Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; â
Parts, tliat l)ecome thee haj)pily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ;
Jiut uherethcju art not known, why ttiere they show
fSomethmg too liberal :' â pray thee take pain
'j\> allav with some cohl drops of modesty
Thy skipping sj)int; lest, througli thy wild h(>liaviour,
^ in peril of my lif' vifh l/ir eris^c of a fcnlher-bctl ;] A
CiUJt phra'^e to sigtjily thu danj^i-r of iiiurryin};.
' Sumet/ii/i^ tou lihcral ;] i.e. grubS, coarse, liccntiouB.
32 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
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.
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.^
G)^a. Nay, but I bar to-night ; you shall not gage
By what we do to-night.
Bass. No, that wxre pity ;
I would entreat you rather to put on
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. \_E.veunt,
The same. A Room in Shylock's House.
Enter Jessica and LAU^â CELOT.
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 :
Bat fare thee well : there is a ducat for thee'.
sad fs'cnt â ] Ostent is a word very cornmorly used
for shcAv among the old draiiiatick writers.
3 â â â iiour bearing.] Hearing is carriage, deportment.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 33
Ami, Launcelot, soon ;it siippiT slialt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's "nest :
Give him this letter ; do it secretly,
And so tkn'well ; I ^vould not have my father
kSee me talk with thee.
Latin. Adieu ! â tears exhihit thy ton<^ue. â
^lost beautiful pagan, â most sweet Jew! If a Christ-
ian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much
deceived : But, adieu ! these foolish drops do some-
what drown my manly spirit ; adieu ! \_E.vit.
Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
To be asham'd to be my'father's child!
Jiut though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo,
If thou kecjj promise, I shall end this strife ;
Become a Christian, and thy lovmg wife. \_E.r'it,
The same. A Street.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, >Salarino, and
Lor. Na\', we will slink away in supjK'r-timc ;
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour.
Gra. ^^'e have not made good preparation.
Suldr. W\' have not spoke us yet of toreh-
Sniim. 'Tis vile, unless it maybe quaintly order'd;
And bitter, in mv miiul, not undertook.
Lor. 'Tis now but four a-elock ; we have Iwo
To furnish us ; â
34 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
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.
Lor. I know the hand : in faith, *tis a fair hand ;
And whiter than the paj)er 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 : â tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her ; â speak it privately ; go. â
Gentlemen, \_Exit Launcelot.
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ?
I am provided of a toach-bearer.
Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
Sedan. And so will I.
Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodgings some hour hence.
Salar. 'Tis good we do so.
\_E.veiint Salar. and Salan.
Gra. Was not tliat letter from fair Jessica ?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed.
How I shall take her from her father's house ;
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,
I'nless she do it under this excuse, â
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,
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 35
The same. Before Sliylock's House.
Enter Shylock and Launceix)T.
Shi/. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy
The diftl'rence of old Shyloek and Bassanio :â
What, Jessica ! â thou shalt not gormandize,
As thou hast done with nie ; â What, Jessica !â
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; â
^\'hy, Jessica, I say !
Iaiuu. Why, Jessica !
SJiy. Wlio bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call,
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could
do nothing without bidding".
Jcs. Call you r What is yo\n' will ?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
There are my keys : â But wherefore should I go ?
I am not bid for love ; they flatter mc :
But yet rii go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian/ â Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house : â I am right loath to go ;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest.
For I did dream of money-ba^s to-night.
Iaihu. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master
doth expect your reproach.
io ft-ed iipnn
The proditral Chiisiian.^ Sliylock forgets his resolution. In
a former scene he declares he will iieitlier rat, drink, nor praif
with ChristianR. Of this cireunistunce the noct was aware, and
meant only to heif^hten tlie malignity of the character, by making;
him depart from his most settled resolve, for the prosecution o\
h\% reNciiget SiKtviNs.
36 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Shy. So do I his.
Laun. And they have conspired together, â 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
w^as four year in the afternoon.
Shi}. What ; are there masques ? Hear you me,
Lock up my doors ; and w hen you hear the
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then.
Nor thrust your head into the publick 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. â By Jacob's staff, I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night :
But I will go. â Go you before me, sirrah ;
Say, I will come.
Laun, I will go before, sir. â
Misti'ess, look out at window, for all this ;
There wdll come a Christian by.
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. SJExit Laun.
Shxj, What says that fool of Hagar's offspring,
Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress ; no-
^ then il ivas noifor noilnng that my nose Jell a bleeding on
Black-Monday lard,'] " Black'Monday is Easter-Monday, and
was so called on this occasion : in the 34th of Edward III. (1360)
the 14th of April, and the morrow after Easter-day, King Ed-
ward, with his host, lay before the city of Paris : which day was
full of dark mist and hail, and so bitter cold, that many men died
OB their horses' backs with the cold. Wherefore, unto this day
it hutli been cuiled the Bhcke- Monday.** Stowe^ p. 264â6.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. a7
Shy. The j)ateh^ is kind enouf^li ; but a huge
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps b}'- day
More tlian the wild eat ; drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him
To one tliat I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse. â Well, Jessiea, go in;
Perha])s, I will return immediately;
Do, as I bid you,
8hut doors after you : Fast bind, fist 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. \Eiit.
Enter Gratiaxo and Salarino, masqued.
Gra. This is tlic pent-house, under which Lo-
Desir'd us to make stand.
Salnr. ' His hour is almost past.
Ura. And it is mar\'el he out-dwells his hour.
For lowrs ever run before the clock.
Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new made, than they arc wont.
To keep obliged faith unforfeited !
Gra. That ever holds : who risoth from a feast,
With that keen apj)etite that he sits down ?
Where is the horse that doth unread again
His tedious measures with the unbatd fire
That he did ])aee tl^em first ? All things that are,
Arc with more spirit chased than cnjoy'l.
^ The patch â ] A term iur a fool.
3Â« MERCHANT OF VENICE,
How like a younker, or a prodigal,
The scarfed bark' puts from her native bay,
Hiigg'd and embraced by the strumjx't 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 '
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ; â more of this here-
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long
Not I, but my aifairs, have made you wait ;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then. â Approach ;
Here dwells my father Jew : â Ho ! who's within.
Efiter Jessica abo^ce, in boys clothes.
Jcs. Who are you ? Tell me, for more certaint}^.
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jcs. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ;
For who love I so much ? and now who knows.
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ?
Lor. Pleaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that
Jcs. Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me.
For I am much asham'd, of my exchange :
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty foUics that themselves commit ;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me t/ius transformed to a boy.
Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearerÂ»
â soirfed bark â ] i. e. the vessel decorated with flags.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 39
Jes. What, must I hold a caudle to my shames ?
They in themselves, good sooth, aie too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ;
And I should be obscur'd.
Lor. So arc you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once ;
For the close niuht doth ])lay the run-away.
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes. I will make last the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
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 prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
.Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
Enter Jessica, hcloxc.
"\\'hat, art thou come ? â On, gentlemen, away ;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
[^Exit with Jessica and Salarino.
Ant. Who's there?
Gra. Signior Antonio ?
ylnt. Fye, fye, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
Tis nine o'clock ; our friends all stay for you : â
No masque to-night; the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard :
I have sent twenty out to seek fur you.
Gta. I am glad on't ; I desire no more delight,
Tlnni to be under sail, and gone to-night.
VOL. III. F
40 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Tlourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince
of Morocco^ and both their Trains,
Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
Tlie several caskets to this noble prince : â
Now make your choice.
Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription
bears ; â
JVho chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
The second, silver, which this promise carries ; â
Who chooseth 7we, shall get as much as he deser'oes.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; â
IVho chooseth me, mast give and hazard all he hath*
How shall I know if I do choose the right ?
Por. The one of them contains my picture,
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 â 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 ?
fVlio chooseth 77ie, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves ? â 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
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 41
May not extend so far as to tlie lady ;
And yet to be afoard of my deserving,
Were but a weak disablino; of myself.
As miieli as I deserve ! â Why, that's the lady :
I do in bu'th deserve her, and in fortunes.
In oraces, and in qualities of breeding ;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here ?â .
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold :
irho choosctli viCy shall f];ain zchat nianii mai desire.
Why, that's the lady : all the world desires her:
From tlu' four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathino- saint.
The Hvrcanian deserts, and the vastv wilds
Of wide Arabia, arc as through-fares now.
For princes to come view fair Portia :
The watry 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 ?iee fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere danmation.
To til ink so base a thought : it were too gross
To rib" lier cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd.
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold ?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin, that bears the fi";ure of an anirel
StaiinK'd in gold ; but that's insculp'd^ upon ;
Jiut here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. â Deliver me the key ;
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!
* To rib â ] i. o. inclose, astlie ribs inclose the viscera.
** ; insculij'J vpoti ;\ To inacnlp is to eiigravt'. The mtntn-
mw is, that the ligarc of the angel is rciued or tiubuwcU wu tbÂ«
com, not engraved ou it.
42 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Por. There, take it^ prince, and if my form lie
Then I am yours. \_He unlocks the golden casket,
Mor. O hell ! what have we here ?
A carrion death, ^vithin whose empty eye
There is a written scroll ? I'll read the writins;.
All that glisters is not gold.
Often ha've you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath soldy
But my outside to behold :
Gilded tombs do ivorms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold.
Young in limbs, in judgment old.
Your ansxver kad not been inscrofd :
Fare you well ; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost :
Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. â
Portia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. \_E.rit,
Por. A gentle riddance : Draw the curtains,
Let all of his complexion choose me so. \_E.veunt.
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 rais'd thÂ«
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 43
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 ccrtity'd the duke.
They were not witli Bassanio in his ship,
Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
80 strange, outrageous, and so variable.
As the doo- Jew did utter in the streets :
J/y daughter ! â O my ducats ! â O my daughter !
Fled zvii/i a Christ 'uui ? â O my christian ducats ! â
Justice! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter !
A sealed bae:, fuo sealed bai^s of ducats.
Of double ducats J stoCnJrom me by my daughter I
And jeu-els; two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stol'n by my daughter ! â Justice! find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats !
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him.
Crying, â his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day.
Or he shall ]>ay for this.
Salar. Marry, well remember'd :
I rca.son'd with a Frenchman yesterday ; '
AVho told me, â in the narrow seas, that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country, richly iVauglit :
I thought upon Antonio, w hen he told me ;
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his,
Salan. You were best t(; tell Antonio what you
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the eartli.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
JJassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return j he answer' d â Do not so,
' I rcasjon'd n-ilh a Frenchman yesterday ;] i, c. I converged.
44 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Slubber not'^ busbiess for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time ;
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of 7ne,
Let it 7Wt enter in your mind of love :
Be merry ; and employ your chief est thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall ccnvenietitly become you there :
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
TuriiinÂ«: his face, he put his hand behind him,'
And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Satan. 1 think, he only loves the world for himÂ»
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.
Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Nerissa, with a Servant.
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain
The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
x\nd comes to his election presently.
' Slubber not â ] To slubber is to do any thing carelessly, im-
5 Anil even there, his eye heing hir^ rvif.h fear.t.
Turning Jiisjace, he put his hand behind him, Sec.'] So curiou.^
an observer of nature was our author, and so minnttily had he
traced the operation of the passions, that many passages of his
Storks miglit furnish hints to painters. It is indeed surprizing
that they do not study his plays with this view. In the passage
before us, we have the outline of a beautiful picture, Malone.
â¢* embraced hearings â ] The heaviness which he in-
idulges, and i? fond of.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 45
Flourish of Corvets. Enter the Prince o/' Arragon,
Portia, and their Trains.
For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ;
But if vou 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
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.
For. 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 ! â Gold, silver, and base lead.
irho choose th me, must give and hazard all he hath :
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.
What says the golden chest ? ha I let me see : â
fTho chooseth me, shall guin what many men desire.
What many men desire. â That many may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show.
Not k'ariiing more than the fond eye doth teach ;
Whicii ])ries not to the interior, but, like the mart*
Builds in the weather on the outward wall.
Even in the forceÂ® and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump'' with common spirits.
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
5 And io have I address'd vie .â¢] To address is to prepare*
* in the force â ] i. e. thu power.
"> â â jump â ] i. c. agree with.
46 MERCHANT OF VENICE,
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house ;
T'ell me once more what title thou dost bear :
JVho chooscth me, shall get as 7?iuch 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.
O, that estates, degrees, and offices.
Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare ?
How many be commanded, that command ?
How much low peasantry would then be glcan'd
From the true seed of honour?^ and how much
Pick'd from the chaif and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice ;
IFho chooseth me, shall get as miieh as he deserves :
I will assume desert ; â Give me a key for this.
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
jPor. Too long a pause for that which you find
Ar. What's here r the portrait of a blinking
Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia ?
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings ?
iVho chooseth me, shall have as micch as he deserves^
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ?
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ?
Par. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
8 HoXiitmtch lotv 'peasantry xmuldlhen he glean'' d
From l/te true seed q/' honour ?'} The meaning is, Hoxo much
meanness tvould be found among the great j and hoxv much greatness
among the mean.
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 47
^r. What is here ?
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 shadozv's bliss :
There be fools alive, I wis,^
Silver d o'er ; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be yo\ir head :
So begone, sir, 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. â
Sweet, adieu ! Til keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.
[_E,veunt Arragon, atid Train,
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose.
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy ;â
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Scrv. Where is my lady ?
Par. Here ; what would my lord ?
Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the ajjproaching of his lord :
From whom he l)ringeth sensible regreets ;*
7 wis,] I know. JVissrn, Gennan.
' rt'grcfts ;] i. c. salutations.
48 MERCHANT OF VENICE.
To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath.
Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen
So hkely an ambassador of love :
A day in April never came so sweet.
To sliow how costly summer was at hand.
As this tbre-spurrer comes before his lord.
For. 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.â
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly.
Ner, Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be !
SCENE I. Venice. A Street.
Enter Salanio and Salarino.
Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ?
Salar, Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that
Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the
narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the
place ; a very dangerous fiat, 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
Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that
as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours bc-
heve she wept for the death of a third husband: But
it is true, â without any slips of prolixity, or cross-