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THE NUTSHEI^ LIBRARY 
 
 Edited by Sherwin Cody- 
 Assisted by Prof. Edward Dowden, LIj. D., D. 
 O. 1i., of Dublin University, Prof. Richard Moul- 
 ton of Chicago University, and others. 
 
 Printed on high-grade book paper, -with spe- 
 cial ink and careful press-work, from new plates. 
 
 Two- color title-page, half-tone frontispiece, 
 decorated front end- sheet. 
 
 The Nutshell Library is designed to give the 
 cream of modern literature in clearly printed lit- 
 tle volumes that may be carried in the pocket and 
 read in an evening. They are books that any man 
 who cares to read will buy and place beside his 
 standard complete editions. He will point with 
 pride to his standard editions : he will read the 
 Nutshell Library. 
 
 Poetry is represented by favorite poems. There 
 are comparatively few poems in any popular poet 
 which we care to read more than once, but these 
 few we will read again and again. Great care 
 has been made in selecting the volumes of poems 
 in the Nutshell Library, and the best literary 
 judgment has been called upon, but the needs of 
 the average reader have determined the final 
 choice. 
 
ii THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY 
 
 Essays and short stories have been treated in 
 the same way. 
 
 Novels have been presented in a unique fashion 
 that the editor believes will become highly popu- 
 lar. It takes twenty-five hours to read Vanity 
 Fair, pronouncing the words at the highest rate 
 of speed the human voice is capable of. But if 
 the reader has only an evening to give to the book 
 he will find in "Two Hours with Vanity Fair" 
 just those parts he would wish to read again 
 after he had read the entire book thoughtfully. 
 There is enough of the plot to make everything 
 clear and to keep up the interest, all the impor- 
 tant characters are introduced in the author's own 
 language, and the witty, the grand, the stirring, 
 the amusing scenes are given nearly complete. 
 
 The author of each great work is presented to 
 the reader in a chatty biographical introduction, 
 that gives all the essential facts of the author's 
 life, and places him on a footing of personal ac- 
 quaintance with the reader. These introductions 
 double the value of the books, for to study an 
 author is the best way to know his works. 
 
THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY m 
 
 The books will be issued eight at a time. The 
 following titles are in preparation : , 
 
 Shakspere — Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Longfellow — Favorite Poems and Courtship of 
 
 Miles Standish. 
 Scott — Tzvo Hours With Ivanhoe (a complete 
 
 outline of the plot as setting for the great scenes 
 
 and favorite chapters.) 
 Irving — Rip Van Winkle, Legend of Sleepy Hol- 
 low, etc. 
 Hawthorne — Two Hours With the Scarlet Letter. 
 Poe — Poems, The Gold-Bug, Murder in the Rue 
 
 Morgue, etc. 
 Holmes — Two Hours With the Autocrat (favorite 
 
 poems and best scenes from the Autocrat of the 
 
 Breakfast Table.) 
 Longfellow — Evangeline. 
 
 Dickens — The Christmas Carol, and other stories. 
 Dickens — Two Hours With Pickwick. 
 Thackeray — Two Hours With Vanity Fair. 
 Tennyson — Favorite poems. 
 Franklin — His life, told from his Autobiography, 
 
 and Sayings of Poor Richard. 
 Lincoln — Life, with short outline of the Civil 
 
iv THE NUTSHELL LIBRARY 
 
 War (a popular biography of America's favorite 
 
 hero). 
 Kipling — His most popular poems, and stories 
 
 from Soldiers Three. 
 Lamb — Essay on Roast Pig, and other favorite 
 
 essays. 
 
SHAKSP€R€ 
 
 TH€ KKRCHANT 
 OF V6NICG 
 
JTtzszr 
 
 71953 ,a*£4 
 
 Copyright 1900, by Sherwin Cody. 
 
 ji- ibiwuy of Con« 
 
 NOV 7 1900 
 
 Cofjngftt entry 
 
 SECtf WD COPY. 
 OttOtH CftVBION, 
 
 DEC 13 1900 
 
 Mote. The text used in this edition is based on the Globe 
 Edition of W. G. Clark and W. Aldis Wnght, but alterations 
 have been made where those estimable editors have seemed 
 to adhere too closely to the probable misprints of the earlier 
 editions. 
 
 For convenience in reference, the numbering of the lines in 
 the Globe Edition has been adopted, except in the prose pas- 
 sages, where the numbers have been omitted. 
 
Shakspere. 
 
 SHAKSPERE THE BEGINNING OF MODERN LITERATURE. 
 
 Modern literature begins with Shakspere. 
 When Homer wrote he embodied in his work the 
 best that had been thought and felt in the world 
 until his time. So Virgil, Dante, and Chaucer 
 were each the sum of the best that had preceded 
 them. This is true of Shakspere in still greater 
 degree. Shakspere gives us the best in thought 
 and feeling to be found anywhere in the world 
 before his time. We might almost say that when 
 we have read him we do not need to read Homer 
 or Virgil or Dante, for in our reading of Shak- 
 spere we have already become familiar with their 
 best thoughts. 
 
 From another point of view Shakspere is the 
 beginning of modern literature. He is the oldest 
 writer whose work we can read in the language 
 in which it was written. The English of four 
 hundred years ago is antiquated ; yet we can read 
 the English of Shakspere and understand it with- 
 out the help of a translator. The work of every 
 writer before Shakspere is practically buried to 
 us: we must read it through translations, or else 
 by giving years to the study of the language in 
 
2 SHAKSPERE 
 
 which it is written. Such language and such lit- 
 erature may appropriately enough be called dead. 
 But Shakspere is fully alive to any one who will 
 read him with care. In this sense, therefore, he 
 marks the beginning of modern literature. 
 
 But even if he were not first in point of time, 
 he would be the starting point from which we 
 would reckon in all our study of modern litera- 
 ture, or any literature, because he is the greatest. 
 To the student of modern literature, therefore, 
 Shakspere must always be, like Greenwich, the 
 prime meridian, from which literary longitude is 
 reckoned east and west, the world over. 
 
 WHAT WE KNOW OF THE MAN. 
 
 We naturally wish to know something of the 
 man who thus stands head and shoulders above 
 all the other men of literature in the world's his- 
 tory. Who was he? What was he? What did 
 he do? 
 
 All we know of the life of Shakspere is what 
 has been gathered from church records, town rec- 
 ords, account books, and very brief references to 
 him in the works of his contemporaries. Tradi- 
 tion has preserved some few stories about him; 
 but no one thought of writing his life till he had 
 been dead many years. 
 
 BIRTH OF SHAKSPERE. 
 
 William Shakspere was born at Stratford, on 
 the river Avon, in Warwickshire, England. At 
 <v at time it was a town of 1,400 inhabitants — in 
 
HIS LIFE 3 
 
 short, a country village ; but it was located in one 
 of the most picturesque and beautiful regions 
 imaginable, the very heart of England. 
 
 The date of his birth we do not know. The 
 church record shows that he was christened or 
 baptized April 26, 1564. There is a tradition that 
 the date of his death was the date of his birth — 
 April 23 old style, or May 3 new style. 
 
 shakspere's parents. 
 
 John, the father of William Shakspere, was a 
 well-to-do burgess of Stratford. He was a 
 farmer, and he made and sold gloves. In time 
 he rose to fill the posts of chamberlain, alderman, 
 and high bailiff. 
 
 William's mother, Mary Arden, belonged to a 
 family of landed gentry dating back to a time be- 
 fore the Conquest. Her father had died, and she 
 brought her husband considerable property. 
 
 William was the oldest of the family, though 
 two baby girls had died before his birth. There 
 were a sister and two brothers younger than him- 
 self. One brother was -an actor and died in 1607. 
 The older brother and the sister outlived their 
 famous relative. 
 
 SCHOOLING. 
 
 Shakspere's father could not write his own 
 name ; but his son must have had some education. 
 His fellow playwright, Ben Jonson, describes his 
 learning as "small Latin and less Greek." There 
 was a Free Grammar School at Stratford, in 
 
4 SHAKSPERE 
 
 which presumably Latin, Greek, and mathematics 
 were taught, as well as other studies usually re- 
 quired in preparation for the universities. To 
 this school John Shakspere, now in the height of 
 his prosperity, doubtless sent his eldest son until 
 he was fifteen or sixteen. 
 
 PLAYERS AT STRATFORD. 
 
 It appears in the town records that during the 
 period of Shakspere's boyhood, say from the ages 
 of ten to fifteen, the chamberlain of Stratford 
 paid sums of money to "the Earl of Leicester's 
 players," "my Lord of Warwick's players," and 
 "the Earl of Worcester's players." During this 
 period John Shakspere had become chief alder- 
 man, and no doubt he, like the town of Stratford 
 which he represented, welcomed and patronized 
 the dramatic fraternity. Moreover, in 1575 Queen 
 Elizabeth visited Kenilworth, which was within 
 walking distance of Stratford, and we may well 
 believe that Shakspere, a boy of eleven, was taken 
 to see the magnificent shows with which Leicester 
 welcomed his royal mistress, whose husband he 
 hoped to be. In A Midsummer Night's Dream 
 Oberon describes some of these shows with such 
 accuracy that we cannot help supposing that the 
 author of the play had witnessed those wonderful 
 exhibitions at Kenilworth, the talk of England 
 for many a year afterward. 
 
HIS LIFE 5 
 
 THE FAMILY FORTUNES DECLINE. 
 
 Until 1578 John Shakspere seems to have been 
 a prosperous and wealthy man, but now we find 
 him mortgaging his wife's farm; then he is not 
 required to pay the weekly levy for the relief of 
 the poor; his borough taxes for 1579 are entered 
 as "unpaid and unaccounted for." Finally he 
 sells his wife's property; but his case grows only 
 the worse. Six years later, on a writ to seize his 
 goods for debt, return is made that John Shak- 
 spere has nothing in which he is "able to be dis- 
 trained." He is also deprived of his office as 
 alderman because he "doth not come to the hall, 
 nor hath not done of long time." He was even 
 arrested and had to sue out a writ of habeas cor- 
 pus. Even so late as 1592 the commission ap- 
 pointed to investigate the conformity of the peo- 
 ple of Warwickshire to the established religion 
 notes the failure of John Shakspere to appear 
 monthly at church, and sets it down to the fear 
 of "processe of debt." From this period his for- 
 tunes steadily improve until his death in 1601. 
 This change in the tide of his financial affairs we 
 may safely attribute to the success of his son as a 
 dramatist. We may guess from this, also, that 
 1592 is the date which marks the beginning of 
 Shakspere's popularity. 
 
 shakspere's youth. 
 What the future dramatist did between the time 
 at which he left school, presumably on account 
 
6 SHAKSPERE 
 
 of the decline of his father's fortunes, and the 
 date of his marriage, we do not know. There is 
 one tradition that he was apprenticed to a butcher, 
 another that he was a country schoolmaster, and 
 some suppose, from the accuracy of his legal allu- 
 sions, that he spent some time in an attorney's 
 office. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 All we actually know of this period is that at 
 the age of eighteen he married Anne Hathaway, 
 the daughter of a yeoman, at Shottery, a hamlet 
 near Stratford. License was granted by the 
 bishop of Worcester in November, 1582, for a 
 marriage upon once asking of the bans ; and their 
 first child was baptized May 26, 1583. The wife 
 was eight years older than her husband, and the 
 irregularities revealed by the dates suggest some- 
 thing more than a little wildness in the young 
 man's character. In 1585 William Shakspere be- 
 came the father of twins, Hamnet and Judith. 
 The son Hamnet died in 1596; the daughter is 
 mentioned in his will. 
 
 DEER- STEALING. 
 
 We have no certain information ' concerning 
 Shakspere from the year 1585, when his twin 
 children were born, to 1592, when the dramatist 
 Greene alludes in bitter terms to the rising play- 
 wright, who has become his rival. Tradition 
 has it that he was obliged to leave Stratford be- 
 cause of a deer-stealing escapade. According to 
 this story, the young poet made some verses on 
 
HIS LIFE 7 
 
 Sir Thomas Lucy, whose estate of Charlcote was 
 near Stratford and who had been irritated by 
 the robbing of his deer-close. One verse only of 
 the poem has this tradition preserved, but its 
 reference to "lowsie Lucy" is sufficiently insulting 
 to account for Sir Thomas' ire. Sir Thomas 
 Lucy was a member of Parliament, of the Puritan 
 party, and about this time is known to have in- 
 troduced into Parliament a bill for the preserva- 
 tion of game. In The Merry Wives of Wind- 
 sor Shakspere makes Justice Shallow complain 
 that Sir John Falstaff had broken open his lodge 
 and killed his deer; moreover, there are "luces" 
 in the Shallow coat-of-arms. The Welsh parson 
 misunderstands this word and says, "the dozen 
 white louses do become an old coat well" — a bit 
 of gentle revenge which we may imagine the suc- 
 cessful dramatist taking in this play written 
 especially at the request of the Queen. 
 
 GOES UP TO LONDON. 
 
 In 1587 the "Queen's Players" were at Strat- 
 ford, and possibly Shakspere went back to Lon- 
 don with the company. There is a tradition that 
 he began life in the great city by holding horses 
 outside the doors of the theatres. The fact is, 
 however, that we have no knowledge at all as to 
 how he got his start in the dramatic world. The 
 first record we have is the allusion made by 
 Robert Greene in his Greenes Groatsworth of Wit 
 bought with a Million of Repentance. This was 
 a pamphlet published immediately after Greene's 
 
8 SHAKSPERE 
 
 death by his executor, Henry Chettle. The play- 
 wright on his deathbed warns certain of his author 
 friends against putting their trust in players : 
 "Yes, trust them not:" says he; "for there is an 
 upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that 
 with his tygers heart wrapt in a players hide, sup- 
 poses he is as well able to bumbast out a blank 
 verse as the best of you : and being an absolute 
 Johannes factotum, is in his owne conceit the 
 onely Shakescene in a country." The words "a 
 tygers heart wrapt in a players hide" are a parody 
 on a line from the Third Part of Henry VI., 
 
 Oh tygers heart wrapt in a woman's hide. 
 Shakspere had recast this play from a preceding 
 play entitled The True Tragedie of Richard, Duke 
 of York, of which Greene may himself have been 
 the author, and from which, at any rate, Shaks- 
 pere has borrowed the line referred to. 
 
 A few months later, in December, 1592, a 
 pamphlet entitled Kind-Harts Dream, by Henry 
 Chettle, appeared. It seems that Shakspere and 
 Marlowe had taken offence at the references in 
 Greenes Groatsworth. Replying to these Chettle 
 says that as for one of them (Marlowe), while he 
 reverences his learning he has nothing to answer 
 for, and cares not ever to make his acquaintance. 
 Then he goes on: "The other [Shakspere] 
 whome at that time I did not so much spare as 
 since I wish I had. ... I am as sory as if 
 the originall fault had beene my fault, because 
 my selfe have seene his demeanor no lesse civill, 
 than he exelent in the qualitie he professes; be- 
 
HIS LIFE 9 
 
 sides, divers of worship have reported his up- 
 rightnes of dealing, which argues his honesty, 
 and his facetious grace in writing, that approoves 
 his art." ("Qualitie" was used of the actor's 
 profession, and this is a compliment to Shakspere 
 as an actor. "Facetious" means felicitous, 
 happy.) 
 
 SHAKSPERE AT THE AGE OF 28. 
 
 A careful study of these references to Shak- 
 spere does not, I think, warrant us in saying more 
 than that in perhaps five years' time Shakspere 
 had won for himself a respectable standing as an 
 actor, and that he had rewritten the plays of 
 others. Greene's - ath is far more likely to 
 arise from the fact that Shakspere had remodelled 
 one of his plays, to his loss and discredit, than 
 that the young dramatist was proving a successful 
 rival with original plays. 
 
 We also see that Shakspere is a "good fellow," 1 
 a gentleman, and an actor and author of parts. 
 He has just come on to the broad stage of public 
 life ; and he is bearing himself modestly and well. 
 
 FIRST PUBLISHED POEMS. 
 
 Precisely what success, if any in particular, 
 brought Shakspere into notice in 1592 we cannot 
 say. But evidently fortune's tide had turned in 
 his favor in this year, and not only is he able to 
 help his father out of debt, but he begins to think 
 seriously of winning literary reputation. In 1593 
 Venus and Adonis, "the first heire of my inven- 
 
10 SHAKSPERE 
 
 tion," as he calls it, was published with a dedi- 
 cation to the Earl of Southampton. This young 
 lord was nine years his junior; but evidently the 
 two were excellent friends, though in the appeal 
 of his dedication Shakspere is very modest. In his 
 Lucrece, published the following year, 1594, he 
 speaks as if he were thoroughly confident of the 
 Earl's friendship, which was no doubt balanced 
 on his side by the rising reputation Shakspere 
 was winning. These two poems made a distinct 
 literary success. In London the successful 
 author who is also a gentleman by nature has 
 always been given a social position next to the 
 aristocracy. We may conclude, therefore, that 
 Shakspere had had that ample measure of literary 
 popularity which should make his social position 
 secure. Southampton was a generous and high- 
 spirited young man, perhaps the model for Shak- 
 spere's chivalrous heroes in his earlier comedies. 
 There is a tradition that the noble earl once 
 gave or offered the dramatist £1,000 to carry out 
 some purchase. This is doubtless an exaggera- 
 tion; but we soon find our author and actor buy- 
 ing land and applying in the name of his father 
 for a coat-of-arms. 
 
 PROSPERITY. 
 
 At Christmas time, 1593, the Lord Chamber- 
 lain's company of players performed before Queen 
 Elizabeth, and Shakspere's name is in the list of 
 actors. In 1596 John Shakspere applied for a 
 grant of coat armor, and in the following year the 
 
HIS LIFE 11 
 
 grant was made by the Garter King-of-Arms. 
 We presume from this that Shakspere had con- 
 ceived an ambition to found a family; but he was 
 doomed to disappointment in his respect, for his 
 only son died in the same year his father applied 
 for the coat-of-arms. 
 
 In 1597 Shakspere bought an excellent dwelling 
 at Stratford, known as New Place, for the sum 
 of £6o. It is evident that he had retained his 
 interest in his native town and was planning to 
 return there to live at some future time. This 
 interest in Stratford is attested by a letter dated 
 1598 from Master Abraham Sturley to Richard 
 Quiney (father of Shakspere's future son-in- 
 law). Mr. Quiney is in London soliciting certain 
 favors for the town of Stratford, and Mr. Sturley 
 suggests that he will succeed through Mr. Shak- 
 spere's social influence. Later in the year we have 
 a letter from Quiney to Shakspere (the only let- 
 ter to the poet still in existence) begging a loan 
 of £30. Further evidence of Shakspere's financial 
 prosperity would hardly be required ; but we 
 know from records that in this year he was an 
 owner of corn and malt at Stratford, and paid 
 taxes of £5 13s. 4& in St. Helen's parish, Bishops- 
 gate, London. 
 
 SUCCESS AS A DRAMATIST. 
 
 We have no specific mention of any of Shak- 
 spere's plays until 1597. In that year Richard II., 
 Richard III., and Romeo and Juliet were printed. 
 The following year Francis Meres in his Palladis 
 
12 SHAKSPERE 
 
 Tamia, Wit's Treasury, mentions twelve plays by 
 Shakspere, and refers to his "sugred sonnets 
 among his private friends." From this time on 
 pirated and other editions of the plays follow in 
 rapid succession. 
 
 It is clear that the five years following 1592 
 had been crowded with literary work ; but in those 
 days a play was usually the property of the com- 
 pany which produced it, and unless it was very 
 remarkable did not bring the author into particu- 
 lar notice. Shakspere was an actor, and finally 
 became a manager. When his ability as a writer 
 of plays was discovered, it is not unnatural that 
 it was frequently called into requisition by the 
 managers of the company to which he belonged. 
 Apparently, however, his plays did not attract 
 particular attention outside the green-room circle 
 until the production of Romeo and Juliet in the 
 autumn of 1596. Early in the next year this 
 play was published in quarto "as it hath been 
 often, with great applause plaid publiquely by 
 the right Honourable the L of Hunsdon his 
 servants." Now Henry Lord Hunsdon who was 
 Lord Chamberlain until his death, died July 22, 
 1596, and his son George Lord Hunsdon was 
 appointed Chamberlain in April, 1597. At any 
 other time than between these two dates the 
 players would have been spoken of as "the 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants." The natural 
 conclusion to be drawn, therefore, is that 
 Romeo and Juliet was produced in the autumn 
 of 1596, and had such a run that some pub- 
 
HIS LIFE 13 
 
 lisher was tempted to print it. Moreover, it 
 was doubtless this burst of popularity which 
 called forth the reference by Meres already spoken 
 of. In 1598 he wrote: "As Plautus and Seneca 
 are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy 
 among the Latines, so Shakespeare among the 
 English is most excellent in both kinds for 
 the stage: for Comedy, witness his Gentlemen of 
 Verona, his Love labours lost, his Love labours 
 wonne, his Midsummers night dreame, and his 
 Merchant of Venice; for Tragedy, his Richard 
 the 2, Richard the 3, Henry the 4, King John, 
 Titus Andronicus, and his Romeo and Juliet." 
 We can only conjecture what "Love labours 
 wonne" refers to. Perhaps it was All's Well that 
 Ends Well. 
 
 PERIOD OF HIS GREATEST PLAYS. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet and The Merchant of Venice 
 were probably produced in the same year, and 
 mark the transition from the first period of his 
 production to the second. Such plays as Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona, A Comedy of Errors, and 
 A Midsummer Night's Dream are light and 
 graceful, but present no great or striking char- 
 acters. They are full of rhymes, puns, and plays 
 upon words. These formed the fashionable wit 
 of the period. To us it is somewhat tame, and 
 we see that fashions lose their flavor. In so far 
 as Shakspere catered to the times, his plays are 
 things of the past. But like every successful 
 
14 SHAKSPERE 
 
 workman, he began by doing better than others 
 what others about him were doing. 
 
 in the two plays mentioned above as marking 
 his transition to something better, we find the 
 same puns and rhymes, and Romeo and Juliet 
 has traces of bombast; but we find also for the 
 first time strong characters. Shakspere was be- 
 ginning to feel his powers, no doubt uncon- 
 sciously; and the popular success was probably as 
 great a surprise to himself as to any one else. 
 But he at once rose to the opportunity which his 
 unexpected success had presented and, throwing 
 off much of the cheap wit and the cheap methods 
 of the stage of that day, he poured himself out in 
 a series of great and striking characters. 
 
 SECRET OF SHAKSPERE'S GREATNESS. 
 
 Shakspere's peculiar greatness is only partially 
 due to an inspired gift of language; for though 
 he is a master of language in his broad grasp and 
 power of expression, he often indulges in bombast 
 and a cheap twittering in which we must confess 
 there is no poetry whatever, even if it did come 
 from the pen of the greatest of poets. Nor is his 
 especial greatness to be found in his literary skill 
 and felicity in plot construction. Shakspere is so 
 great because he has created so many great men 
 and women. Hamlet is a great man; Portia is a 
 great woman; Macbeth, Iago, Lear, Brutus and 
 Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, all impress us with 
 their power. It is easy to create ordinary men 
 and women; only a truly great man can create 
 
HIS LIFE 15 
 
 a great man or woman. In all literature we have 
 no greater characters than those Shakspere has 
 given us, and that is why we call him the greatest 
 of writers. 
 
 SHAKSPERE AS AN ACTOR. 
 
 Shakspere, poet and dramatist though he was, 
 clung to his profession through nearly the entire 
 period of his greatest success as an author, and 
 continued to act not only in his own plays, but in 
 those of others. In 1598 we know that he acted 
 in Ben Jonson's first comedy, Every Man in his 
 Humour. Again in 1603 we find him in the list 
 of actors in Jonson's Sejanus. Hamlet, Julius 
 Caesar, and other great and successful plays had 
 already appeared; yet at the zenith of his repu- 
 tation we see that he is still attending to his 
 regular business. 
 
 In 1602 he purchased for £320 one hundred and 
 seven acres in the parish of Old Stratford, and 
 later in the year a smaller property. In 1605 he 
 bought for £440 the unexpired lease of the tithes 
 of Stratford, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Wel- 
 combe. And there is evidence that during this 
 entire time he was engaged in a malt business. 
 
 LATER YEARS. 
 
 It is probable that Shakspere had some interest 
 in the Globe theatre, and perhaps acted as man- 
 ager, and subsequently derived an income from it. 
 We presume that about 1612 he left London and 
 went to live at Stratford. In 1613 he bought a 
 
16 SHAKSPERE 
 
 house near Blackfriars Theatre and leased it to 
 a tenant for ten years. In 1614 we find him pro- 
 testing against the enclosure of common lands 
 near Stratford, declaring that "he was not able to 
 bear the enclosure of Welcombe." March 25, 
 1616, he executed his will, and in less than a 
 month he had died. The Vicar of Stratford 
 noted fifty years later that "Shakspere, Drayton, 
 and Ben Jonson had a merry meeting, and it 
 seems drank too hard, for Shakspere died of a 
 fever there contracted." Whether this is myth 
 or history it would be hard to say ; but scandalous 
 gossip, we may be certain, never grows less in 
 fifty years. 
 
 In his will the greater part of his property was 
 left to his eldest daughter, Susanna Hall, and her 
 husband. To his wife he left only his "second- 
 best bed;" a bequest by no means insulting, for 
 she had a widow's dower rights, which must have 
 amply provided for her without any specific be- 
 quest in the will. 
 
 His daughter Susanna had a daughter Elizabeth, 
 who married a Mr. Nash and was Shakspere's 
 last living descendant. 
 
 LIKENESSES OF THE POET. 
 
 Shakspere was buried in the parish church at 
 Stratford, and a few years later a bust was 
 erected, supposed to have been modelled from a 
 death-mask. It was colored originally — the eyes 
 hazel, the hair and beard auburn. On the flat 
 
HIS LIFE 17 
 
 stone above his grave may be read the following 
 inscription, said to have been written by Shak- 
 spere himself: 
 
 "Good frend, jtor Jesus sake forbeare 
 To digg the dust enclosed heare, 
 Blest be the man that spares thes stones, 
 And curst be he that moves my bones." 
 
 The first collected edition of Shakspere's works, 
 published seven years after his death, has a por- 
 trait engraved by Droeshout. This engraving and 
 the bust are the only two likenesses of which we 
 can be certain; but there is a painting in the Na- 
 tional Portrait Gallery in London which is gener- 
 ally regarded as an authentic likeness. It is the 
 so-called Chandos portrait, and represents the poet 
 with a full, pointed beard. It represents a more 
 delicate and sensitive face than either the bust or 
 the engraving, and by popular choice this has been 
 fixed upon as the true face of Shakspere. It is 
 the one appearing in this volume. 
 
 WORKS. 
 
 The first collected edition of Shakspere's works 
 was the "Folio of 1623," set forth by his 
 "friends" and "fellows" John Heminge and Henry 
 Condell. However, some of the separate plays 
 had previously been published in quarto form, as 
 the dates given below will indicate. The copy for 
 many of these quartos was either stolen or ob- 
 tained by reporters sent to the theatre to take 
 down the speeches as they were delivered. 
 
18 SHAKSPERE 
 
 Much time and effort have been devoted by 
 Shakspere scholars to determining the dates of 
 his plays. Moreover, various plays have been at- 
 tributed to Shakspere on which grave doubt has 
 been thrown. Much of this work has doubtless 
 been futile and the results are not to be trusted. 
 Certain dates, however, are fixed by contemporary 
 references, and to the ordinary mind these are 
 quite sufficient. 
 
 The first of these dates is 1592. We are safe 
 in supposing that previous to that time Shakspere 
 devoted his dramatic talents chiefly to remodelling 
 old plays. Of these, internal evidence leads us 
 to suppose that we have examples in Titus An- 
 dronicus, and 1 Henry VI., published 1600 ; again 
 1611; perhaps in 1594; retouched by Shakspere 
 before 1592. 
 
 Next we have the comedies and histories men- 
 tioned by Meres in 1598, three of which had been 
 published in 1597. These are : 
 
 FIRST 
 PUBLISHED! 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost 1598 
 
 Comedy of Errors 1623 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona 1623 
 
 A Midsummer Night's Dream 1600 
 
 2 & 3 Henry VI. 1623 
 
 Richard II. 1597 
 
 Richard III. 1597 
 
 King John 1623 
 
 Merchant of Venice 1600 
 Romeo and Juliet — 1597 (pirated) 1599 
 
HIS LIFE 
 
 19 
 
 The last is a tragedy and marks the transition 
 to the next period. (In the following list the 
 dates affixed to the titles are those given by Pro- 
 fessor Dowden for the writing of the plays) : 
 
 EIRST 
 PUBLISHED. 
 HISTORY. 
 
 I & 2 Henry IV. — 1597-8 
 
 (1st) 1598; (2nd) 1600 
 
 Henry V. — 1599 (pirated) 1600 
 
 COMEDY. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew — 1597 ? 1623 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor — 1598 ? 1602 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing — 1598 1600 
 
 As You Like It — 1599 1623 
 
 Twelfth Night — 1600- 1 1623 
 All's Well That Ends Well— 
 
 1601-2 ? 1623 
 Measure for Measure — 1603 1623 
 Troilus and Cressida — 1603 I ; re- 
 vised 1607 ? 1609 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 Julius Csesar— 1601 1623 
 
 Hamlet — 1602; 1603 (pirated) 1604 
 
 Othello— 1604 1622 
 
 King Lear — 1605 1608 
 
 Macbeth— 1606 1623 
 
 Anthony and Cleopatra — 1607 1623 
 
 Coriolanus— 1608 1623 
 
 Timon of Athens— 1607-8 
 
 1623 
 
20 SHAKSPERE 
 
 FIRST 
 PUBLISHED 
 
 ROMANCES. 
 
 Pericles — 1608 1609 
 
 Cymbeline — 1609 1623 
 
 The Tempest — 1610 1623 
 
 A Winter's Tale — 1610-11 1623 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 Two Noble Kinsmen — 1612 1623 
 
 Henry VIII. — 1612-13 1623 . 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Venus and Adonis — 1592 ? 1593 
 
 Lucrece— 1593-4 1594 
 
 Sonnets — 1595-1605 ? 1609 
 
 A careful study of Shakspere's plays in the 
 order indicated above will reveal the progress of 
 his skill and the development of his nature and 
 character. The first comedies are light and 
 clever, and in. form and manner not much out of 
 the range of other comedies of the period. The 
 histories show substantial workmanship, but with 
 the exception of Richard III. no very remarkable 
 characters. 
 
 In Romeo and Juliet we have the introduc- 
 tion of tragedy, and with it Shakspere's greatest 
 characters. His later comedies also show the 
 breadth and range of his thought and feeling and 
 his grasp of every phase of life. This was his 
 period of thought, of passionate feeling, of 
 greatest mental energy. 
 
HIS LIFE 21 
 
 The romances are his later work. The strug- 
 gles and sufferings of life passed, and success 
 won, he seems to rise lightly and confidently above 
 all that would drag us down. We have the view 
 of life of a man who looks on it from the height 
 of success. These are by no means Shakspere's 
 greatest plays. They have not the strength, the 
 energy, and depth of the tragedies and comedies 
 of the middle period. They are, however, from 
 the artistic point of view, more nearly perfect; 
 and they breathe the confident spirit of the man 
 who has succeeded and has the right to speak 
 from the point of view of success. 
 
 ORIGINALITY. 
 
 Though we may boldly say that Shakspere is 
 the one great original English writer, yet he bor- 
 rowed his plots, and even many of his phrases, 
 from other writers. He freely used the worthless 
 plays of those who had gone before him, and there 
 is scarcely a plot that was not derived from some 
 romance or history accessible to him in English. 
 Yet in none of these do we find the character of 
 Hamlet or Portia or Iago or Lear. In giving us 
 these he gave us what no one else could give. 
 
 S her win Cody. 
 
friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON^. 
 
 The Duke of Venice. 
 
 The Prince of Morocco, ) 
 
 The Prince of Arragon, f sultors to Portia ' 
 
 Antonio, a merchant of Venice. 
 
 Bassanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia. 
 
 Salanio, 
 
 Salarino, 
 
 Gratiano , 
 
 Salerio, 
 
 Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 
 
 Shylock, a rich Jew. 
 
 Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 
 
 Launcelot Gobbo, the clown, servant to Shylock. 
 
 Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. 
 
 Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 
 
 Balthasar, ) 
 
 y servants to Portia. 
 
 Stephano, ) 
 
 Portia, a rich heiress. 
 Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
 Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 
 
 Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 
 
 Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and 
 
 other Attendants. 
 
 Scene: Partly at Venice \ and partly at Belmont \ the 
 
 seat of Portia, on the Continent. 
 
The Merchant of Venice.* 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Antonio,t Salarino, and Salanio. 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 
 There, where your argosies$ with portly sail, 
 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 10 
 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
 
 * The incidents of the caskets and the pound of flesh are found 
 in medieval Italian, Persian and Egyptian romances, and had doubt- 
 less been used in English ballads and dramas before Shakspere's 
 time. In a pamphlet published in 1579 Stephen Gosson mentions a 
 certain play as " The Jew, shown at the Bull, representing the greed 
 of worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers." It is not un- 
 likely that this was the basis of Shakspere's play. 
 
 t Antonio, the merchant, after whom the play is named, does not 
 have a leading role in it; but though he himself does nothing, he is 
 the centre about which the events of the play move, the object of the 
 love or hatred or anxiety and ingenuity of the other actors. There- 
 fore the play is properly named for him rather than for Shylock, the 
 strongest character. 
 
 X Large ships. 
 
 23 
 
24 THE MERCHANT lAct I 
 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
 That curtsy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Salan. 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 20 
 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 Salar. 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, 
 * Vailingf her high-top lower than her ribs 
 To kiss her burial. Should I go to church 
 And see the holy edifice of stone, 30 
 
 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 
 
 * Roadsteads. 
 _ t Letting fall. The ship tipped on its side in the sand has its 
 high-top lower than its ribs. 
 
 X Understand a gesture here, indicating something large. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 25 
 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 4° 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 
 Salar. Why, then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fie, fie ! 
 
 Salar. 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 
 Janusf, 50 
 
 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. 
 
 Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
 Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry. 
 If worthier friends had not prevented! me. 61 
 
 Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you 
 And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 
 * Double negatives were grammatical in Shakspere's time, 
 t Janus had a face in front and one behind. (January was named 
 for him.) t Anticipated. 
 
26 THE MERCHANT {Act I 
 
 Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 
 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, 
 when? 
 You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 
 
 Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 
 
 Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
 We two will leave you : but at dinner-time, 70 
 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bass. I will not fail you. 
 
 Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; 
 You have too much respect* upon the world : 
 They lose it that do buy it with much care : 
 Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad onef . 
 
 Gra. Let me play the fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 80 
 
 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, 90 
 
 With purpose to be dress' d in an opinion 
 
 * Concern. 
 
 t Antonio's sadness seems to presage his disaster in forfeiting the 
 pound of flesh. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 27 
 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, 
 As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle, 
 And when I ope my lips let no dog bark !' 
 
 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 : ioo 
 
 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. 
 Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : 
 
 1 must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moef, 
 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
 
 Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.$ no 
 
 Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. 
 
 [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
 
 Ant. Is that anything now? 
 
 Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more 
 than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two 
 grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : you shall 
 seek all day ere you find them, and when you have 
 them, they are not worth the search. 
 
 Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same 
 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120 
 
 * The gudgeon was a fish easily caught. 
 t More. % Any business in hand. 
 
28 THE MERCHANT LAct I 
 
 That you to-day promised to tell me of? 
 
 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 By something showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
 Nor do I now make moan to be 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 130 
 
 Hath left me gaged*. To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money and in love, 
 And from your love I have a warranty 
 To unburden all my plots and purposes 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know 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. 
 
 Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 140 
 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 selff way 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150 
 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again 
 
 * Engaged, pledged. t Self-same, same. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 29 
 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
 Ant. 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. 160 
 
 Bass. 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; 170 
 
 Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, 
 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 
 To hold a rival place with one of themf, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
 That I should questionless be fortunate! 
 
 Ant. 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 : 180 
 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 
 * Prompt, ready. t As one of them. 
 
30 THE MERCHANT {Act I 
 
 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. 
 
 Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of 
 this great world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries 
 were in the same abundance as your good fortunes 
 are; and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that 
 surfeit with too much as they that starve with noth- 
 ing. It is no small happiness, therefore, be seated 
 in the mean : superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, 
 but competency lives longer. 
 
 Por. Good sentences and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good 
 to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cot- 
 tages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that fol- 
 lows 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 can- 
 not choose one nor refuse none? 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 31 
 
 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men at 
 their death have good inspirations : therefore the lot- 
 tery, that he hath devised in these three chests of 
 gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses his mean- 
 ing 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 ? 
 
 Por. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou namest 
 them, I will describe them; and, according to my 
 description, level at my affection. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but 
 talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropri- 
 ation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him 
 himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother 
 played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then there is the County Palatine. 
 
 Por. 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 weep- 
 ing philosopher when he grows old, being so full of 
 unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be 
 married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth 
 than to either of these. God defend me from these 
 two ! 
 
 Ner. How say you by* the French lord, Monsieur Le 
 Bon? 
 
 Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a 
 man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; 
 but, he ! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapoli- 
 
 * Of, in reference to. 
 
32 THE MERCHANT LAct I 
 
 tan's, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count 
 Palatine ; he is every man in no man ; if a throstle 
 sing, he falls straight a capering; he will fence with 
 his own shadow : if I should marry him, I should 
 marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I 
 would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I 
 shall never requite him. 
 
 Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young 
 baron of England? 
 
 Por. You know I say nothing to him, for he under- 
 stands 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 behaviour everywhere. 
 
 Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for 
 he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman 
 and swore he would pay him again when he was able ; 
 I think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed 
 under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of 
 Saxony's nephew? 
 
 Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and 
 
 most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk ; when 
 
 he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when 
 
 he is worst, he is little better than a beast: an* the 
 
 * An old form for if. Compare the common phrase " without any 
 ifs or ans." So, too, An if. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 33 
 
 worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift 
 to go without him. 
 
 Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right 
 casket, you should* refuse to perform your father's 
 will, if you should refuse to accept him. 
 
 Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set 
 a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket, 
 for if the devil be within and that temptation without, 
 I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, 
 Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these 
 lords ; they have acquainted me with their determina- 
 tions ; which is, indeed, to return to their home and 
 to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be 
 won by some other sort than your father's imposition 
 depending on the caskets. 
 
 Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as 
 chaste as Diana, unless I be 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. 
 
 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, 
 a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither 
 
 * in company of the Marquis of Montferrat? 
 
 Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so 
 called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my 
 foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a 
 fair lady. 
 
 * The present distinction between should and would was not made 
 in Shakspere's time. 
 
34 THE MERCHANT [Act I 
 
 Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy 
 of thy praise. 
 
 Enter a Serving-man. 
 
 How now ! what news ? 
 
 Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take 
 their leave : and there is a forerunner come from a 
 fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the 
 prince his master will be here to-night. 
 
 Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a 
 heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should 
 be glad of his approach : if he have the condition* of 
 a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he 
 should shrive me than wive me. 
 Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
 Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another 
 knocks at the door. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. A Public Place. 
 
 Enter Bassanio and Shylockf. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats$; well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months ; well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 
 
 bound. 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well. 
 
 * Temper, disposition. 
 
 t Shylock is without doubt the strongest character in any of Shak- 
 spere's comedies, and this was evidently a temptation to name the 
 play after him, for it was originally entered at Stationers' Hall as 
 '• The Merchant of Venice, or otherwise called The Jew of Venice." 
 
 % A ducat was equal to $1.53, but the value of money was six times 
 what it is now. 
 
Scene III] OFVENICE 35 
 
 Bass. May you stead* me? will you pleasure me? shall 
 I know your answer? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months and An- 
 tonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be as- 
 sured, I will bethink me. May I speak with An- 
 tonio ? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitationf 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? 
 
 * Aid. 
 
 t Referring to the swine that ran into the Sea of Galilee. 
 
36 THE MERCHANT [Act 1 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 41 
 
 Shy. [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, 50 
 On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shy. 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 Ant.] Rest you fair, good 
 signior ; 60 
 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Ant. 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 possessed 
 How much we would? 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three months. 
 
Scene III] OF VENICE 37 
 
 Shy. 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 70 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. 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 — 
 
 Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 
 
 Shy. No, not take interest, not, as you would say, 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 When Laban and himself were compromised* 
 That all the eanlingsf 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 : 90 
 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Ant. 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? 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast ; 
 
 * Agreed. t New-born lambs. % That is, in Scripture. 
 
38 THE MERCHANT {.Act I 
 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The Devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
 
 An evil soul producing holy witness ioo 
 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
 
 O, what a godly outside falsehood hath ! 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats ; 'tis a good round sum. 
 Three months from twelve; then, let me see, the 
 rate — 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you? 
 
 Shy. 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, no 
 
 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 rheumf upon my beard 
 And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. 120 
 
 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, 
 
 * Long outer garment . 
 
 t The discharge from eyes, nose, or mouth. 
 
Scene III] OFVENICE 39 
 
 Say this : 
 
 'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last*; 
 You spurn'd me such a day; another time 
 You called me dog; and for these courtesies 
 . I'll lend you thus much moneys' ? 130 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 
 Shy. 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 doitf 141 
 
 Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me : 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Bass. This were kindness. 
 
 Shy. 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 150 
 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 
 * We should doubtless take this figuratively, for Antonio is much 
 too much of a gentleman to do anything so vulgar; and if he had 
 done it he would not have allowed Bassanio to ask the Jew for mon- 
 say. The two are enemies, but not beyond the bounds of social inter- 
 ourse. 
 
 t A small Dutch coin worth less than a cent. 
 
40 THE MERCHANT [Act I 
 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, i' faith : I'll seal to such a bond 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. 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 160 
 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are, 
 Whose own hard dealing 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 ; 170 
 
 And for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shylock. 
 
 The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. 
 
 Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 180 
 
 Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 41 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and 
 his train; Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. 
 
 Mor. 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 io> 
 
 Have loved it too : I would not change this hue, 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 Por. 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 will, to yield myself 
 His wife who wins me by that means I told you, 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 20 
 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet 
 For my affection. 
 
 Mor. Even for that I thank you : 
 
 * Frightened. 
 
42 THE MERCHANT lAct II 
 
 Therefore, I pray } r ou, 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, 30 
 
 To win thee, lady. But, alas the while ! 
 
 If Hercules and Lichasf 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. 
 
 Por. You must take your chance, 
 
 And either not attempt to choose at all 
 Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong 40 
 Never to speak to lady afterward 
 In way of marriage ; therefore be advised. 
 
 Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. 
 
 Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 Mor. Good fortune then ! 
 
 To make me blest or cursed' st among men. 
 
 {.Comets, and exeunt. 
 
 * Persian emperor. Ismael Sophi founded a dynasty. 
 
 t Lichas was the page of Hercules. Hercules was also called 
 Alcides. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 43 
 
 Scene II*. Venice. A street. 
 
 Enter Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. 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 afore- 
 said, '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, in- 
 deed, 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. 'Con- 
 science,' 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 con- 
 science, my conscience is but a kind of hard con- 
 
 * Much of the humor of this scene is in the ignorant misuse of 
 words. 
 
44 THE MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 science, 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. 
 
 Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the 
 
 way to Master Jew's ? 
 Laun. [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. 
 Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is 
 
 the way to Master Jew's? 
 Laun. 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. 
 Gob. By God's sontiesf, 'twill be a hard way to hit. 
 
 Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells 
 
 with him, dwell with him or no ? 
 Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] 
 
 Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk 
 
 you of young Master Launcelot? 
 Gob. 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 livej. 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of 
 
 young Master Launcelot. 
 Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. 
 Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech 
 
 you, talk you of young Master Launcelot ? 
 
 * Purblind, dim-sighted. t Corruption of saints or sanctity. 
 X Well off. Gobbo contradicts himself. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 45 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 
 Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master 
 Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, accord- 
 ing to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the 
 Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is in- 
 deed deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, 
 gone to heaven. 
 
 Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of 
 my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or 
 a prop? Do you know me, father*? 
 
 Gob. 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? 
 
 Laun. Do you not know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know you not. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up : I am sure you are not 
 Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 * Old men were often addressed as father. 
 
46 THE MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if 
 thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
 blood. [Taking hold of his back hair.] Lord wor- 
 shipped* might he be ! what a beard thou hast got ! 
 Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin 
 my fill-horse has on his tail. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou and 
 thy master agree? I have brought him a present. 
 How 'gree you now ? 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Bass. You may do so; but let it be so hasted that sup- 
 per be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See 
 these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, 
 and desire Gratiano to come anonf to my lodging. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 * This phrase, not used elsewhere, has never been satisfactorily 
 explained. t Immediately? 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 47 
 
 Gob. God bless your worship ! 
 
 Bass. Gramercy ! wouldst thou aught with me ! 
 
 Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 
 
 Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; 
 
 that would, sir, as my father shall specify— 
 Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, 
 
 to serve, — 
 Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the 
 
 Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify — 
 Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's rever- 
 ence, are scarce cater-cousins — 
 Laun. 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 f rutify unto you — 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow 
 
 upon your worship, and my suit is — 
 Laun. 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. 
 Bass. One speak for both. What would you ? 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 Bass. 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. 
 Laun. 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. 
 Bass. Thou speak' st it well. Go, father, with thy son. 
 
48 THE MERCHANT VAct II 
 
 Take leave of thy old master and inquire 
 
 My lodging out. — Give him a livery 
 
 More guarded* than his fellows' : see it done. 
 
 Laun. 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 tablet 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 trifL 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. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Where is your master? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. {Exit. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio! 
 
 Bass. Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain' d it. 
 
 * Ornamented. Guards were trimmings. 
 
 t He means his hand. Launcelot is a palmist. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 49 
 
 Gra. You must not deny me: I must go with you 
 to Belmont. 
 
 Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano; 
 Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice ; 190 
 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 behaviour 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 199 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me 
 By what we do to-night. 
 
 Bass. No, that were pity: 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 210 
 
 Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment. But fare you well: 
 I have some business. 
 
 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: 
 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. {.Exeunt. 
 
50 THE MERCHANT lAct II 
 
 Scene III. The same, A room in Shylock's house. 
 Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 
 
 Jes. 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. 9 
 
 Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beau- 
 tiful 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. 
 
 Jes. 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, 20 
 
 Become a Christian and thy loving wife. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. The same. A street. 
 
 Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. 
 Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 
 
 Disguise us at my lodging and return, 
 
 All in an hour. 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
Scene IV] OF VENICE 51 
 
 Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 
 Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order' d, 
 
 And better in my mind not undertook. 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours 
 
 To furnish us. 
 
 Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall 
 
 seem to signify. II 
 
 Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on 
 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. By your leave, sir. 
 Lor. Whither goest thou? 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to 
 
 sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 
 Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jessica I will 
 
 not fail her ; speak it privately. 21 
 
 Go. [Exit Launcelot.] Gentlemen, 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? 
 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
 Salan. And so will I. 
 Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 
 
 At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 {.Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 
 Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? 
 Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed 
 
 How I shall take her from her father's house, 31 
 
52 THE MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 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-bearer. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. The same. Before Shylock's house. 
 Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 
 
 Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: — 
 What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out; — 
 Why, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica! 
 
 Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. 
 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me that I could 
 do nothing without bidding. 
 
 Enter Jessica. 
 
 Jes. Call you? what is your will? 10 
 
 Shy. 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, 
 
 * Did Shakspere forget that the Jew had previously asserted he 
 would not eat with Christiaas ? 
 
Scene V] OF VENICE 53 
 
 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. 
 
 Laun. I beseech you, sir, go : my young master doth 
 expect your reproach. 20 
 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And 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. 
 
 Shy. 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, 30 
 Qamber 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. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at 
 window, for all this; 41 
 
 There will come a Christian by, 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exeunt. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? 
 
 Jes. His words were 'Farewell, mistress;' nothing else. 
 
 * Easter-Monday, so called from a terribly dark, cold Easter-Mon- 
 day in the siege of Paris by Edward III. 
 
54 THE MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder; 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me; 
 Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 50 
 
 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. 
 
 Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 
 
 Scene VI. The same. 
 Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. 
 
 Gra. This is the pent-house* under which Lorenzo 
 
 Desired us to make stand. 
 Salar. His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 
 For lovers ever run before the clock. 
 Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 
 To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 
 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited. 
 Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast 
 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 10 
 
 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 
 * A porch. 
 
Secen VI] OF VENICE 55 
 
 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 ! 19 
 Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this hereafter. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; 
 Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
 I'll watch as long for you then. Approach; 
 Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within? 
 
 Enter Jessica, above, in boy's clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, 
 
 For who love I so much ? And now who knows 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 31 
 
 Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou 
 art. 
 
 Jes. 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. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 40 
 
 Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
 
56 THE MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love; 
 And I should be obscured. 
 
 Lor. So are you, sweet, 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish* of a boy. 
 But come at once; 
 
 For the closef night doth play the runaway, 
 And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jcs. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 
 [Exit above. 50 
 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. 
 
 Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her, 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
 And true she is, as she hath 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. 
 
 Ant. Who's there? 60 
 
 Gra. Signior Antonio ! 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 
 * Dress. t Secret. 
 
Scene VII] OF VENICE 57 
 
 Gra. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight 
 
 Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [.Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince of 
 Morocco, and their trains. 
 
 Por. Go draw aside the curtains and discover 
 
 The several caskets to this noble prince. 
 
 Now make your choice. 
 Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 
 
 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
 sire;' 
 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries, 
 
 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
 serves ;' 
 
 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? 10 
 
 Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince: 
 
 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
 Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see: 
 
 I will survey 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 ; 20 
 
 I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 
 
58 THE .MERCHANT [Act II 
 
 What says the silver with her virgin hue ? 
 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
 serves.' 
 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. 30 
 
 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 de- 
 sire.' 
 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: 40 
 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 50 
 
Scene VII] OF VENICE 59 
 
 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 
 Stamp' d 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 ! 60 
 
 Por. There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie there, 
 Then I am yours. {He unlocks the golden casket. 
 Mor. O hell ! what have we here ? 
 
 A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll ! I'll read the writing. 
 {Reads] All that glisters is not gold ; 
 
 Often have you heard that told ; 
 Many a man his life hath sold 
 But my outside to behold : 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
 Had you been as wise as bold, 70 
 
 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. 
 Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 
 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. {Exeunt. 
 
 * Grave-clothes. Lead was too base even for her coffin. 
 
60 THE MERCHANT {Act II 
 
 Scene VIII. Venice. A street. 
 Enter Salarino and Salanio. 
 
 Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail : 
 
 With him is Gratiano gone along; 
 
 And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 
 Salan. The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke, 
 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio' s ship. 
 Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 
 
 But there the Duke was given to understand 
 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 
 Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
 
 Besides, Antonio certified the Duke 10 
 
 They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
 Salan. 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 ; 21 
 
 She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' 
 Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
 
 Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
 Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 
 
 I reason' d with a Frenchman yesterday, 
 
 Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
 
Scene VIII] OF VENICE 61 
 
 The French and English, there miscarried 
 
 A vessel of our country richly fraught : 30 
 
 I thought upon Antonio when he told me ; 
 
 And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 
 
 Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear : 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
 Bassanio told him he would make some speed 
 Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so; 
 Slubber* not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time ; 40 
 
 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 then, his eye being big with tears, 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted. 
 
 Salan. I think he only loves the world for him. 50 
 
 I pray thee, let us go and find him out 
 And quicken his embraced heaviness 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 
 
 * Do carelessly. 
 
62 THE MERCHANT {Act II 
 
 Scene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
 Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. 
 Ner. 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. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Ar. I am enjoin' d by oath to observe three things : 
 First, never to unfold to any one 10 
 
 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. 
 
 Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 
 Ar. And so have I address'd me*. Fortune now 
 
 To my heart's hope ! Gold ; silver ; and base lead. 20 
 '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 
 
 * Prepared myself. 
 
Scene IX] OF VENICE 63 
 
 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. 30 
 
 I will not choose what many men desire, 
 
 Because I will not jumpt 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. 4° 
 
 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 covert 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, 51 
 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 tHe opens the silver casket, 
 
 Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. 
 
 Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
 Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
 
 * Of. t Agree. X Keep their hats on. 
 
64 THE MERCHANT {.Act II 
 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
 How much unlike my hopes and my deservings ! 
 'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he de- 
 serves.' 
 Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? 
 Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? 60 
 
 Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices 
 
 And of opposed natures*. 
 Ar. 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 bedf, 70 
 
 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. 
 
 lExeunt Arragon and train. 
 Par. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 
 
 O, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 80 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 
 * A man is not competent to judge his own deserts. 
 t Did Shakspere forget that Arragon had sworn never to woo a 
 maid? Morocco made a similar promise. 
 t You shall ever have afooVs head. 
 
Scene IX] OF VENICE 65 
 
 Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, 
 
 Hanging and wiving goes* by destiny. 
 Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Where is my lady? 
 
 Por. Here: what would my lord? 
 
 Serv. 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 regreetsf, 
 To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 90 
 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
 So likely an ambassador of love ; 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 Por. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard 
 Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, 
 Thou spend' st such high-day wit in praising him. 
 Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 100 
 
 Ner. Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be ! [Exeunt. 
 
 * Go would bo more grammatical 
 
 * Hearty greetings. 
 
66 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. Venice. A street. 
 Enter Salanio and Salarino. 
 
 Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 
 
 Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked 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 carcases of 
 many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip 
 Report be an honest woman of her word. 
 
 Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as 
 ever knappedf 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 ! — 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Salan. Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he 
 hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 
 
 Salan. 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 mer- 
 chants ? 
 
 * Off the coast of Kent. t Nibbled. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 67 
 
 Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of 
 my daughter's flight. 
 
 Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor 
 that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird 
 was fledged; and then it is the complexion* of them 
 all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. She is damned for it. 
 
 Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. 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 had any 
 loss at sea or no ? 
 
 Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a 
 prodigal, who dare scarce show jus 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. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take 
 his flesh : what's that good for ? 
 
 Shy. 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 ene- 
 
 * Disposition. 
 
68 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 mies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath 
 not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, di- 
 mensions, 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 villainy 
 you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard, 
 but I will better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house 
 
 and desires to speak with you both. 
 Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
 
 Enter Tubal. 
 
 Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a third cannot 
 
 be matched, unless the Devil himself turn Jew. 
 
 [Exeunt Salan., Salar., and Servant. 
 Shy. How now, Tubal ! what news from Genoa ? hast 
 
 thou found my daughter? 
 Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot 
 
 find her. 
 Shy. Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, 
 
 cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 69 
 
 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 ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoul- 
 ders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears but of 
 my shedding. 
 
 Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I 
 heard in Genoa, — 
 
 Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from Trip- 
 olis. 
 
 Shy. I thank God, I thank God! Is't true, is't true? 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the 
 wreck. 
 
 Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good news ! 
 ha, ha ! where ? in Genoa ? 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one 
 night fourscore ducats. 
 
 Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall never see 
 my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting! four- 
 score ducats ! 
 
 Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my 
 company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but 
 break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture 
 him : I am glad of it. 
 
70 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had of 
 your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and 
 . Attendants. 
 
 Por. 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 10 
 
 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, 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 71 
 
 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, 20 
 
 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. 
 Bass. Let me choose; 
 
 For as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confess 
 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: 
 
 There may as well be amity and life 30 
 
 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
 Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 
 
 Where men enforced do speak anything. 
 Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
 Por. Well then, confess and live. 
 Bass. '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. 
 Por. Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 40 
 
 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 ; 
 
 * Retard. 
 
72 THE MERCHANT {Act III 
 
 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 50 
 
 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 ! 60 
 
 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.] 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 All. Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 * Sweet. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 73 
 
 Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves; 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 
 But, being season'd 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? 80 
 
 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, 90 
 
 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 
 t Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 100 
 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, 
 
 * Beguiling, treacherous. t The text here is doubtful. 
 
74 THE MERCHANT {Act III 
 
 Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 
 Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; 
 And here choose I : joy be the consequence ! 
 Por. {Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air, 
 As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
 And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! no 
 
 love, 
 
 Be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; 
 
 In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing : make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit. 
 
 Bass. 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 120 
 
 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 underprising it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll, 
 The continent* and summary of my fortune. 131 
 
 * Likeness, 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 75 
 
 [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 ; 
 
 [.kissing her. 
 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 those peals 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. 
 Por. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 150 
 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 virtues, 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; 161 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 * That which contains. 
 
76 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 *But she may learn; happier in this, 
 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 
 Happiest of all in 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, 170 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. 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 180 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Ner. 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! 190 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
 
 * The reading here adopted is the one that seems best to suit the 
 beauty of the passage in tbe modern ear. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 77 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 
 
 Gra. 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; 200 
 
 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 swearing till 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 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 Por. Is this true, Nerissa? 210 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiaho, mean good faith? 
 
 Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honour' d in your mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand 
 ducats. 
 
 Ner. What, and stake down? 
 
 Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake 
 down. 220 
 
 But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? 
 What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio? 
 
 * Begrudge me any. 
 
78 THE MERCHANT lAct HI 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio*, a Messenger from 
 
 Venice. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 For. So do I, my lord; 
 
 They are entirely welcome. 
 Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, 
 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 230 
 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way, . 
 
 He did intreat me, past all saying nay, 
 
 To come with him along. 
 Saler. I did, my lord; 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 
 Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 
 Bass. Ere I ope this letter, 
 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
 Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 
 Will show you his estate. 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome. 240 
 
 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. 
 
 * Some conjecture this is Salanio. There is evidently some con 
 fusion between the three friends of Antonio, Salarino, Salanio and 
 Salerio % for in the old editions all the names are spelled in a variety of 
 ways. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 79 
 
 Saler. I would you had won the fleece that he hath 
 lost. 
 
 Por. 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 ! 250 
 With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, 
 And I must have the half of anything 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. 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 gentlemanf; 
 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 statej 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 merest 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, 271 
 
 * Sharp, hence painful. 
 
 t Bassanio is not a strong character in the play, but he is certainly 
 a thorough gentleman. X Estate. XX Absolute. 
 
80 THE MERCHANT lAct III 
 
 From Lisbon, Barbary and India? 
 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 
 Of merchant-marring rocks? 
 
 Saler. 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 280 
 
 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 enviousf plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond. 
 
 Jes. 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, 290 
 If law, authority and power deny not, 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
 
 Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? 
 
 Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 The best-condition' dt and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies, and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honour more appears 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? 
 
 Bass. For me three thousand ducats. 
 
 * Importance. t Malicious. t Best-tempered. 
 
Scene II] OF VENICE 81 
 
 Por. What, no more? 300 
 
 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 my 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. 310 
 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. 
 
 Bass. [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all mis- 
 carried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very 
 low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since in pay- 
 ing 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. 
 
 Por. O love, dispatch all business, and be gone ! 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 * A grammatical error. Between you and me. 
 
82 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 Scene III. Venice. A street. 
 Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler. 
 
 Shy. Gaoler, look to him; tell not me of mercy; 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis : 
 Gaoler, look to him. 
 
 Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 
 
 Shy. 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. 10 
 
 Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone: 
 
 I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 20 
 
 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. 
 
 Salar. I am sure the Duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 * Foolish. 
 
Scene IV] OF VENICE 83 
 
 Ant The Duke cannot deny the course of law : 
 For the commodity* that strangersf 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, 30 
 
 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. 
 
 Scene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 
 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthasar. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
 You have a noble and a true conceit^ 
 Of god-like 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. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good, IO 
 
 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 
 
 * Because of the interest, or intercourse. 
 
 t Antonio was a citizen, but Shylock was an alien in the eyes of 
 the law. % Conception. 
 
84 THE MERCHANT lAct III 
 
 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 20 
 
 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: 30 
 
 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. 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 
 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 Por. 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. 40 
 
 Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you ! 
 Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 Por. I thank you for your wish and am well pleased 
 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 
 
 [Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 
Scene IV] OF VENICE 85 
 
 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; 50 
 
 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. 
 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand 
 
 That you yet know not of ; we'll see our husbands 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Ner. Shall they see us? 
 
 Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit, 60 
 
 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 quaintf lies, 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 70 
 
 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 kill'd them ; 
 
 * A doubtful word. t Ingenious. X I could not help it. 
 
86 THE MERCHANT [Act III 
 
 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. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 
 
 Por. Fie, what a question's that, 
 
 If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! 80 
 
 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. 
 
 Scene V. The same. A garden. 
 
 Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 
 
 Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father 
 are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I prom- 
 ise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and 
 so now I speak my agitation of the matter: there- 
 fore 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. 
 
 Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father 
 got you not ; that you are not the Jew's daughter. 
 
 Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed : so the 
 sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
 father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your 
 
Scene V] OF VENICE 87 
 
 father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you 
 are gone both ways. 
 
 Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath made me 
 a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he; we were Chris- 
 tians enow before; e'en as many as could well live, 
 one by another. This making of 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. 
 
 Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: 
 here he comes. 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, 
 if you thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. 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 com- 
 monwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians, you 
 raise the price of pork. 
 
 Lor. 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. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Lor. 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. 
 
88 THE MERCHANT {Act III 
 
 Lawn. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 
 
 Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then 
 bid them prepare dinner. 
 
 Lawn. That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word. 
 
 Lor. Will you cover then, sir? 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt thou 
 show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? 
 I pray thee, 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. 
 
 Lawn. 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 con- 
 ceits shall govern. {Exit. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 70 
 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 cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
 How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
 The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady, 80 
 
 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 
 * Some read, he do not merit it. The passage is hopelessly corrupt 
 
Scene V] OF VENICE 89 
 
 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. 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 90 
 
 Lor. I will anon: first, let us go to dinner. 
 Jes. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. 
 Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; 
 
 Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
 
 I shall digest it. 
 Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt. 
 
90 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. Venice. A court of justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, 
 Gratiano, Salerio, and others. 
 
 Duke. What, is Antonio here? 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 
 Ant. 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 10 
 
 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. 
 
 Saler. He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord. 
 
 Enter Shy lock. 
 
 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 remorsef more strange 
 
 * Moderate. t Pity 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 91 
 
 Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; 21 
 
 And where thou now exact' st the penalty, 
 Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 
 Thou wilt not only lose 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 30 
 
 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. 
 Shy. I have possess'df 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 40 
 
 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 banedj? 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$$, 50 
 
 * Half, or used of any portion. t Informed. 
 
 X Killed with ratsbane. 
 
 XX The state of being affected or moved 
 
92 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 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 wauling* bag-pipe; 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 60 
 
 I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 
 
 Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answers. 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? 
 
 Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee 
 twice ? 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 70 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach 
 And bid the main floodf 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, 80 
 
 * The old editions read woollen. t Ocean tide. 
 
Scene J] OF VENICE 93 
 
 Make no more offers, use no farther means, 
 But with all brief and plain conveniency 
 Let me have judgment and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 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? 
 
 Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? 
 You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 90 
 
 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. 100 
 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. 
 
 Saler. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Duke. Bring us the letters; call the messenger. no 
 
94 THE MERCHANT {Act IV 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Ant. 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? 
 
 Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. 
 
 [Presenting a letter. 120 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 
 Shy. To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt there. 
 
 Gra. 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? 
 
 Shy. No, none that thou nast wit enough to make. 
 
 Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog ! 
 And for thy life let justice be accused. 
 Thou almost makest me waver in my faitli 130 
 
 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 wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous. 
 
 Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
 Thou but offend' st thy lungs to speak so loud : 140 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 95 
 
 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? 
 
 Ner. 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 visita- 
 tion 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 mer- 
 chant; 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. 
 
96 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
 
 Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario ? 
 
 Por. I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 170 
 
 Are you acquainted with the difference 
 That holds this present question in the court? 
 
 Por. I am informed throughly* of the cause. 
 
 Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 
 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 
 Por. Is your name Shylock? 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Por. 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? 180 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 Por. Do you confess the bond? 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. 
 
 Por. 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, 190 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway; 
 
 * Thoroughly. Thorough and through were originally the same 
 word. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 97 
 
 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 ; 200 
 
 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. 
 
 Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 
 
 Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; 
 
 Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, 210 
 
 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. 
 
 Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 
 'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 220 
 
 And many an error by the same example 
 Will rush into the state; it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel ! 
 O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! 
 
 Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
98 THE MERCHANT {Act IV 
 
 Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 
 
 Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? ' 
 No, not for Venice! 
 
 Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 230 
 
 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. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. 
 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 240 
 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 Por. Why then, thus it is : 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 
 
 Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! 
 
 Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
 Hath full relation to the penalty, 
 Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! 250 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 
 Por. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy. Ay, his breast: 
 
 So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge? 
 'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 99 
 
 Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
 
 The flesh? 
 Shy. I have them ready. 
 Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 
 Por. It is not so express'd: but what of that? 260 
 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 
 Por. You, merchant, have you anything to say? 
 Ant. 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 270 
 
 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, 280 
 
 I'll pay it presently with all my heart. 
 Bass. 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, 
 
 * Who. Compare Our Father which art in Heaven. 
 
 L«ffc 
 
100 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that, 
 
 If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 Gra. I have a wife whom, I protest, I love : 290 
 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 Shy. 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. 
 Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: 
 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 300 
 Shy. Most rightful judge! 
 Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast: 
 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare! 
 Por. 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 311 
 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 Gra. O upright judge ! Mark, Jew : O learned judge ! 
 Shy. Is that the law? 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 101 
 
 Por. Thyself shall see the act : 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
 
 Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 
 Gra. O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge! 
 Shy. I take this offer, then ; pay the bond thrice 
 
 And let the Christian go. 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 Por. Soft ! 320 
 
 The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste: 
 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
 Por. 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 330 
 
 But in the estimation of a hair, 
 
 Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
 
 Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. 
 Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 Por. He hath refused it in the open court : 
 
 He shall have merely justice and his bond. 
 Gra. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 340 
 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 
 
102 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 Shy. Why, then the Devil give him good of it ! 
 I'll stay no longer question. 
 
 Por. 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 350 
 
 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 360 
 
 Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd 
 
 The danger formally by me rehearsed. 
 
 Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. 
 
 Gra. 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 ; 370 
 
 The other half comes to the general state, 
 Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 
 
 Por. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 
 
 Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
 You take my house when you do take the prop 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 103 
 
 That doth sustain my house; you take my life 
 
 When you do take the means whereby I live. 
 Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke and all the court 380 
 
 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. 390 
 
 Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 
 
 The pardon that I late pronounced here. 
 Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? 
 Shy. I am content. 
 
 Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. 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. 
 
 Gra. In christening shalt thou have two godfathers: 
 
 Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more*, 
 • To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 400 
 
 {.Exit Shylock. 
 Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
 Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: 
 
 I must away this night toward Padua, 
 
 * That is, twelve jurymen to condemn him to death. An ancient 
 joke. 
 
104 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 410 
 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 
 Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
 In love and service to you evermore. 
 
 Por. 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. 420 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
 
 [To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your 
 sake; 
 
 [To Bass.] 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. 
 
 Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle ! 430 
 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 Por. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 105 
 
 And now methinks I have a mind to it. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: 
 
 Let his deservings and my love withal 450 
 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandement*. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Pronounced with four syllables. 
 
106 THE MERCHANT [Act IV 
 
 Scene II. The same. A street. 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Gra. 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. 
 Por. That cannot be: 
 
 His ring I do accept most thankfully: 
 
 And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, 10 
 
 I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. 
 Gra. That will I do. 
 Ner. Sir, I would speak with you. 
 
 {.Aside to Por.} I'll see if I can get my husband's 
 ring, 
 
 Which I did make him swear to keep forever. 
 Por. [Aside to Ner.] 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 know'st where I 
 will tarry. 
 Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 * A slang word used as we might huge. 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 107 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. Belmont. Avenue to Portia's house. 
 Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 
 
 Lor. 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 Trojan walls 
 And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew 
 And saw the lion's shadow ere himself* 
 And ran dismay'd away. 
 
 Lor. In such a night 
 
 Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 10 
 
 Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old Mso~. 
 
 Lor. In such a night 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, 
 
 * Saw the lion's shadow before the lion himself. 
 
108 THE MERCHANT [Act V 
 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 
 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 Lor. In such a night 20 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 
 Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come ; 
 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in the silence of the night? 
 
 Steph. A friend. 
 
 Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, 
 friend ? 
 
 Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 30 
 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who comes with her? 
 
 Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
 I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 
 
 Lor. 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. 
 
 Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 
 
 Lor. Who calls? 40 
 
 Laun. Sola ! did you see Master Lorenzo ? 
 
 Master Lorenzo, sola, sola ! 
 Lor. Leave hollaing, man : here. 
 Laun. Sola! where? where? i 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 109 
 
 Lor. Here. 
 
 Laun. 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. 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 
 And yet no matter : why should we go in? 50 
 
 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, 61 
 
 Still quiringf 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. 
 
 Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 70 
 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 * Small gold or silver-gilt plates used in the Eucharist, 
 t Singing like a choir. 
 
110 THE MERCHANT [Act V 
 
 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 ; 80 
 
 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. 
 
 Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 90 
 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. 
 
 Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
 A substitute shines brightly as a king 
 Until a king be by, and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 
 
 Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 
 Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect* : 
 Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 Unheeded. 
 
Scene J] OF VENICE 111 
 
 Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Lor. That is the voice, no 
 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 
 Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, 
 
 By the bad voice. 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 Por. We have been praying for our husbands' healths, 
 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words, 
 
 Are they return'd? 
 Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before, 
 
 To signify their coming. 
 Por. Go in, Nerissa; 
 
 Give order to my servants that they take 
 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 120 
 
 Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. 
 
 LA tucket* sounds. 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: 
 
 We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 
 Por. 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. 
 
 * A peculiar series of notes on a trumpet. 
 
112 THE MERCHANT lAct V 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their followers. 
 
 Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 For. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 
 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 130 
 
 And never be Bassanio so for me: 
 
 But God sort all ! You are welcome home, my lord. 
 
 Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my 
 friend. 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 
 It must appear in other ways than words, 140 
 
 Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 Gra. [To Ner.] 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. 
 
 Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? 
 
 Gra. 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.' 150 
 
 Ner. 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 : 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 113 
 
 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. 
 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 160 
 
 Gra. 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. 
 
 Por. 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 170 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. {Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off 
 And swear I lost the ring defending it. 
 
 Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 180 
 
 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. 
 
 Por. What ring gave you, my lord? 
 
 * Considerate. 
 
114 THE MERCHANT [Act V 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you received of me. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 190 
 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Ner. Nor I in yours 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass. 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. 
 
 Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 200 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, 
 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 210 
 
 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 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 115 
 
 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, 220 
 
 Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd 
 
 The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advised 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him, then ; 
 For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
 Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwith- 
 standing. 
 
 Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; 240 
 
 And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
 Wherein I see myself — 
 
 Por. Mark you but that! 
 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
 
116 THE MERCHANT lAct V 
 
 In each eye, one : swear by your double self, 
 And there's an oath of credit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Ant. 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. 
 
 Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 
 
 Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 
 
 Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; 
 For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 
 
 Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 260 
 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 
 
 Gra. 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? 
 
 Por. 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, 
 Kerissa there her clerk : Lorenzo here 270 
 
 Shall witness I set forth as soon as you 
 And even but now return'd; I have not yet 
 linter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome; 
 And I have better news in store for you 
 Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 
 
Scene I] OF VENICE 117 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor and I knew you not? 280 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk tfiat is to make me cuckold ? 
 
 Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; 
 For here I read for certain that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. How now, Lorenzo ! 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. 290 
 
 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. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of starved people. 
 
 Por. 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. 
 
 Gra. Let it be so: the first inter' gatory 300 
 
 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 : 
 
118 THE MERCHANT [Act V 
 
 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. 
 
 [the end.] 
 
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