The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Launcelot. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach.

Shylock. So do I his.

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Launcelot. An they have conspired together, I will not say you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon.

30

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, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements: Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear, I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah; Say I will come.

Launcelot. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this;

There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

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[Exit.

Shylock. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? Jes. His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else. Shylock. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder; Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day

More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me:
Therefore I part with him, and part with him

To one that I would have him help to waste

His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in:

Perhaps I will return immediately:

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Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:

Fast bind, fast find;

A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

[Exit.

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

[Exit.

SCENE VI. The same.

Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued.

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

Salarino.

His hour is almost past.

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

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

Gratiano. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again

His tedious measures with the unbated fire

That he did pace them first? All things that are
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker or a prodigal

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return,

With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,

Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

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Salarino. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

Enter LORENZO.

Lorenzo. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;

Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:

When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,

I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;

Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?

Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes.

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

Lorenzo. Lorenzo, and thy love.

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

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Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
Jessica. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
But love is blind and lovers cannot see

The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lorenzo. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 40

Jessica. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;

And I should be obscured.

Lorenzo.

So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once;

For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

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

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[Exit above.

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

Lorenzo. Beshrew me but I love her heartily;

For she is wise, if I can judge of her,

And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,

And true she is, as she hath proved herself,

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

Enter JESSICA, below.

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

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino.

Enter ANTONIO.

Antonio. Who's there?

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Gratiano. Signior Antonio!

Antonio. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.

No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
Bassanio presently will go aboard:

I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portia's house.

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

Portia. Go draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince.

Now make your choice.

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

If

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

10

Morocco. Some god direct my judgement! Let me see; I will survey the inscriptions back again.

What says this leaden casket?

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'

Must give for what? for lead? hazard for lead?
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all

Do it in hope of fair advantages:

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;

I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.

What says the silver with her virgin hue?

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,

And weigh thy value with an even hand:

If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady:
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.

What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold;

'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint:

The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares 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.

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30

40

One of these three contains her heavenly picture.

Is 't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation

50

To think so base a thought: it were too gross
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem