Act II
Scene I
Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and his train; Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. | |
Morocco |
Mislike me not for my complexion,
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Portia |
In terms of choice I am not solely led
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Morocco |
Even for that I thank you:
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Portia |
You must take your chance,
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Morocco | Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. |
Portia |
First, forward to the temple: after dinner
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Morocco |
Good fortune then!
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Scene II
Venice. A street.
Enter Launcelot. | |
Launcelot | Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me saying to me “Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says “No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo,” or, as aforesaid, “honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack: “Via!” says the fiend; “away!” says the fiend; “for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,” says the fiend, “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me “My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man’s son,” or rather an honest woman’s son; for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience says “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you counsel well;” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well:” to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your command; I will run. |
Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. | |
Gobbo | Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s? |
Launcelot | Aside. O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try confusions with him. |
Gobbo | Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s? |
Launcelot | Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house. |
Gobbo | By God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no? |
Launcelot | Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Aside. Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? |
Gobbo | No master, sir, but a poor man’s son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man and, God be thanked, well to live. |
Launcelot | Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of young Master Launcelot. |
Gobbo | Your worship’s friend and Launcelot, sir. |
Launcelot | But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot? |
Gobbo | Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership. |
Launcelot | Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. |
Gobbo | Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. |
Launcelot | Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? |
Gobbo | Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead? |
Launcelot | Do you not know me, father? |
Gobbo | Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. |
Launcelot | Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man’s son may, but at the length truth will out. |
Gobbo | Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. |
Launcelot | Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. |
Gobbo | I cannot think you are my son. |
Launcelot | I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother. |
Gobbo | Her name is Margery, indeed: I’ll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail. |
Launcelot | It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face when I last saw him. |
Gobbo | Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How ’gree you now? |
Launcelot | Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. |
Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and other followers. | |
Bassanio | You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Exit a Servant. |
Launcelot | To him, father. |
Gobbo | God bless your worship! |
Bassanio | Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me? |
Gobbo | Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,— |
Launcelot | Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify— |
Gobbo | He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve— |
Launcelot | Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify— |
Gobbo | His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence, are scarce cater-cousins— |
Launcelot | To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you— |
Gobbo | I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is— |
Launcelot | In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father. |
Bassanio | One speak for both. What would you? |
Launcelot | Serve you, sir. |
Gobbo | That is the very defect of the matter, sir. |
Bassanio |
I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit:
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Launcelot | The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. |
Bassanio |
Thou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
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Launcelot | Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have ne’er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, here’s a simple line of life: here’s a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man: and then to ’scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo. |
Bassanio |
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
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Leonardo | My best endeavours shall be done herein. |
Enter Gratiano. | |
Gratiano | Where is your master? |
Leonardo | Yonder, sir, he walks. Exit. |
Gratiano | Signior Bassanio! |
Bassanio | Gratiano! |
Gratiano | I have a suit to you. |
Bassanio | You have obtain’d it. |
Gratiano | You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont. |
Bassanio |
Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano;
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Gratiano |
Signior Bassanio, hear me:
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Bassanio | Well, we shall see your bearing. |
Gratiano |
Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
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Bassanio |
No, that were pity:
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Gratiano |
And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
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Scene III
The same. A room in Shylock’s house.
Enter Jessica and Launcelot. | |
Jessica |
I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
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Launcelot | Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit: adieu. |
Jessica |
Farewell, good Launcelot. Exit Launcelot.
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Scene IV
The same. A street.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. | |
Lorenzo |
Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
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Gratiano | We have not made good preparation. |
Salarino | We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. |
Salanio |
’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,
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Lorenzo |
’Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours
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Enter Launcelot, with a letter. | |
Friend Launcelot, what’s the news? | |
Launcelot | An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. |
Lorenzo |
I know the hand: in faith, ’tis a fair hand;
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Gratiano | Love-news, in faith. |
Launcelot | By your leave, sir. |
Lorenzo | Whither goest thou? |
Launcelot | Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. |
Lorenzo |
Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
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Salarino | Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight. |
Salanio | And so will I. |
Lorenzo |
Meet me and Gratiano
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Salarino | ’Tis good we do so. Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. |
Gratiano | Was not that letter from fair Jessica? |
Lorenzo |
I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
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Scene V
The same. Before Shylock’s house.
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. | |
Shylock |
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
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Launcelot | Why, Jessica! |
Shylock | Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. |
Launcelot | Your worship was wont to tell me that I could do nothing without bidding. |
Enter Jessica. | |
Jessica | Call you? what is your will? |
Shylock |
I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
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Launcelot | I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach. |
Shylock | So do I his. |
Launcelot | An they have conspired together, I will not say you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at six o’clock i’ the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon. |
Shylock |
What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
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Launcelot | I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this, There will come a Christian boy, will be worth a Jewess’ eye. Exit. |
Shylock | What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha? |
Jessica | His words were “Farewell mistress;” nothing else. |
Shylock |
The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
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Jessica |
Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
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Scene VI
The same.
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. | |
Gratiano |
This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
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Salarino | His hour is almost past. |
Gratiano |
And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
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Salarino |
O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly
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Gratiano |
That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
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Salarino | Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter. |
Enter Lorenzo. | |
Lorenzo |
Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
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Enter Jessica, above, in boy’s clothes. | |
Jessica |
Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
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Lorenzo | Lorenzo, and thy love. |
Jessica |
Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
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Lorenzo | Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. |
Jessica |
Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
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Lorenzo | Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. |
Jessica |
What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
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Lorenzo |
So are you, sweet,
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Jessica |
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
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Gratiano | Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. |
Lorenzo |
Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
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Enter Jessica, below. | |
What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
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Enter Antonio. | |
Antonio | Who’s there? |
Gratiano | Signior Antonio! |
Antonio |
Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
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Gratiano |
I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight
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Scene VII
Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.
Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince of Morocco, and their trains. | |
Portia |
Go draw aside the curtains and discover
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Morocco |
The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
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Portia |
The one of them contains my picture, prince:
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Morocco |
Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
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Portia |
There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
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Morocco |
O hell! what have we here?
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
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Portia |
A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
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Scene VIII
Venice. A street.
Enter Salarino and Salanio. | |
Salarino |
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
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Salanio |
The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,
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Salarino |
He came too late, the ship was under sail:
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Salanio |
I never heard a passion so confused,
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Salarino |
Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
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Salanio |
Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
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Salarino |
Marry, well remember’d.
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Salanio |
You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
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Salarino |
A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
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Salanio |
I think he only loves the world for him.
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Salarino | Do we so. Exeunt. |
Scene IX
Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.
Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. | |
Nerissa |
Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
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Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their trains. | |
Portia |
Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
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Arragon |
I am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:
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Portia |
To these injunctions every one doth swear
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Arragon |
And so have I address’d me. Fortune now
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Portia | Too long a pause for that which you find there. |
Arragon |
What’s here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
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Portia |
To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
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Arragon |
What is here? Reads.
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Portia |
Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
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Nerissa |
The ancient saying is no heresy,
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Portia | Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. |
Enter a Servant. | |
Servant | Where is my lady? |
Portia | Here: what would my lord? |
Servant |
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
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Portia |
No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
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Nerissa | Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be! Exeunt. |