
As much as he deserves ?-Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand.

If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,

Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve?-Why, that's the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more than these in love I do deserve her.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here ?—
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold:
"Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire."
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her :
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia :

The wat❜ry kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come,
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia :

One of these three contains her heavenly picture.

Is 't like, that lead contains her? 'T were 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 immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?

O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem

Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin, that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within.-Deliver me the key:
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!
Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours.
[He opens the golden casket.
Mor.
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye

There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing.

"All that glisters is not gold;

Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.”
Cold, indeed, and labour lost:

Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost.—
Portia, adieu. I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit.
Por. A gentle riddance.-Draw the curtains: go.
[Curtains drawn.
Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.-Venice. A Street.
Enter SALARINO and SALANIO.
Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail :

And in their ship, I'm sure, Lorenzo is not.

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail:
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica.
Besides, Antonio certified the duke,
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:

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My daughter!-O my ducats!-O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian ?-O my Christian ducats!
Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels too! two rich and precious stones,
Stol'n by my daughter!-Justice! find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!"?

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.

Salar.

Marry, well remember'd.
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas, that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country, richly fraught.
I thought upon Antonio when he told me,
And wish'd in silence that it were not his.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.

I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return: he answer'd-"Do not so;
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time:
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love.
Be merry; and apply your chiefest thoughts.
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there."
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wondrous sensible

He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.
Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him.
pray thee, let us go, and find him out,

I

And quicken his embraced heaviness

With some delight or other.

Salar.

Do we so.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.-Belmont. An Apartment in PORTIA'S

House.

Enter NERISSA, with a Servitor.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtains

straight.

The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their trains.
Flourish cornets. Curtains withdrawn.
Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince.
If you choose that wherein I am contain❜d,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:

First, never to unfold to any one

Which casket 't was I chose: next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage: lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope !-Gold, silver and base lead.
"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath :"
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha! let me see :—
"Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire."
What many men desire:-that many may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which prize not th1 interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather, on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves
And well said too; for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable,
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.

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"The fire seven times tried this:
Seven times tried that judgment is,

That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss
Such have but a shadow's bliss.
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,

I will ever be your head :
So begone: you are sped."
Still more fool I shall appear

By the time I linger here:

With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.-
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.

[Exeunt ARRAGON, and train.
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
;"They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy :
Hanging and wiving go by destiny.
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Messenger.*

O! that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly; and that clear honour
Were purchas'd 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 glean'd
From the true seed of honour; and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice :
"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."
I will assume desert :-give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

[He opens the silver casket.2
Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there.
Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule? I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia !

How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings!

Mess. Where is my lady?

drawn.3 [Curtains

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

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

Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be. [Exeunt.

SCENE I-Venice. A Street.

Enter SALANIO and SALARINO.

ACT III.

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ? Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place: a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip, report, be an honest woman of her word.

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Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapped ginger, or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain high-way of talk, that the good Antonio, the

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How now, Shylock? what news among the merchants ? Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight.

Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal.

1 Which pries not to th': in f. e. 23 This direction not in f. e. 4 So the old copies; mod. eds. read: "Servant."

5 Broke.

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