Shakespeare Serialised

Merchant of Venice Act 5, Scene 1

2010-05-03T15:00:00.000+01:00

Belmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house.

    Enter LORENZO and JESSICA

LORENZO

    The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
    When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
    And they did make no noise, in such a night
    Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls
    And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
    Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA

    In such a night
    Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew
    And saw the lion's shadow ere himself
    And ran dismay'd away.

LORENZO

    In such a night
    Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
    Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love
    To come again to Carthage.

JESSICA

    In such a night
    Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
    That did renew old AEson.

LORENZO

    In such a night
    Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
    And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
    As far as Belmont.

JESSICA

    In such a night
    Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
    Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
    And ne'er a true one.

LORENZO

    In such a night
    Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
    Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICA

    I would out-night you, did no body come;
    But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

    Enter STEPHANO

LORENZO

    Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

STEPHANO

    A friend.

LORENZO

    A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO

    Stephano is my name; and I bring word
    My mistress will before the break of day
    Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
    By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
    For happy wedlock hours.

LORENZO

    Who comes with her?

STEPHANO

    None but a holy hermit and her maid.
    I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

LORENZO

    He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
    But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
    And ceremoniously let us prepare
    Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

    Enter LAUNCELOT

LAUNCELOT

    Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

LORENZO

    Who calls?

LAUNCELOT

    Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo?
    Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!

LORENZO

    Leave hollaing, man: here.

LAUNCELOT

    Sola! where? where?

LORENZO

    Here.

LAUNCELOT

    Tell him there's a post come from my master, with
    his horn full of good news: my master will be here
    ere morning.

    Exit

LORENZO

    Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
    And yet no matter: why should we go in?
    My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
    Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
    And bring your music forth into the air.

    Exit Stephano
    How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
    Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
    Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
    Become the touches of sweet harmony.
    Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
    Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
    There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
    But in his motion like an angel sings,
    Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
    Such harmony is in immortal souls;
    But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
    Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

    Enter Musicians
    Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!
    With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
    And draw her home with music.

    Music

JESSICA

    I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

LORENZO

    The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
    For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
    Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
    Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
    Which is the hot condition of their blood;
    If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
    Or any air of music touch their ears,
    You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
    Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
    By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
    Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
    Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
    But music for the time doth change his nature.
    The man that hath no music in himself,
    Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
    Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
    The motions of his spirit are dull as night
    And his affections dark as Erebus:
    Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

    Enter PORTIA and NERISSA

PORTIA

    That light we see is burning in my hall.
    How far that little candle throws his beams!
    So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSA

    When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIA

    So doth the greater glory dim the less:
    A substitute shines brightly as a king
    Unto the king be by, and then his state
    Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
    Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSA

    It is your music, madam, of the house.

PORTIA

    Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
    Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA

    Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA

    The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
    When neither is attended, and I think
    The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
    When every goose is cackling, would be thought
    No better a musician than the wren.
    How many things by season season'd are
    To their right praise and true perfection!
    Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
    And would not be awaked.

    Music ceases

LORENZO

    That is the voice,
    Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

PORTIA

    He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
    By the bad voice.

LORENZO

    Dear lady, welcome home.

PORTIA

    We have been praying for our husbands' healths,
    Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
    Are they return'd?

LORENZO

    Madam, they are not yet;
    But there is come a messenger before,
    To signify their coming.

PORTIA

    Go in, Nerissa;
    Give order to my servants that they take
    No note at all of our being absent hence;
    Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.

    A tucket sounds

LORENZO

    Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
    We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

PORTIA

    This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
    It looks a little paler: 'tis a day,
    Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

    Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers

BASSANIO

    We should hold day with the Antipodes,
    If you would walk in absence of the sun.

PORTIA

    Let me give light, but let me not be light;
    For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
    And never be Bassanio so for me:
    But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

BASSANIO

    I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
    This is the man, this is Antonio,
    To whom I am so infinitely bound.

PORTIA

    You should in all sense be much bound to him.
    For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

ANTONIO

    No more than I am well acquitted of.

PORTIA

    Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
    It must appear in other ways than words,
    Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

GRATIANO

    [To NERISSA] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
    In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
    Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
    Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

PORTIA

    A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?

GRATIANO

    About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
    That she did give me, whose posy was
    For all the world like cutler's poetry
    Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'

NERISSA

    What talk you of the posy or the value?
    You swore to me, when I did give it you,
    That you would wear it till your hour of death
    And that it should lie with you in your grave:
    Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
    You should have been respective and have kept it.
    Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge,
    The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.

GRATIANO

    He will, an if he live to be a man.

NERISSA

    Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANO

    Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
    A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
    No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,
    A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
    I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIA

    You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
    To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
    A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
    And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
    I gave my love a ring and made him swear
    Never to part with it; and here he stands;
    I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
    Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
    That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
    You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief:
    An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

BASSANIO

    [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off
    And swear I lost the ring defending it.

GRATIANO

    My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
    Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed
    Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
    That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
    And neither man nor master would take aught
    But the two rings.

PORTIA

    What ring gave you my lord?
    Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

BASSANIO

    If I could add a lie unto a fault,
    I would deny it; but you see my finger
    Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

PORTIA

    Even so void is your false heart of truth.
    By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
    Until I see the ring.

NERISSA

    Nor I in yours
    Till I again see mine.

BASSANIO

    Sweet Portia,
    If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
    If you did know for whom I gave the ring
    And would conceive for what I gave the ring
    And how unwillingly I left the ring,
    When nought would be accepted but the ring,
    You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

PORTIA

    If you had known the virtue of the ring,
    Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
    Or your own honour to contain the ring,
    You would not then have parted with the ring.
    What man is there so much unreasonable,
    If you had pleased to have defended it
    With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
    To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
    Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
    I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.

BASSANIO

    No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,
    No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
    Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
    And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him
    And suffer'd him to go displeased away;
    Even he that did uphold the very life
    Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
    I was enforced to send it after him;
    I was beset with shame and courtesy;
    My honour would not let ingratitude
    So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;
    For, by these blessed candles of the night,
    Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd
    The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

PORTIA

    Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
    Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
    And that which you did swear to keep for me,
    I will become as liberal as you;
    I'll not deny him any thing I have,
    No, not my body nor my husband's bed:
    Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
    Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
    If you do not, if I be left alone,
    Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
    I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSA

    And I his clerk; therefore be well advised
    How you do leave me to mine own protection.

GRATIANO

    Well, do you so; let not me take him, then;
    For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

ANTONIO

    I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

PORTIA

    Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIO

    Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
    And, in the hearing of these many friends,
    I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
    Wherein I see myself--

PORTIA

    Mark you but that!
    In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;
    In each eye, one: swear by your double self,
    And there's an oath of credit.

BASSANIO

    Nay, but hear me:
    Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
    I never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIO

    I once did lend my body for his wealth;
    Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
    Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
    My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
    Will never more break faith advisedly.

PORTIA

    Then you shall be his surety. Give him this
    And bid him keep it better than the other.

ANTONIO

    Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

BASSANIO

    By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

PORTIA

    I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
    For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

NERISSA

    And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
    For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
    In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

GRATIANO

    Why, this is like the mending of highways
    In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
    What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

PORTIA

    Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed:
    Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;
    It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
    There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
    Nerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo here
    Shall witness I set forth as soon as you
    And even but now return'd; I have not yet
    Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;
    And I have better news in store for you
    Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
    There you shall find three of your argosies
    Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
    You shall not know by what strange accident
    I chanced on this letter.

ANTONIO

    I am dumb.

BASSANIO

    Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

GRATIANO

    Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

NERISSA

    Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
    Unless he live until he be a man.

BASSANIO

    Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow:
    When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

ANTONIO

    Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
    For here I read for certain that my ships
    Are safely come to road.

PORTIA

    How now, Lorenzo!
    My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

NERISSA

    Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
    There do I give to you and Jessica,
    From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
    After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

LORENZO

    Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
    Of starved people.

PORTIA

    It is almost morning,
    And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
    Of these events at full. Let us go in;
    And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
    And we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANO

    Let it be so: the first inter'gatory
    That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
    Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
    Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
    But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
    That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
    Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing
    So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 4, Scene 2

2010-04-30T14:58:00.001+01:00

The same. A street.

    Enter PORTIA and NERISSA

PORTIA

    Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed
    And let him sign it: we'll away to-night
    And be a day before our husbands home:
    This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

    Enter GRATIANO

GRATIANO

    Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en
    My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
    Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
    Your company at dinner.

PORTIA

    That cannot be:
    His ring I do accept most thankfully:
    And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,
    I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANO

    That will I do.

NERISSA

    Sir, I would speak with you.

    Aside to PORTIA
    I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,
    Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

PORTIA

    [Aside to NERISSA] Thou mayst, I warrant.
    We shall have old swearing
    That they did give the rings away to men;
    But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

    Aloud
    Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSA

    Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 4, Scene 1

2010-04-29T14:57:00.000+01:00

Venice. A court of justice.

    Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others

DUKE

    What, is Antonio here?

ANTONIO

    Ready, so please your grace.

DUKE

    I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer
    A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
    uncapable of pity, void and empty
    From any dram of mercy.

ANTONIO

    I have heard
    Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
    His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate
    And that no lawful means can carry me
    Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
    My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
    To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
    The very tyranny and rage of his.

DUKE

    Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

SALERIO

    He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

    Enter SHYLOCK

DUKE

    Make room, and let him stand before our face.
    Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
    That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
    To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought
    Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
    Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
    And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
    Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
    Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
    But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
    Forgive a moiety of the principal;
    Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
    That have of late so huddled on his back,
    Enow to press a royal merchant down
    And pluck commiseration of his state
    From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
    From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
    To offices of tender courtesy.
    We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

SHYLOCK

    I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
    And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
    To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
    If you deny it, let the danger light
    Upon your charter and your city's freedom.
    You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
    A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
    Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
    But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd?
    What if my house be troubled with a rat
    And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
    To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
    Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
    Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
    And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose,
    Cannot contain their urine: for affection,
    Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
    Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:
    As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
    Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
    Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
    Why he, a woollen bagpipe; but of force
    Must yield to such inevitable shame
    As to offend, himself being offended;
    So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
    More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing
    I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
    A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?

BASSANIO

    This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
    To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

SHYLOCK

    I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

BASSANIO

    Do all men kill the things they do not love?

SHYLOCK

    Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

BASSANIO

    Every offence is not a hate at first.

SHYLOCK

    What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

ANTONIO

    I pray you, think you question with the Jew:
    You may as well go stand upon the beach
    And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
    You may as well use question with the wolf
    Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
    You may as well forbid the mountain pines
    To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
    When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
    You may as well do anything most hard,
    As seek to soften that--than which what's harder?--
    His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,
    Make no more offers, use no farther means,
    But with all brief and plain conveniency
    Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIO

    For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

SHYLOCK

    What judgment shall I dread, doing
    Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
    I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKE

    How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

SHYLOCK

    What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
    You have among you many a purchased slave,
    Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
    You use in abject and in slavish parts,
    Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
    Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
    Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds
    Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
    Be season'd with such viands? You will answer
    'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:
    The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
    Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.
    If you deny me, fie upon your law!
    There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
    I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

DUKE

    Upon my power I may dismiss this court,
    Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
    Whom I have sent for to determine this,
    Come here to-day.

SALERIO

    My lord, here stays without
    A messenger with letters from the doctor,
    New come from Padua.

DUKE

    Bring us the letter; call the messenger.

BASSANIO

    Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
    The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,
    Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIO

    I am a tainted wether of the flock,
    Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
    Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me
    You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
    Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

    Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk

DUKE

    Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

NERISSA

    From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

    Presenting a letter

BASSANIO

    Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

SHYLOCK

    To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANO

    Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
    Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,
    No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness
    Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

SHYLOCK

    No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

GRATIANO

    O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
    And for thy life let justice be accused.
    Thou almost makest me waver in my faith
    To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
    That souls of animals infuse themselves
    Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit
    Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
    Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
    And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
    Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
    Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

SHYLOCK

    Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
    Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:
    Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
    To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

DUKE

    This letter from Bellario doth commend
    A young and learned doctor to our court.
    Where is he?

NERISSA

    He attendeth here hard by,
    To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKE

    With all my heart. Some three or four of you
    Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
    Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

Clerk

    [Reads]
    Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of
    your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that
    your messenger came, in loving visitation was with
    me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I
    acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
    the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er
    many books together: he is furnished with my
    opinion; which, bettered with his own learning, the
    greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes
    with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's
    request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of
    years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend
    estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so
    old a head. I leave him to your gracious
    acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his
    commendation.

DUKE

    You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes:
    And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

    Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws
    Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIA

    I did, my lord.

DUKE

    You are welcome: take your place.
    Are you acquainted with the difference
    That holds this present question in the court?

PORTIA

    I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
    Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

DUKE

    Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

PORTIA

    Is your name Shylock?

SHYLOCK

    Shylock is my name.

PORTIA

    Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
    Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
    Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
    You stand within his danger, do you not?

ANTONIO

    Ay, so he says.

PORTIA

    Do you confess the bond?

ANTONIO

    I do.

PORTIA

    Then must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCK

    On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

PORTIA

    The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
    It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
    Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
    It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
    'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
    The throned monarch better than his crown;
    His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
    The attribute to awe and majesty,
    Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
    But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
    It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
    It is an attribute to God himself;
    And earthly power doth then show likest God's
    When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
    Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
    That, in the course of justice, none of us
    Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
    And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
    The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
    To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
    Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
    Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCK

    My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
    The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA

    Is he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIO

    Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
    Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,
    I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,
    On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
    If this will not suffice, it must appear
    That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
    Wrest once the law to your authority:
    To do a great right, do a little wrong,
    And curb this cruel devil of his will.

PORTIA

    It must not be; there is no power in Venice
    Can alter a decree established:
    'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
    And many an error by the same example
    Will rush into the state: it cannot be.

SHYLOCK

    A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
    O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIA

    I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCK

    Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIA

    Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

SHYLOCK

    An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
    Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
    No, not for Venice.

PORTIA

    Why, this bond is forfeit;
    And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
    A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
    Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:
    Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCK

    When it is paid according to the tenor.
    It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
    You know the law, your exposition
    Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
    Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
    Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear
    There is no power in the tongue of man
    To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

ANTONIO

    Most heartily I do beseech the court
    To give the judgment.

PORTIA

    Why then, thus it is:
    You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCK

    O noble judge! O excellent young man!

PORTIA

    For the intent and purpose of the law
    Hath full relation to the penalty,
    Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK

    'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
    How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIA

    Therefore lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCK

    Ay, his breast:
    So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?
    'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.

PORTIA

    It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
    The flesh?

SHYLOCK

    I have them ready.

PORTIA

    Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
    To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK

    Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA

    It is not so express'd: but what of that?
    'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCK

    I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIA

    You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIO

    But little: I am arm'd and well prepared.
    Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!
    Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
    For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
    Than is her custom: it is still her use
    To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
    To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
    An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
    Of such misery doth she cut me off.
    Commend me to your honourable wife:
    Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
    Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;
    And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
    Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
    Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
    And he repents not that he pays your debt;
    For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
    I'll pay it presently with all my heart.

BASSANIO

    Antonio, I am married to a wife
    Which is as dear to me as life itself;
    But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
    Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:
    I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
    Here to this devil, to deliver you.

PORTIA

    Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
    If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

GRATIANO

    I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:
    I would she were in heaven, so she could
    Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

NERISSA

    'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
    The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCK

    These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;
    Would any of the stock of Barrabas
    Had been her husband rather than a Christian!

    Aside
    We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

PORTIA

    A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
    The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK

    Most rightful judge!

PORTIA

    And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
    The law allows it, and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK

    Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

PORTIA

    Tarry a little; there is something else.
    This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
    The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:'
    Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
    But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
    One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
    Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
    Unto the state of Venice.

GRATIANO

    O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

SHYLOCK

    Is that the law?

PORTIA

    Thyself shalt see the act:
    For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
    Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

GRATIANO

    O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

SHYLOCK

    I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
    And let the Christian go.

BASSANIO

    Here is the money.

PORTIA

    Soft!
    The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
    He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO

    O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIA

    Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
    Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
    But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more
    Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
    As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
    Or the division of the twentieth part
    Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
    But in the estimation of a hair,
    Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO

    A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
    Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

PORTIA

    Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCK

    Give me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIO

    I have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIA

    He hath refused it in the open court:
    He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANO

    A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
    I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCK

    Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA

    Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
    To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

SHYLOCK

    Why, then the devil give him good of it!
    I'll stay no longer question.

PORTIA

    Tarry, Jew:
    The law hath yet another hold on you.
    It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
    If it be proved against an alien
    That by direct or indirect attempts
    He seek the life of any citizen,
    The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
    Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
    Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
    And the offender's life lies in the mercy
    Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
    In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;
    For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
    That indirectly and directly too
    Thou hast contrived against the very life
    Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
    The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
    Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.

GRATIANO

    Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:
    And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
    Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
    Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

DUKE

    That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
    I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
    For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
    The other half comes to the general state,
    Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

PORTIA

    Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCK

    Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
    You take my house when you do take the prop
    That doth sustain my house; you take my life
    When you do take the means whereby I live.

PORTIA

    What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANO

    A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.

ANTONIO

    So please my lord the duke and all the court
    To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
    I am content; so he will let me have
    The other half in use, to render it,
    Upon his death, unto the gentleman
    That lately stole his daughter:
    Two things provided more, that, for this favour,
    He presently become a Christian;
    The other, that he do record a gift,
    Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
    Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

DUKE

    He shall do this, or else I do recant
    The pardon that I late pronounced here.

PORTIA

    Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCK

    I am content.

PORTIA

    Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

SHYLOCK

    I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
    I am not well: send the deed after me,
    And I will sign it.

DUKE

    Get thee gone, but do it.

GRATIANO

    In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:
    Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
    To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

    Exit SHYLOCK

DUKE

    Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

PORTIA

    I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:
    I must away this night toward Padua,
    And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKE

    I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
    Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
    For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

    Exeunt Duke and his train

BASSANIO

    Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
    Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
    Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
    Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
    We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

ANTONIO

    And stand indebted, over and above,
    In love and service to you evermore.

PORTIA

    He is well paid that is well satisfied;
    And I, delivering you, am satisfied
    And therein do account myself well paid:
    My mind was never yet more mercenary.
    I pray you, know me when we meet again:
    I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

BASSANIO

    Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further:
    Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
    Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
    Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

PORTIA

    You press me far, and therefore I will yield.

    To ANTONIO
    Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;

    To BASSANIO
    And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:
    Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more;
    And you in love shall not deny me this.

BASSANIO

    This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!
    I will not shame myself to give you this.

PORTIA

    I will have nothing else but only this;
    And now methinks I have a mind to it.

BASSANIO

    There's more depends on this than on the value.
    The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
    And find it out by proclamation:
    Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIA

    I see, sir, you are liberal in offers
    You taught me first to beg; and now methinks
    You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

BASSANIO

    Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
    And when she put it on, she made me vow
    That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

PORTIA

    That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
    An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
    And know how well I have deserved the ring,
    She would not hold out enemy for ever,
    For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

    Exeunt Portia and Nerissa

ANTONIO

    My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
    Let his deservings and my love withal
    Be valued against your wife's commandment.

BASSANIO

    Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
    Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
    Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste.

    Exit Gratiano
    Come, you and I will thither presently;
    And in the morning early will we both
    Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 5

2010-04-28T14:55:00.001+01:00

The same. A garden.

    Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA

LAUNCELOT

    Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father
    are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I
    promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with
    you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:
    therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think you
    are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do
    you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard
    hope neither.

JESSICA

    And what hope is that, I pray thee?

LAUNCELOT

    Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you
    not, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

JESSICA

    That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the
    sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

LAUNCELOT

    Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and
    mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I
    fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are
    gone both ways.

JESSICA

    I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a
    Christian.

LAUNCELOT

    Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians
    enow before; e'en as many as could well live, one by
    another. This making Christians will raise the
    price of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we
    shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

    Enter LORENZO

JESSICA

    I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.

LORENZO

    I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if
    you thus get my wife into corners.

JESSICA

    Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot and I
    are out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy for
    me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and he
    says, you are no good member of the commonwealth,
    for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the
    price of pork.

LORENZO

    I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than
    you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the
    Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.

LAUNCELOT

    It is much that the Moor should be more than reason:
    but if she be less than an honest woman, she is
    indeed more than I took her for.

LORENZO

    How every fool can play upon the word! I think the
    best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence,
    and discourse grow commendable in none only but
    parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

LAUNCELOT

    That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

LORENZO

    Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid
    them prepare dinner.

LAUNCELOT

    That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word.

LORENZO

    Will you cover then, sir?

LAUNCELOT

    Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

LORENZO

    Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show
    the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray
    tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning:
    go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve
    in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

LAUNCELOT

    For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the
    meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in
    to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and
    conceits shall govern.

    Exit

LORENZO

    O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
    The fool hath planted in his memory
    An army of good words; and I do know
    A many fools, that stand in better place,
    Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
    Defy the matter. How cheerest thou, Jessica?
    And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
    How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICA

    Past all expressing. It is very meet
    The Lord Bassanio live an upright life;
    For, having such a blessing in his lady,
    He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
    And if on earth he do not mean it, then
    In reason he should never come to heaven
    Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match
    And on the wager lay two earthly women,
    And Portia one, there must be something else
    Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world
    Hath not her fellow.

LORENZO

    Even such a husband
    Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.

JESSICA

    Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

LORENZO

    I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

JESSICA

    Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

LORENZO

    No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
    ' Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
    I shall digest it.

JESSICA

    Well, I'll set you forth.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 4

2010-04-27T14:54:00.000+01:00

Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

    Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR

LORENZO

    Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
    You have a noble and a true conceit
    Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly
    In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
    But if you knew to whom you show this honour,
    How true a gentleman you send relief,
    How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
    I know you would be prouder of the work
    Than customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIA

    I never did repent for doing good,
    Nor shall not now: for in companions
    That do converse and waste the time together,
    Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,
    There must be needs a like proportion
    Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
    Which makes me think that this Antonio,
    Being the bosom lover of my lord,
    Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
    How little is the cost I have bestow'd
    In purchasing the semblance of my soul
    From out the state of hellish misery!
    This comes too near the praising of myself;
    Therefore no more of it: hear other things.
    Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
    The husbandry and manage of my house
    Until my lord's return: for mine own part,
    I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
    To live in prayer and contemplation,
    Only attended by Nerissa here,
    Until her husband and my lord's return:
    There is a monastery two miles off;
    And there will we abide. I do desire you
    Not to deny this imposition;
    The which my love and some necessity
    Now lays upon you.

LORENZO

    Madam, with all my heart;
    I shall obey you in all fair commands.

PORTIA

    My people do already know my mind,
    And will acknowledge you and Jessica
    In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
    And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZO

    Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

JESSICA

    I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

PORTIA

    I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
    To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.

    Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO
    Now, Balthasar,
    As I have ever found thee honest-true,
    So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
    And use thou all the endeavour of a man
    In speed to Padua: see thou render this
    Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;
    And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
    Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
    Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
    Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
    But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.

BALTHASAR

    Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

    Exit

PORTIA

    Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand
    That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands
    Before they think of us.

NERISSA

    Shall they see us?

PORTIA

    They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,
    That they shall think we are accomplished
    With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
    When we are both accoutred like young men,
    I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
    And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
    And speak between the change of man and boy
    With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
    Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
    Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies,
    How honourable ladies sought my love,
    Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
    I could not do withal; then I'll repent,
    And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;
    And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
    That men shall swear I have discontinued school
    Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
    A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
    Which I will practise.

NERISSA

    Why, shall we turn to men?

PORTIA

    Fie, what a question's that,
    If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
    But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device
    When I am in my coach, which stays for us
    At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
    For we must measure twenty miles to-day.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 3

2010-04-26T14:53:00.001+01:00

Venice. A street.

    Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler

SHYLOCK

    Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;
    This is the fool that lent out money gratis:
    Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO

    Hear me yet, good Shylock.

SHYLOCK

    I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
    I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
    Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause;
    But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
    The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
    Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
    To come abroad with him at his request.

ANTONIO

    I pray thee, hear me speak.

SHYLOCK

    I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
    I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
    I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
    To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
    To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
    I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond.

    Exit

SALARINO

    It is the most impenetrable cur
    That ever kept with men.

ANTONIO

    Let him alone:
    I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
    He seeks my life; his reason well I know:
    I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
    Many that have at times made moan to me;
    Therefore he hates me.

SALARINO

    I am sure the duke
    Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.

ANTONIO

    The duke cannot deny the course of law:
    For the commodity that strangers have
    With us in Venice, if it be denied,
    Will much impeach the justice of his state;
    Since that the trade and profit of the city
    Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
    These griefs and losses have so bated me,
    That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
    To-morrow to my bloody creditor.
    Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come
    To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 2

2010-04-23T14:52:00.001+01:00

Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

    Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and Attendants

PORTIA

    I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two
    Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
    I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.
    There's something tells me, but it is not love,
    I would not lose you; and you know yourself,
    Hate counsels not in such a quality.
    But lest you should not understand me well,--
    And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,--
    I would detain you here some month or two
    Before you venture for me. I could teach you
    How to choose right, but I am then forsworn;
    So will I never be: so may you miss me;
    But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
    That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
    They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;
    One half of me is yours, the other half yours,
    Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
    And so all yours. O, these naughty times
    Put bars between the owners and their rights!
    And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
    Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
    I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time,
    To eke it and to draw it out in length,
    To stay you from election.

BASSANIO

    Let me choose
    For as I am, I live upon the rack.

PORTIA

    Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess
    What treason there is mingled with your love.

BASSANIO

    None but that ugly treason of mistrust,
    Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
    There may as well be amity and life
    'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

PORTIA

    Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
    Where men enforced do speak anything.

BASSANIO

    Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIA

    Well then, confess and live.

BASSANIO

    'Confess' and 'love'
    Had been the very sum of my confession:
    O happy torment, when my torturer
    Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
    But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

PORTIA

    Away, then! I am lock'd in one of them:
    If you do love me, you will find me out.
    Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.
    Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
    Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
    Fading in music: that the comparison
    May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
    And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
    And what is music then? Then music is
    Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
    To a new-crowned monarch: such it is
    As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
    That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
    And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
    With no less presence, but with much more love,
    Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
    The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
    To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice
    The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
    With bleared visages, come forth to view
    The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!
    Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay
    I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

    Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself
    SONG.
    Tell me where is fancy bred,
    Or in the heart, or in the head?
    How begot, how nourished?
    Reply, reply.
    It is engender'd in the eyes,
    With gazing fed; and fancy dies
    In the cradle where it lies.
    Let us all ring fancy's knell
    I'll begin it,--Ding, dong, bell.

ALL

    Ding, dong, bell.

BASSANIO

    So may the outward shows be least themselves:
    The world is still deceived with ornament.
    In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
    But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
    Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
    What damned error, but some sober brow
    Will bless it and approve it with a text,
    Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
    There is no vice so simple but assumes
    Some mark of virtue on his outward parts:
    How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
    As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
    The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;
    Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;
    And these assume but valour's excrement
    To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,
    And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;
    Which therein works a miracle in nature,
    Making them lightest that wear most of it:
    So are those crisped snaky golden locks
    Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
    Upon supposed fairness, often known
    To be the dowry of a second head,
    The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
    Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
    To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
    Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
    The seeming truth which cunning times put on
    To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
    Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
    Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
    'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
    Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,
    Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
    And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA

    [Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air,
    As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
    And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
    Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,
    In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.
    I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
    For fear I surfeit.

BASSANIO

    What find I here?

    Opening the leaden casket
    Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god
    Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
    Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
    Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
    Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
    Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
    The painter plays the spider and hath woven
    A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
    Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,--
    How could he see to do them? having made one,
    Methinks it should have power to steal both his
    And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far
    The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
    In underprizing it, so far this shadow
    Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,
    The continent and summary of my fortune.

    Reads
    You that choose not by the view,
    Chance as fair and choose as true!
    Since this fortune falls to you,
    Be content and seek no new,
    If you be well pleased with this
    And hold your fortune for your bliss,
    Turn you where your lady is
    And claim her with a loving kiss.
    A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
    I come by note, to give and to receive.
    Like one of two contending in a prize,
    That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
    Hearing applause and universal shout,
    Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
    Whether these pearls of praise be his or no;
    So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
    As doubtful whether what I see be true,
    Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

PORTIA

    You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
    Such as I am: though for myself alone
    I would not be ambitious in my wish,
    To wish myself much better; yet, for you
    I would be trebled twenty times myself;
    A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
    That only to stand high in your account,
    I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,
    Exceed account; but the full sum of me
    Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
    Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;
    Happy in this, she is not yet so old
    But she may learn; happier than this,
    She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
    Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
    Commits itself to yours to be directed,
    As from her lord, her governor, her king.
    Myself and what is mine to you and yours
    Is now converted: but now I was the lord
    Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
    Queen o'er myself: and even now, but now,
    This house, these servants and this same myself
    Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring;
    Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
    Let it presage the ruin of your love
    And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

BASSANIO

    Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
    Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
    And there is such confusion in my powers,
    As after some oration fairly spoke
    By a beloved prince, there doth appear
    Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
    Where every something, being blent together,
    Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
    Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring
    Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:
    O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

NERISSA

    My lord and lady, it is now our time,
    That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,
    To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!

GRATIANO

    My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,
    I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
    For I am sure you can wish none from me:
    And when your honours mean to solemnize
    The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
    Even at that time I may be married too.

BASSANIO

    With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

GRATIANO

    I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
    My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
    You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
    You loved, I loved for intermission.
    No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
    Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
    And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
    For wooing here until I sweat again,
    And sweating until my very roof was dry
    With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,
    I got a promise of this fair one here
    To have her love, provided that your fortune
    Achieved her mistress.

PORTIA

    Is this true, Nerissa?

NERISSA

    Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

BASSANIO

    And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

GRATIANO

    Yes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIO

    Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.

GRATIANO

    We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

NERISSA

    What, and stake down?

GRATIANO

    No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down.
    But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What,
    and my old Venetian friend Salerio?

    Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice

BASSANIO

    Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither;
    If that the youth of my new interest here
    Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
    I bid my very friends and countrymen,
    Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIA

    So do I, my lord:
    They are entirely welcome.

LORENZO

    I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,
    My purpose was not to have seen you here;
    But meeting with Salerio by the way,
    He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
    To come with him along.

SALERIO

    I did, my lord;
    And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
    Commends him to you.

    Gives Bassanio a letter

BASSANIO

    Ere I ope his letter,
    I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

SALERIO

    Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
    Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
    Will show you his estate.

GRATIANO

    Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.
    Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice?
    How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
    I know he will be glad of our success;
    We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

SALERIO

    I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

PORTIA

    There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,
    That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
    Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
    Could turn so much the constitution
    Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
    With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,
    And I must freely have the half of anything
    That this same paper brings you.

BASSANIO

    O sweet Portia,
    Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
    That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
    When I did first impart my love to you,
    I freely told you, all the wealth I had
    Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
    And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,
    Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
    How much I was a braggart. When I told you
    My state was nothing, I should then have told you
    That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
    I have engaged myself to a dear friend,
    Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
    To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
    The paper as the body of my friend,
    And every word in it a gaping wound,
    Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
    Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
    From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
    From Lisbon, Barbary and India?
    And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
    Of merchant-marring rocks?

SALERIO

    Not one, my lord.
    Besides, it should appear, that if he had
    The present money to discharge the Jew,
    He would not take it. Never did I know
    A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
    So keen and greedy to confound a man:
    He plies the duke at morning and at night,
    And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
    If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
    The duke himself, and the magnificoes
    Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
    But none can drive him from the envious plea
    Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond.

JESSICA

    When I was with him I have heard him swear
    To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
    That he would rather have Antonio's flesh
    Than twenty times the value of the sum
    That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,
    If law, authority and power deny not,
    It will go hard with poor Antonio.

PORTIA

    Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

BASSANIO

    The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
    The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit
    In doing courtesies, and one in whom
    The ancient Roman honour more appears
    Than any that draws breath in Italy.

PORTIA

    What sum owes he the Jew?

BASSANIO

    For me three thousand ducats.

PORTIA

    What, no more?
    Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
    Double six thousand, and then treble that,
    Before a friend of this description
    Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
    First go with me to church and call me wife,
    And then away to Venice to your friend;
    For never shall you lie by Portia's side
    With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
    To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
    When it is paid, bring your true friend along.
    My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
    Will live as maids and widows. Come, away!
    For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
    Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:
    Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
    But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO

    [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
    miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is
    very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since
    in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all
    debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but
    see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your
    pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,
    let not my letter.

PORTIA

    O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

BASSANIO

    Since I have your good leave to go away,
    I will make haste: but, till I come again,
    No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,
    No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 1

2010-04-22T14:51:00.000+01:00

Venice. A street.

    Enter SALANIO and SALARINO

SALANIO

    Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALARINO

    Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath
    a ship of rich lading wrecked 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.

SALANIO

    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 highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the
    honest Antonio,--O that I had a title good enough
    to keep his name company!--

SALARINO

    Come, the full stop.

SALANIO

    Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath
    lost a ship.

SALARINO

    I would it might prove the end of his losses.

SALANIO

    Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross my
    prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

    Enter SHYLOCK
    How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCK

    You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my
    daughter's flight.

SALARINO

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

SALANIO

    And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was
    fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all
    to leave the dam.

SHYLOCK

    She is damned for it.

SALANIO

    That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

SHYLOCK

    My own flesh and blood to rebel!

SALANIO

    Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

SHYLOCK

    I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO

    There is more difference between thy flesh and hers
    than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods
    than there is between red wine and rhenish. But
    tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any
    loss at sea or no?

SHYLOCK

    There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a
    prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the
    Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon
    the mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont to
    call me usurer; let him look to his bond: he was
    wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him
    look to his bond.

SALARINO

    Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
    his flesh: what's that good for?

SHYLOCK

    To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
    it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
    hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
    mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
    bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
    enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath
    not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
    dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
    the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
    to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
    warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
    a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
    if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
    us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
    revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
    resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
    what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
    wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
    Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
    teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
    will better the instruction.

    Enter a Servant

Servant

    Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and
    desires to speak with you both.

SALARINO

    We have been up and down to seek him.

    Enter TUBAL

SALANIO

    Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be
    matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

    Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant

SHYLOCK

    How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou
    found my daughter?

TUBAL

    I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

SHYLOCK

    Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,
    cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse
    never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it
    till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other
    precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter
    were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!
    would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in
    her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I know
    not what's spent in the search: why, thou loss upon
    loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to
    find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:
    nor no in luck stirring but what lights on my
    shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears
    but of my shedding.

TUBAL

    Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I
    heard in Genoa,--

SHYLOCK

    What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

TUBAL

    Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

SHYLOCK

    I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true?

TUBAL

    I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

SHYLOCK

    I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!
    ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

TUBAL

    Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one
    night fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCK

    Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my
    gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!
    fourscore ducats!

TUBAL

    There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my
    company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.

SHYLOCK

    I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture
    him: I am glad of it.

TUBAL

    One of them showed me a ring that he had of your
    daughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCK

    Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my
    turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:
    I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

TUBAL

    But Antonio is certainly undone.

SHYLOCK

    Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee
    me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I
    will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were
    he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I
    will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;
    go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 9

2010-04-21T14:50:00.001+01:00

Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

    Enter NERISSA with a Servitor

NERISSA

    Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
    The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
    And comes to his election presently.

    Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their trains

PORTIA

    Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
    If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
    Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
    But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
    You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON

    I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
    First, never to unfold to any one
    Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
    Of the right casket, never in my life
    To woo a maid in way of marriage: Lastly,
    If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
    Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIA

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

ARRAGON

    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 pries not to the 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.
    O, that estates, degrees and offices
    Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
    Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
    How many then should cover that stand bare!
    How many be commanded that command!
    How much low peasantry would then be 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

PORTIA

    Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON

    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!
    'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
    Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
    Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA

    To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
    And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON

    What is here?

    Reads
    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 be gone: 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

PORTIA

    Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
    O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
    They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA

    The ancient saying is no heresy,
    Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

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
    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.

PORTIA

    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
    Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA

    Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 8

2010-04-20T14:49:00.001+01:00

Venice. A street.

    Enter SALARINO and SALANIO

SALARINO

    Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
    With him is Gratiano gone along;
    And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO

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

SALARINO

    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.

SALANIO

    I never heard a passion so confused,
    So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
    As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:
    '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, stolen from me by my daughter!
    And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
    Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;
    She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.'

SALARINO

    Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
    Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO

    Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
    Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINO

    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.

SALANIO

    You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
    Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINO

    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 employ 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.

SALANIO

    I think he only loves the world for him.
    I pray thee, let us go and find him out
    And quicken his embraced heaviness
    With some delight or other.

SALARINO

    Do we so.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 7

2010-04-19T14:48:00.001+01:00

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
    The several caskets to this noble prince.
    Now make your choice.

MOROCCO

    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?

PORTIA

    The one of them contains my picture, prince:
    If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO

    Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
    I will survey the inscriptions back again.
    What says this leaden casket?
    'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
    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.
    What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
    Let's see once more this saying graved 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 thoroughfares now
    For princes to come view fair Portia:
    The watery 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? 'Twere damnation
    To think so base a thought: it were too gross
    To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
    Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
    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!

PORTIA

    There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
    Then I am yours.

    He unlocks the golden casket

MOROCCO

    O hell! what have we here?
    A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
    There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

    Reads
    All that glitters 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 enfold.
    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 grieved a heart
    To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

    Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets

PORTIA

    A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
    Let all of his complexion choose me so.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 6

2010-04-16T14:47:00.000+01:00

The same.

    Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued

GRATIANO

    This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
    Desired us to make stand.

SALARINO

    His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO

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

SALARINO

    O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
    To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont
    To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO

    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 the prodigal doth she return,
    With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
    Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

SALARINO

    Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

    Enter LORENZO

LORENZO

    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, in boy's clothes

JESSICA

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

LORENZO

    Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA

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

LORENZO

    Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA

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

LORENZO

    Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA

    What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
    They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
    Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
    And I should be obscured.

LORENZO

    So are you, sweet,
    Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
    But come at once;
    For the close night doth play the runaway,
    And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICA

    I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
    With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

    Exit above

GRATIANO

    Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZO

    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 proved herself,
    And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,
    Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

    Enter JESSICA, below
    What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
    Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

    Exit with Jessica and Salarino

    Enter ANTONIO

ANTONIO

    Who's there?

GRATIANO

    Signior Antonio!

ANTONIO

    Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
    'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.
    No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
    Bassanio presently will go aboard:
    I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANO

    I am glad on't: I desire no more delight
    Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 5

2010-04-15T14:46:00.001+01:00

The same. Before SHYLOCK'S house.

    Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT

SHYLOCK

    Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
    The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:--
    What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise,
    As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!--
    And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;--
    Why, Jessica, I say!

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:
    There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
    I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
    But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
    The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
    Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
    There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
    For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

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:
    Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
    And the vile squealing 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.

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;
    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 would have him help to waste
    His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
    Perhaps I will return immediately:
    Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
    Fast bind, fast find;
    A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

    Exit

JESSICA

    Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
    I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

    Exit

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 4

2010-04-14T14:45:00.001+01:00

The same. A street.

    Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO

LORENZO

    Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
    Disguise us at my lodging and return,
    All in an hour.

GRATIANO

    We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO

    We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO

    'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,
    And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO

    'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
    To furnish us.

    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;
    And whiter than the paper it writ on
    Is the fair hand that writ.

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
    I will not fail her; speak it privately.
    Go, gentlemen,

    Exit Launcelot
    Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
    I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIO

    Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SALANIO

    And so will I.

LORENZO

    Meet me and Gratiano
    At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

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
    How I shall take her from her father's house,
    What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,
    What page's suit she hath in readiness.
    If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
    It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
    And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
    Unless she do it under this excuse,
    That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
    Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
    Fair Jessica shall be my torch-beare r.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 3

2010-04-13T14:44:00.001+01:00

The same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house.

    Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT

JESSICA

    I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
    Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
    Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
    But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:
    And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
    Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
    Give him this letter; do it secretly;
    And so farewell: I would not have my father
    See me in talk with thee.

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
    Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
    To be ashamed to be my father's child!
    But though I am a daughter to his blood,
    I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
    If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
    Become a Christian and thy loving wife.

    Exit

Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 2

2010-04-12T14:43:00.001+01:00

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:
    Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
    And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
    To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
    The follower of so poor a gentleman.

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.
    Take leave of thy old master and inquire
    My lodging out. Give him a livery
    More guarded than his fellows': see it done.

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:
    These things being bought and orderly bestow'd,
    Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
    My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

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;
    Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;
    Parts that become thee happily enough
    And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
    But where thou art not known, why, there they show
    Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
    To allay with some cold drops of modesty
    Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
    I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
    And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO

    Signior Bassanio, hear me:
    If I do not put on a sober habit,
    Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
    Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
    Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
    Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,'
    Use all the observance of civility,
    Like one well studied in a sad ostent
    To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO

    Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO

    Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
    By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO

    No, that were pity:
    I would entreat you rather to put on
    Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
    That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
    I have some business.

GRATIANO

    And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
    But we will visit you at supper-time.

    Exeunt

The Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 1

2010-04-09T14:41:00.001+01:00

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,
    The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
    To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
    Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
    Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
    And let us make incision for your love,
    To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
    I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
    Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swear
    The best-regarded virgins of our clime
    Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
    Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA

    In terms of choice I am not solely led
    By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
    Besides, the lottery of my destiny
    Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
    But if my father had not scanted me
    And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
    His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
    Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair
    As any comer I have look'd on yet
    For my affection.

MOROCCO

    Even for that I thank you:
    Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
    To try my fortune. By this scimitar
    That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
    That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
    I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
    Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
    Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
    Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
    To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
    If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
    Which is the better man, the greater throw
    May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
    So is Alcides beaten by his page;
    And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
    Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
    And die with grieving.

PORTIA

    You must take your chance,
    And either not attempt to choose at all
    Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
    Never to speak to lady afterward
    In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

MOROCCO

    Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA

    First, forward to the temple: after dinner
    Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO

    Good fortune then!
    To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

    Cornets, and exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 1, Scene 3

2010-04-08T14:39:00.001+01:00

Venice. A public place.

    Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK

SHYLOCK

    Three thousand ducats; well.

BASSANIO

    Ay, sir, for three months.

SHYLOCK

    For three months; well.

BASSANIO

    For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

SHYLOCK

    Antonio shall become bound; well.

BASSANIO

    May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I
    know your answer?

SHYLOCK

    Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

BASSANIO

    Your answer to that.

SHYLOCK

    Antonio is a good man.

BASSANIO

    Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCK

    Oh, 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, squandered abroad. But ships
    are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats
    and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I
    mean pirates, and then there is the peril of waters,
    winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
    sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may
    take his bond.

BASSANIO

    Be assured you may.

SHYLOCK

    I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,
    I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

BASSANIO

    If it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCK

    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

BASSANIO

    This is Signior Antonio.

SHYLOCK

    [Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks!
    I hate him for he is a Christian,
    But more for that in low simplicity
    He lends out money gratis and brings down
    The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
    If I can catch him once upon the hip,
    I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
    He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
    Even there where merchants most do congregate,
    On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
    Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
    If I forgive him!

BASSANIO

    Shylock, do you hear?

SHYLOCK

    I am debating of my present store,
    And, by the near guess of my memory,
    I cannot instantly raise up the gross
    Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
    Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
    Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
    Do you desire?

    To ANTONIO
    Rest you fair, good signior;
    Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

ANTONIO

    Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow
    By taking nor by giving of excess,
    Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
    I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd
    How much ye would?

SHYLOCK

    Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

ANTONIO

    And for three months.

SHYLOCK

    I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
    Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
    Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
    Upon advantage.

ANTONIO

    I do never use it.

SHYLOCK

    When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep--
    This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
    As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
    The third possessor; ay, he was the third--

ANTONIO

    And what of him? did he take interest?

SHYLOCK

    No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
    Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
    When Laban and himself were compromised
    That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied
    Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
    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 parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
    This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:
    And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

ANTONIO

    This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;
    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?
    Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?

SHYLOCK

    I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
    But note me, signior.

ANTONIO

    Mark you this, Bassanio,
    The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
    An evil soul producing holy witness
    Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
    A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
    O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

SHYLOCK

    Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum.
    Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate--

ANTONIO

    Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK

    Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
    In the Rialto you have rated me
    About my moneys and my usances:
    Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
    For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
    You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
    And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
    And all for use of that which is mine own.
    Well then, it now appears you need my help:
    Go to, then; you come to me, and you say
    'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so;
    You, that did void your rheum upon my beard
    And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
    Over your threshold: moneys is your suit
    What should I say to you? Should I not say
    'Hath a dog money? is it possible
    A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or
    Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key,
    With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;
    'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
    You spurn'd me such a day; another time
    You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies
    I'll lend you thus much moneys'?

ANTONIO

    I am as like to call thee so again,
    To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
    If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
    As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
    A breed for barren metal of his friend?
    But lend it rather to thine enemy,
    Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
    Exact the penalty.

SHYLOCK

    Why, look you, how you storm!
    I would be friends with you and have your love,
    Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
    Supply your present wants and take no doit
    Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:
    This is kind I offer.

BASSANIO

    This were kindness.

SHYLOCK

    This kindness will I show.
    Go with me to a notary, seal me there
    Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
    If you repay me not on such a day,
    In such a place, such sum or sums as are
    Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
    Be nominated for an equal pound
    Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
    In what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO

    Content, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond
    And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO

    You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
    I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO

    Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
    Within these two months, that's a month before
    This bond expires, I do expect return
    Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

SHYLOCK

    O father Abram, what these Christians are,
    Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
    The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
    If he should break his day, what should I gain
    By the exaction of the forfeiture?
    A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
    Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
    As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
    To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
    If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
    And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIO

    Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK

    Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
    Give him direction for this merry bond,
    And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
    See to my house, left in the fearful guard
    Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
    I will be with you.

ANTONIO

    Hie thee, gentle Jew.

    Exit Shylock
    The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO

    I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

ANTONIO

    Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
    My ships come home a month before the day.

    Exeunt

Merchant of Venice Act 1, Scene 2

2010-04-07T14:38:00.002+01:00

[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

    Portia.
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

Nerissa.
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 starve with nothing. It
      is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
      mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
      competency lives longer.

Portia.
Good sentences and well pronounced.

Nerissa.
They would be better, if well followed.

Portia.
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
      o'er 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 curbed
      by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,
      Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

Nerissa.
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 shall rightly love. But what
      warmth is there in your affection towards any of
      these princely suitors that are already come?

Portia.
I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
      them, I will describe them; and, according to my
      description, level at my affection.

Nerissa.
First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Portia.
Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
      talk of his horse; and he makes it a great
      appropriation to his own good parts, that he can
      shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his
      mother played false with a smith.

Nerissa.
Then there is the County Palatine.

Portia.
He doth nothing but frown, as who should say '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!

Nerissa.
How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

Portia.
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 250
      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.

Nerissa.
What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
      of England?

Portia.
You know I say nothing to him, for he understands 260
      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 pennyworth 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
      behavior every where.

Nerissa.
What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

Portia.
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.

Nerissa.
How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

Portia.
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 a little worse than a man, and
      when he is worst, he is little better than a beast:
      and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall
      make shift to go without him.

Nerissa.
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.

Portia.
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'll be married to a sponge.

Nerissa.
You need not fear, lady, the having any of these
      lords: they have acquainted me with their
      determinations; 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.

Portia.
If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
      chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained 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.

Nerissa.
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?

Portia.
Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

Nerissa.
True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish
      eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

Portia.
I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
      thy praise.
      [Enter a Serving-man]
      How now! what news?

Servant.
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.

Portia.
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 gates
      upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

[Exeunt]

Merchant of Venice Act 1, Scene 1

2010-04-06T09:00:00.003+01:00

Venice. A street.

    Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO

ANTONIO

    In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
    It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
    But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
    What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
    I am to learn;
    And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
    That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINO

    Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
    There, where your argosies with portly sail,
    Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
    Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
    Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
    That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
    As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO

    Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
    The better part of my affections would
    Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
    Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
    Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
    And every object that might make me fear
    Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
    Would make me sad.

SALARINO

    My wind cooling my broth
    Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
    What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
    I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
    But I should think of shallows and of flats,
    And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
    Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
    To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
    And see the holy edifice of stone,
    And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
    Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
    Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
    Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
    And, in a word, but even now worth this,
    And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
    To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
    That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
    But tell not me; I know, Antonio
    Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO

    Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
    My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
    Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
    Upon the fortune of this present year:
    Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO

    Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO

    Fie, fie!

SALARINO

    Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
    Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
    For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
    Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
    Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
    Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
    And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
    And other of such vinegar aspect
    That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
    Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

    Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO

SALANIO

    Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
    Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
    We leave you now with better company.

SALARINO

    I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
    If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO

    Your worth is very dear in my regard.
    I take it, your own business calls on you
    And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO

    Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO

    Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
    You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO

    We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

    Exeunt Salarino and Salanio

LORENZO

    My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
    We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,
    I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO

    I will not fail you.

GRATIANO

    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 changed.

ANTONIO

    I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
    A stage where every man must play a part,
    And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO

    Let me play the fool:
    With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
    And let my liver rather heat with wine
    Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
    Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
    Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
    Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
    By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio--
    I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
    There are a sort of men whose visages
    Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
    And do a wilful stillness entertain,
    With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
    Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
    As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
    And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
    O my Antonio, I do know of these
    That therefore only are reputed wise
    For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
    If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
    Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
    I'll tell thee more of this another time:
    But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
    For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
    Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
    I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO

    Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
    I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
    For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO

    Well, keep me company but two years moe,
    Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO

    Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO

    Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
    In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

    Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO

ANTONIO

    Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO

    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 are not worth the search.

ANTONIO

    Well, tell me now what lady is the same
    To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
    That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO

    '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 abridged
    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.

ANTONIO

    I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
    And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
    Within the eye of honour, be assured,
    My purse, my person, my extremest means,
    Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO

    In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
    I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
    The self-same way with more advised watch,
    To find the other forth, and by adventuring both
    I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
    Because what follows is pure innocence.
    I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
    That which I owe is lost; but if you please
    To shoot another arrow that self way
    Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
    As I will watch the aim, or to find both
    Or bring your latter hazard back again
    And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO

    You know me well, and herein spend but time
    To wind about my love with circumstance;
    And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
    In making question of my uttermost
    Than if you had made waste of all I have:
    Then do but say to me what I should do
    That in your knowledge may by me be done,
    And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO

    In Belmont is a lady richly left;
    And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
    Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
    I did receive fair speechless messages:
    Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
    To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
    Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
    For the four winds blow in from every coast
    Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
    Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
    Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
    And many Jasons come in quest of her.
    O my Antonio, had I but the means
    To hold a rival place with one of them,
    I have a mind presages me such thrift,
    That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIO

    Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
    Neither 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.

    Exeunt
    SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

    Enter PORTIA and NERISSA

PORTIA

    By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
    this great world.

NERISSA

    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 starve with nothing. It
    is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
    mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
    competency lives longer.

PORTIA

    Good sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSA

    They would be better, if well followed.

PORTIA

    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
    o'er 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 curbed
    by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,
    Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

NERISSA

    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 shall rightly love. But what
    warmth is there in your affection towards any of
    these princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIA

    I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
    them, I will describe them; and, according to my
    description, level at my affection.

NERISSA

    First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

PORTIA

    Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
    talk of his horse; and he makes it a great
    appropriation to his own good parts, that he can
    shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his
    mother played false with a smith.

NERISSA

    Then there is the County Palatine.

PORTIA

    He doth nothing but frown, as who should say '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!

NERISSA

    How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIA

    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.

NERISSA

    What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
    of England?

PORTIA

    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 pennyworth 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
    behavior every where.

NERISSA

    What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

PORTIA

    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.

NERISSA

    How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

PORTIA

    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 a little worse than a man, and
    when he is worst, he is little better than a beast:
    and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall
    make shift to go without him.

NERISSA

    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.

PORTIA

    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'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSA

    You need not fear, lady, the having any of these
    lords: they have acquainted me with their
    determinations; 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.

PORTIA

    If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
    chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained 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.

NERISSA

    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?

PORTIA

    Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

NERISSA

    True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish
    eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

PORTIA

    I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
    thy praise.

    Enter a Serving-man
    How now! what news?

Servant

    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.

PORTIA

    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 gates
    upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

    Exeunt

King Lear Act 5, Scene 3

2010-04-05T14:06:00.000+01:00

The British camp near Dover.

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND, KING LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Captain, Soldiers, & c

EDMUND

Some officers take them away: good guard,
Until their greater pleasures first be known
That are to censure them.

CORDELIA

We are not the first
Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

KING LEAR

No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;
And take upon's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

EDMUND

Take them away.

KING LEAR

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell,
Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em starve
first. Come.

Exeunt KING LEAR and CORDELIA, guarded

EDMUND

Come hither, captain; hark.
Take thou this note;

Giving a paper
go follow them to prison:
One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men
Are as the time is: to be tender-minded
Does not become a sword: thy great employment
Will not bear question; either say thou'lt do 't,
Or thrive by other means.

Captain

I'll do 't, my lord.

EDMUND

About it; and write happy when thou hast done.
Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so
As I have set it down.

Captain

I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;
If it be man's work, I'll do 't.

Exit

Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, another Captain, and Soldiers

ALBANY

Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
And fortune led you well: you have the captives
That were the opposites of this day's strife:
We do require them of you, so to use them
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.

EDMUND

Sir, I thought it fit
To send the old and miserable king
To some retention and appointed guard;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
To pluck the common bosom on his side,
An turn our impress'd lances in our eyes
Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;
My reason all the same; and they are ready
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
Where you shall hold your session. At this time
We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed
By those that feel their sharpness:
The question of Cordelia and her father
Requires a fitter place.

ALBANY

Sir, by your patience,
I hold you but a subject of this war,
Not as a brother.

REGAN

That's as we list to grace him.
Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded,
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;
Bore the commission of my place and person;
The which immediacy may well stand up,
And call itself your brother.

GONERIL

Not so hot:
In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
More than in your addition.

REGAN

In my rights,
By me invested, he compeers the best.

GONERIL

That were the most, if he should husband you.

REGAN

Jesters do oft prove prophets.

GONERIL

Holla, holla!
That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.

REGAN

Lady, I am not well; else I should answer
From a full-flowing stomach. General,
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master.

GONERIL

Mean you to enjoy him?

ALBANY

The let-alone lies not in your good will.

EDMUND

Nor in thine, lord.

ALBANY

Half-blooded fellow, yes.

REGAN

[To EDMUND] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

ALBANY

Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee
On capital treason; and, in thine attaint,
This gilded serpent

Pointing to Goneril
For your claim, fair sister,
I bar it in the interest of my wife:
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
If you will marry, make your loves to me,
My lady is bespoke.

GONERIL

An interlude!

ALBANY

Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound:
If none appear to prove upon thy head
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
There is my pledge;

Throwing down a glove
I'll prove it on thy heart,
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
Than I have here proclaim'd thee.

REGAN

Sick, O, sick!

GONERIL

[Aside] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.

EDMUND

There's my exchange:

Throwing down a glove
what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies:
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.

ALBANY

A herald, ho!

EDMUND

A herald, ho, a herald!

ALBANY

Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.

REGAN

My sickness grows upon me.

ALBANY

She is not well; convey her to my tent.

Exit Regan, led

Enter a Herald
Come hither, herald,--Let the trumpet sound,
And read out this.

Captain

Sound, trumpet!

A trumpet sounds

Herald

[Reads] 'If any man of quality or degree within
the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund,
supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold
traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the
trumpet: he is bold in his defence.'

EDMUND

Sound!

First trumpet

Herald

Again!

Second trumpet

Herald

Again!

Third trumpet

Trumpet answers within

Enter EDGAR, at the third sound, armed, with a trumpet before him

ALBANY

Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o' the trumpet.

Herald

What are you?
Your name, your quality? and why you answer
This present summons?

EDGAR

Know, my name is lost;
By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:
Yet am I noble as the adversary
I come to cope.

ALBANY

Which is that adversary?

EDGAR

What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?

EDMUND

Himself: what say'st thou to him?

EDGAR

Draw thy sword,
That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
My oath, and my profession: I protest,
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince;
And, from the extremest upward of thy head
To the descent and dust below thy foot,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,'
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.

EDMUND

In wisdom I should ask thy name;
But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,
This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!

Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls

ALBANY

Save him, save him!

GONERIL

This is practise, Gloucester:
By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguiled.

ALBANY

Shut your mouth, dame,
Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:
No tearing, lady: I perceive you know it.

Gives the letter to EDMUND

GONERIL

Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
Who can arraign me for't.

ALBANY

Most monstrous! oh!
Know'st thou this paper?

GONERIL

Ask me not what I know.

Exit

ALBANY

Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.

EDMUND

What you have charged me with, that have I done;
And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
I do forgive thee.

EDGAR

Let's exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes.

EDMUND

Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;
The wheel is come full circle: I am here.

ALBANY

Methought thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee:
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee or thy father!

EDGAR

Worthy prince, I know't.

ALBANY

Where have you hid yourself?
How have you known the miseries of your father?

EDGAR

By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;
And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!
The bloody proclamation to escape,
That follow'd me so near,--O, our lives' sweetness!
That we the pain of death would hourly die
Rather than die at once!--taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost: became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair;
Never,--O fault!--reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd:
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
Alack, too weak the conflict to support!
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.

EDMUND

This speech of yours hath moved me,
And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;
You look as you had something more to say.

ALBANY

If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.

EDGAR

This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow; but another,
To amplify too much, would make much more,
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms
He fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'ld burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
That ever ear received: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant and the strings of life
Began to crack: twice then the trumpets sounded,
And there I left him tranced.

ALBANY

But who was this?

EDGAR

Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife

Gentleman

Help, help, O, help!

EDGAR

What kind of help?

ALBANY

Speak, man.

EDGAR

What means that bloody knife?

Gentleman

'Tis hot, it smokes;
It came even from the heart of--O, she's dead!

ALBANY

Who dead? speak, man.

Gentleman

Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.

EDMUND

I was contracted to them both: all three
Now marry in an instant.

EDGAR

Here comes Kent.

ALBANY

Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
Touches us not with pity.

Exit Gentleman

Enter KENT
O, is this he?
The time will not allow the compliment
Which very manners urges.

KENT

I am come
To bid my king and master aye good night:
Is he not here?

ALBANY

Great thing of us forgot!
Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?
See'st thou this object, Kent?

The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in

KENT

Alack, why thus?

EDMUND

Yet Edmund was beloved:
The one the other poison'd for my sake,
And after slew herself.

ALBANY

Even so. Cover their faces.

EDMUND

I pant for life: some good I mean to do,
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,
Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:
Nay, send in time.

ALBANY

Run, run, O, run!

EDGAR

To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send
Thy token of reprieve.

EDMUND

Well thought on: take my sword,
Give it the captain.

ALBANY

Haste thee, for thy life.

Exit EDGAR

EDMUND

He hath commission from thy wife and me
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair,
That she fordid herself.

ALBANY

The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.

EDMUND is borne off

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.

KENT

Is this the promised end

EDGAR

Or image of that horror?

ALBANY

Fall, and cease!

KING LEAR

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.

KENT

[Kneeling] O my good master!

KING LEAR

Prithee, away.

EDGAR

'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

KING LEAR

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.

Captain

'Tis true, my lords, he did.

KING LEAR

Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.

KENT

If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,
One of them we behold.

KING LEAR

This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?

KENT

The same,
Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?

KING LEAR

He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.

KENT

No, my good lord; I am the very man,--

KING LEAR

I'll see that straight.

KENT

That, from your first of difference and decay,
Have follow'd your sad steps.

KING LEAR

You are welcome hither.

KENT

Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark, and deadly.
Your eldest daughters have fordone them selves,
And desperately are dead.

KING LEAR

Ay, so I think.

ALBANY

He knows not what he says: and vain it is
That we present us to him.

EDGAR

Very bootless.

Enter a Captain

Captain

Edmund is dead, my lord.

ALBANY

That's but a trifle here.
You lords and noble friends, know our intent.
What comfort to this great decay may come
Shall be applied: for us we will resign,
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power:

To EDGAR and KENT
you, to your rights:
With boot, and such addition as your honours
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there!

Dies

EDGAR

He faints! My lord, my lord!

KENT

Break, heart; I prithee, break!

EDGAR

Look up, my lord.

KENT

Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him much
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

EDGAR

He is gone, indeed.

KENT

The wonder is, he hath endured so long:
He but usurp'd his life.

ALBANY

Bear them from hence. Our present business
Is general woe.

To KENT and EDGAR
Friends of my soul, you twain
Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.

KENT

I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls me, I must not say no.

ALBANY

The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

Exeunt, with a dead march

King Lear Act 5, Scene 2

2010-04-02T14:05:00.000+01:00

A field between the two camps.

Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours, KING LEAR, CORDELIA, and Soldiers, over the stage; and exeunt

Enter EDGAR and GLOUCESTER

EDGAR

Here, father, take the shadow of this tree
For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring you comfort.

GLOUCESTER

Grace go with you, sir!

Exit EDGAR

Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR

EDGAR

Away, old man; give me thy hand; away!
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:
Give me thy hand; come on.

GLOUCESTER

No farther, sir; a man may rot even here.

EDGAR

What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
Ripeness is all: come on.

GLOUCESTER

And that's true too.

Exeunt

King Lear Act 5, Scene 1

2010-04-01T14:04:00.000+01:00

The British camp, near Dover.

Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN, Gentlemen, and Soldiers.

EDMUND

Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,
Or whether since he is advised by aught
To change the course: he's full of alteration
And self-reproving: bring his constant pleasure.

To a Gentleman, who goes out

REGAN

Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

EDMUND

'Tis to be doubted, madam.

REGAN

Now, sweet lord,
You know the goodness I intend upon you:
Tell me--but truly--but then speak the truth,
Do you not love my sister?

EDMUND

In honour'd love.

REGAN

But have you never found my brother's way
To the forfended place?

EDMUND

That thought abuses you.

REGAN

I am doubtful that you have been conjunct
And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.

EDMUND

No, by mine honour, madam.

REGAN

I never shall endure her: dear my lord,
Be not familiar with her.

EDMUND

Fear me not:
She and the duke her husband!

Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers

GONERIL

[Aside] I had rather lose the battle than that sister
Should loosen him and me.

ALBANY

Our very loving sister, well be-met.
Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daughter,
With others whom the rigor of our state
Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
I never yet was valiant: for this business,
It toucheth us, as France invades our land,
Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.

EDMUND

Sir, you speak nobly.

REGAN

Why is this reason'd?

GONERIL

Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
For these domestic and particular broils
Are not the question here.

ALBANY

Let's then determine
With the ancient of war on our proceedings.

EDMUND

I shall attend you presently at your tent.

REGAN

Sister, you'll go with us?

GONERIL

No.

REGAN

'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.

GONERIL

[Aside] O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.

As they are going out, enter EDGAR disguised

EDGAR

If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
Hear me one word.

ALBANY

I'll overtake you. Speak.

Exeunt all but ALBANY and EDGAR

EDGAR

Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,
I can produce a champion that will prove
What is avouched there. If you miscarry,
Your business of the world hath so an end,
And machination ceases. Fortune love you.

ALBANY

Stay till I have read the letter.

EDGAR

I was forbid it.
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
And I'll appear again.

ALBANY

Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper.

Exit EDGAR

Re-enter EDMUND

EDMUND

The enemy's in view; draw up your powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
By diligent discovery; but your haste
Is now urged on you.

ALBANY

We will greet the time.

Exit

EDMUND

To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd,
If both remain alive: to take the widow
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
And hardly shall I carry out my side,
Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use
His countenance for the battle; which being done,
Let her who would be rid of him devise
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,
The battle done, and they within our power,
Shall never see his pardon; for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate.

Exit

King Lear Act 4, Scene 7

2010-03-31T14:03:00.000+01:00

A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep,

soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.

Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor

CORDELIA

O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.

KENT

To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

CORDELIA

Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I prithee, put them off.

KENT

Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not
Till time and I think meet.

CORDELIA

Then be't so, my good lord.

To the Doctor
How does the king?

Doctor

Madam, sleeps still.

CORDELIA

O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Doctor

So please your majesty
That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.

CORDELIA

Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gentleman

Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep
We put fresh garments on him.

Doctor

Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.

CORDELIA

Very well.

Doctor

Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!

CORDELIA

O my dear father! Restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

KENT

Kind and dear princess!

CORDELIA

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face
To be opposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch--poor perdu!--
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.

Doctor

Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

CORDELIA

How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

KING LEAR

You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like moulten lead.

CORDELIA

Sir, do you know me?

KING LEAR

You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

CORDELIA

Still, still, far wide!

Doctor

He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

KING LEAR

Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity,
To see another thus. I know not what to say.
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured
Of my condition!

CORDELIA

O, look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
No, sir, you must not kneel.

KING LEAR

Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
And, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.

CORDELIA

And so I am, I am.

KING LEAR

Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

CORDELIA

No cause, no cause.

KING LEAR

Am I in France?

KENT

In your own kingdom, sir.

KING LEAR

Do not abuse me.

Doctor

Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
Till further settling.

CORDELIA

Will't please your highness walk?

KING LEAR

You must bear with me:
Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.

Exeunt all but KENT and Gentleman

Gentleman

Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

KENT

Most certain, sir.

Gentleman

Who is conductor of his people?

KENT

As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

Gentleman

They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl
of Kent in Germany.

KENT

Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about; the
powers of the kingdom approach apace.

Gentleman

The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you
well, sir.

Exit

KENT

My point and period will be throughly wrought,
Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.

Exit

King Lear Act 4, Scene 6

2010-03-30T14:01:00.000+01:00

Fields near Dover.

Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant

GLOUCESTER

When shall we come to the top of that same hill?

EDGAR

You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.

GLOUCESTER

Methinks the ground is even.

EDGAR

Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?

GLOUCESTER

No, truly.

EDGAR

Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.

GLOUCESTER

So may it be, indeed:
Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

EDGAR

You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed
But in my garments.

GLOUCESTER

Methinks you're better spoken.

EDGAR

Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

GLOUCESTER

Set me where you stand.

EDGAR

Give me your hand: you are now within a foot
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.

GLOUCESTER

Let go my hand.
Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

EDGAR

Now fare you well, good sir.

GLOUCESTER

With all my heart.

EDGAR

Why I do trifle thus with his despair
Is done to cure it.

GLOUCESTER

[Kneeling] O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well.

He falls forward

EDGAR

Gone, sir: farewell.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself
Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead?
Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak!
Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.
What are you, sir?

GLOUCESTER

Away, and let me die.

EDGAR

Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.

GLOUCESTER

But have I fall'n, or no?

EDGAR

From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

GLOUCESTER

Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness deprived that benefit,
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.

EDGAR

Give me your arm:
Up: so. How is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand.

GLOUCESTER

Too well, too well.

EDGAR

This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that
Which parted from you?

GLOUCESTER

A poor unfortunate beggar.

EDGAR

As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea:
It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours
Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.

GLOUCESTER

I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction till it do cry out itself
'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say
'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that place.

EDGAR

Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?

Enter KING LEAR, fantastically dressed with wild flowers
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.

KING LEAR

No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the
king himself.

EDGAR

O thou side-piercing sight!

KING LEAR

Nature's above art in that respect. There's your
press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look,
look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted
cheese will do 't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove
it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well
flown, bird! i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh!
Give the word.

EDGAR

Sweet marjoram.

KING LEAR

Pass.

GLOUCESTER

I know that voice.

KING LEAR

Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered
me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my
beard ere the black ones were there. To say 'ay'
and 'no' to every thing that I said!--'Ay' and 'no'
too was no good divinity. When the rain came to
wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when
the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I
found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are
not men o' their words: they told me I was every
thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

GLOUCESTER

The trick of that voice I do well remember:
Is 't not the king?

KING LEAR

Ay, every inch a king:
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? Adultery?
Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:
The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly
Does lecher in my sight.
Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son
Was kinder to his father than my daughters
Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
To 't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.
Behold yond simpering dame,
Whose face between her forks presages snow;
That minces virtue, and does shake the head
To hear of pleasure's name;
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't
With a more riotous appetite.
Down from the waist they are Centaurs,
Though women all above:
But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
Beneath is all the fiends';
There's hell, there's darkness, there's the
sulphurous pit,
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie,
fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet,
good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:
there's money for thee.

GLOUCESTER

O, let me kiss that hand!

KING LEAR

Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

GLOUCESTER

O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?

KING LEAR

I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny
at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not
love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the
penning of it.

GLOUCESTER

Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

EDGAR

I would not take this from report; it is,
And my heart breaks at it.

KING LEAR

Read.

GLOUCESTER

What, with the case of eyes?

KING LEAR

O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in
a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how
this world goes.

GLOUCESTER

I see it feelingly.

KING LEAR

What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes
with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond
justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in
thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which
is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen
a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

GLOUCESTER

Ay, sir.

KING LEAR

And the creature run from the cur? There thou
mightst behold the great image of authority: a
dog's obeyed in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:
Pull off my boots: harder, harder: so.

EDGAR

O, matter and impertinency mix'd! Reason in madness!

KING LEAR

If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester:
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.

GLOUCESTER

Alack, alack the day!

KING LEAR

When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools: this a good block;
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
A troop of horse with felt: I'll put 't in proof;
And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants

Gentleman

O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,
Your most dear daughter--

KING LEAR

No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;
I am cut to the brains.

Gentleman

You shall have any thing.

KING LEAR

No seconds? all myself?
Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
Ay, and laying autumn's dust.

Gentleman

Good sir,--

KING LEAR

I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!
I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,
My masters, know you that.

Gentleman

You are a royal one, and we obey you.

KING LEAR

Then there's life in't. Nay, if you get it, you
shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

Exit running; Attendants follow

Gentleman

A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.

EDGAR

Hail, gentle sir.

Gentleman

Sir, speed you: what's your will?

EDGAR

Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Gentleman

Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,
Which can distinguish sound.

EDGAR

But, by your favour,
How near's the other army?

Gentleman

Near and on speedy foot; the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.

EDGAR

I thank you, sir: that's all.

Gentleman

Though that the queen on special cause is here,
Her army is moved on.

EDGAR

I thank you, sir.

Exit Gentleman

GLOUCESTER

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please!

EDGAR

Well pray you, father.

GLOUCESTER

Now, good sir, what are you?

EDGAR

A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.

GLOUCESTER

Hearty thanks:
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!

Enter OSWALD

OSWALD

A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out
That must destroy thee.

GLOUCESTER

Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't.

EDGAR interposes

OSWALD

Wherefore, bold peasant,
Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;
Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

EDGAR

Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

OSWALD

Let go, slave, or thou diest!

EDGAR

Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk
pass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered out of my life,
'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.
Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vor
ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be
the harder: ch'ill be plain with you.

OSWALD

Out, dunghill!

EDGAR

Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor
your foins.

They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down

OSWALD

Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse:
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
Upon the British party: O, untimely death!

Dies

EDGAR

I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
As badness would desire.

GLOUCESTER

What, is he dead?

EDGAR

Sit you down, father; rest you
Let's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death's-man. Let us see:
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful.

Reads
'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
many opportunities to cut him off: if your will
want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror:
then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from
the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply
the place for your labour.
'Your--wife, so I would say--
'Affectionate servant,
'GONERIL.'
O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death practised duke: for him 'tis well
That of thy death and business I can tell.

GLOUCESTER

The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
And woes by wrong imaginations lose
The knowledge of themselves.

EDGAR

Give me your hand:

Drum afar off
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

Exeunt