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Have lov'd 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 chusing.
But if my

father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you ;
Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair,
As any comer I have look'd on yet,

my affection.
Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you ;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this scimitar,
That slew the Sophy and a Persian Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would out-Itare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the fhe-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while !
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand :
So is Alcides beaten by his page ; (8)

And (8) So is Alcides beaten by his rage.] Tho' the whole set of editions concur in this reading, and it pass'd wholly unsuspected by the late learned editor ; I am very well asíur'd, and, I dare say, the readers will be so too presenıly, that it is corrupt at bottom. Let us look into the poet's drift, and the history of the persons mention’d in the context. If Hercules (says he) and Lichas were to play at dice for the decifoon of their fuperiority, Licbas, the weaker man, might have the better cast of the two. But how then is Aicides beaten by his ragen To admit this, we inuft fuppose a gapin the poet; and that some lines are loit, in which Hercules, in his passion for losing the hand, had thrown the box and dice away, and knock'd his own head against the wall for mere malness. Thus, indeed, might he be said, in some sense, to be beaten by his rage. But Sbakespeare had no such ftuff in his head. He means no more, than, if Lyckas had the better throw, 1o might Hercules himself be beaten by Licbas. And who was he, but a poor unfortunate servant of Hercules, that unknowingly brought his


E 5

attain ;

Arid fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that, which one unworthier

may And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance, And cither not attempt to chuse at all, Or swear, before you chuse, if you


wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward In way of marriage; therefore, be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; therefore, bring me to my chances

Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Mor. Good fortune then !

Cornets. To make me bleft, or cursed'st among men, [Exeunt,

SCENE changes to Venice.

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Enter Launcelot alone. Laun. Ertainly, 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. Mv conscience says, no; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honeft Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcemaller the envenom'd shirt, dirt in the blood of the certaur Nilius, and was thrown headlang into the sea for his pains ? This one circuinfance of Lichas's quality known sufficiently ascertains the emendation I have fubftituted, of page instead of rage. It is scarce requisite io hint here, it is a point to well known, that fage has been always us'd in English to signify any boy.servant: as well as what la:ter times have appropriated it to, a lady's truinbearer. And, consonant to our txiended usage of the word, the French call a Puigboy, ur. page du 1:auire. So much in explanation of this new adopted reading. The very excellent Lord LANSDOWNE, in his alteration of this play, tho'ne miuht not stand to make the correction upon the poet, leems at least to have understood the paslaçe exa&tly as I do: and tho' he changes the verte, retains the sense of it in this manner :

So were a Giant worsted by a Dwarf ! Tho' I had made the emendation, before I thought to Icok into his Loordjhip's performance; it is no small satisfaction to me, that I have the authority of such a Genius to back my conjecture. Mr. Pope, in bis last edition, has thought fit to embrace my reading.

lot 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 heav'ns 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 fon -(for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to; he had a kind of taite.) -well, my conscience says, budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience; conicience, say I, you counsel ill; fiend, say I, you counsel ill. To be ruld by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my matter, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew, I thould be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil hiinfelf. Certainly, the few is the very devil incarnal; and in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the few. The fiend gives the more friendly countel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Mafter young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to maiter's Jew's ?

Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confusions with him.

Gob. Mafter young Gentleinan, I pray you, which is the way to mafter Jew's?'

Laun. Turn up, on your right-hand (9) at the next turning, bus, at the next turning of all, on your lett ;

(9) Turn up, on your right kand-]. This arch and perplex'd direction, on purpose to puzzle the enquirer, seems to be copied fiom Syrus to Demea, in the Brothers of Terence : Act. 4. Sc. 2.

ubi eas præterieris,
Al finiftram buze rectî platea : ubi ad Dianz veneris,

Ito ad dextram prius, quam ad fortam venias: &c. The realer, upon. a collation of the whole passage, will find, how infinitely more concise and bumourous the jeit is couch'd in our poet.


marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's fonties, '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


master Launcelot ? (mark me now, now will I raile the waters ;) talk you of young master Launcelot ?

Geb. No master, Sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though I say’t, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he 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


master Launcelot?
Gob. of Launcelot, an't please your maftership.

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcclot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and deftinies, and such odd sayings, the fifters three, and such branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.

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 ge tleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead ?

Laun. Do yoù not know me, father?
Gob. Alack, Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

Leun. 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, in the end, 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 blefling; 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 Few's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife, is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood : lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my

Thill-horfe has on his tail (10).
Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail

grow's backward; I am sure, he had niore hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last faw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have set up my reft to run away, fo I will not rest 'till I have run fome ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am familh'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with


ribs. Father, I am glad you are come, give me your present to one master Basanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve him not, 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 a follower or

two more. Baf. You may do fo; but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: see these letters deliver’d, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Laun. To him, father. (10) than Dobbin my Thill-korse] Some of the editions have it Pbill, others Fill-horse; both, erroneously. It must be tbill-borse; i. e, the horse, which draws in the Sbafts, or Tbill, of the carriage.

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