PORTIA, a rich heiress.

NERISSA, her waiting-maid.

JESSICA, daughter to Shylock.

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of
Justice, Jailor, Servants, and other Attendants.

SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent.

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.
Salan. Why then you are in love.

Ant. Fie, fie!

Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you
are sad,

Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram'd 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.

For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
Ant. Farewell; I'll grow a talker for this gear.
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 any thing 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 this same,
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
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,

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins-Than my faint means would grant continuance.

man,

Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well;

We leave you now with better company.

Nor do Inow make moan to be abrigd'd
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry, Wherein my time, something too prodigal,

If worthier friends had not prevented me.

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.
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,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail you.

Gra. You look not well, siguior Antonio ;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Gra. Let me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
Ant let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man; whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep, when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,-
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which hearing them, would call their brothers, fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.-
Come, good Lorenzo: - fare ye well, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,

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 unburthen 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 assur'd,
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,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
Lowe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way,
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
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!
Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues; sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece:
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O, my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea ;
Nor have I money, nor commodity

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

I

Por. You know, I say nothing to him; for he understands not me,uor 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 inGermany,and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

for

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; 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?

Pro. 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 little worse than a man; and when he is worst,he is little better than a beast: and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I shall make shift to go with

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket: for, if the devil be within, and that temptation without, know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced! Ner. They would do 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-out him. tages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right his own instructions. I can easier teach twenty what casket, you should refuse to perform your father's were good to be done,than be one of the twenty to fol-will, if you should refuse to accept him. low mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree: a 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 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these refuse, whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daugh-lords; they have acquainted me with their determinater curb'd by the will of a dead father. -Is it not hard, tions: which is indeed, to return to their home, and Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? to trouble you with no more suit; unless you may be Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, won by some other sort,than your father's imposition, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, the depending on the caskets. lottery that he hath devised in these three chests, of Por.IfI live to be as old,as Sibylla, I will die as chaste, gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his mean-as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my faing, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen ther's will: I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reaby any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. sonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on But what warmth is there in your affection towards his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair deany 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 appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith.

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine.

parture.

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, so was he called.

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

Por. I remember him well; and I remember himy worthy of thy praise.-How now! what news? Enter a Servant.

Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choose: he hears merry Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will prove the weeping take their leave: and there is a fore-runner come from philosopher when he grows old, being so full of un- a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings word, the mannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be mar-prince, his master, will be here to-night. ried 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 aman! In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; but, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the count Palatine; he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England?

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good 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 gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.— Venice. A public place.
Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK.
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.
Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and
Antonio bound.

Bass.. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

Shy. Ho, 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, squander'd 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 assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto?-Who is he comes here?

Enter ANTONIO.

Bass. This is signior Antonio.

Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
Directly interest; mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromis'd,
That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied,
Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank,
In the end of autumn turned to the rams:
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands,
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes;
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.
Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd 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:
But note me, signior.

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek:
A goodly apple rotten at the heart;
0, what a goodly 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 beholden to you?
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usances:

Shy. [Aside. How like a fawning publican he looks! Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;

I hate him, for he is a christian :

But more, for that, in low simplicity,

Helends 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 grudgel bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

Bas. 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?-Rest you fair, good signior;

[To Antonio.

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 monies; you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? is it possible,

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this,

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spurn'd me such a day; another time
You call'd me-dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much monies.

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 may'st 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 doit
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me:

Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, This is kind I offer.

This Jacob from our holy Abraham 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?

Ant. 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
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

Ant. Content, in 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

Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

Shy. O, father Abraham, what these Christians are;
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this:
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?

A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forth with 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.

This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on; in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion, when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady; but, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;

And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that, which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance;
And either not attempt to choose at all,

Or swear, before you choose,-if you choose wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advised!

Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance! Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

SCENE II.-Venice. A street.
Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO.

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 aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels! Well, the most courageous fiends bids me pack; via! says the fiend; away! says the fiend, for the heavens; rouse up a brave mind,says the fiend,and run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me,-my honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son-or rather an honest woman's son ;-for,indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste;-well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge not; budge, says the fiend: budge not, says my conscience: Conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend,say

SCENE I.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and other of her Attend-I, you counsel well: to be ruled by my conscience, I

ants.

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
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 choosing:
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,

For my affection.

Mor. Even for that I thank you;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets,
To try my fortune. By this scimitar,-
That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,-
would out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,

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 incarnation; and, in my conscien-
ce, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to
offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend
gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend;
my heels are at your commandment, I will run.
Enter old GOBвO, with a basket.
Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which is
the way to master Jew's?

Laun. [Aside.] Oheavens, this is my true begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not:-I will try conclusions 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 sonties, '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 ?-Mark me now; [aside.] 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 live.