The Complete Works of Shakspeare, Revised from the Best Authorities : with a Memoir, and Essay on His Genius

That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.

Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo.

Fare
Fare you well;

We leave you now with better company.

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.

Salar. I would have stayed till I had made you I'll tell thee more of this another time:

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak.

say when?

You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on

yours.

[Exeunt SALARINO and SOLANIO.

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, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
Believe me you are marvelously changed.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world,
tiano;

A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

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 com-
mendable

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; Gra- and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks),
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a willful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dressed in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

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 shewing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance :
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is to come fairly off from the great debts
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money and in love:
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; Try what my credit can in Venice do;

And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honor, be assured,

My purse, my person, my extremest means,

Lie all unlocked to your occasions.

That shall be racked, even to the uttermost,

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.

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.
I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost: but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

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

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness,

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.

eyes

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her
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.

therefore, to 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 cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps over 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: -0 me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery that he hath devised in these three

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at chests, of gold, silver, and lead (whereof who

sea;

Nor have I money, nor commodity

To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,

chooses his meaning, chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in

your affection towards any of these princely suitors man, and swore he would pay him again when he that are already come? was able. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under for another.

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.

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

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is so

Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth noth-ber; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is ing 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.

Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, "An you will not have me, choose." He hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two!

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 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.

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 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 anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their home and to trouble you with no more suit; unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets.

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 fa

Ner. What say you, then, to Faulconbridge, the ther's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, young baron of England? 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. You know I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture; but, alas! who can converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bon-him net in Germany, and his behavior everywhere.

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbor?

Por. That he hath a neighborly charity in him;

Por. I remember him well; and I remember worthy of thy praise. How now! what news ?

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam,

for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English- to take their leave: and there is a fore-runner

come from the 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 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 on 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 He hates our sacred nation; and he rails, 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.

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!

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

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?

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

Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

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.

Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
Ant. Shylock, albeit 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 you would?
Shy.

Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months.

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
Upon advantage.

Ant.

I do never use it.

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine;

sheep,

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?
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 eanlings which were streaked and pied
Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank,
In the end of autumn turnéd to the rams:
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
The skillful shepherd peeled 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-colored 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 served for;

A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But swayed and fashioned 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.

And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well, then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to, then you come to me, and you say,
"Shylock, we would have moneys." You say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold. Moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
"Hath a dog money? Is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?"_or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this:

"Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me dog: and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much moneys?"

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
I would be friends with you, and have your love;
Forget the shames that you have stained me with;
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys; and you'll not hear

me:

This is kind I offer.

Ant. This were kindness.
Shy.

you storm!

This kindness will I shew.

Go with me to a notary, seal me there

Shy. Three thousand ducats; -'t is a good Your single bond; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day,

round sum.

Three months from twelve, then let me see the In such a place, such sum or sums as are Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit

rate.

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to Be nominated for an equal pound

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;

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
You call me "misbeliever, cut-throat dog,"

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.

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The Complete Works of Shakspeare, Revised from the Best ..., Volume 2