The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
Page 365
Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with,
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me, –
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This is kind I offer.
BASSANIO This were kindness.
SHYLOCK 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
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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.
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ANTONIO Content in faith, I’ll seal to such a bond,
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
BASSANIO You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.
ANTONIO Why fear not man, I will not forfeit it, –
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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.
SHYLOCK O father Abram, what these Christians are,
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
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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
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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.
ANTONIO Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
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SHYLOCK Then meet me forthwith 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
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I’ll be with you. Exit.
ANTONIO Hie thee gentle Jew.
The Hebrew will turn Christian, he grows kind.
BASSANIO I like not fair terms, and a villain’s mind.
ANTONIO Come on, in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day.
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Exeunt.
2.1 Flourish cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO (a tawny Moor all in white), and three or four followers accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA and their train.
MOROCCO Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed 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,
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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
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Have lov’d it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts my gentle queen.
PORTIA In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes:
Besides, the lott’ry of my destiny
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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,
Your self (renowned prince) then stood as fair
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As any comer I have look’d on yet
For my affection.
MOROCCO 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
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That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look:
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth:
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when a roars for prey
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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 rage,
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And so may I, blind Fortune leading me,
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.
PORTIA You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
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Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage, – therefore be advis’d.
MOROCCO
Nor will not, – come bring me unto my chance.
PORTIA First forward to the temple, after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
MOROCCO Good fortune then,
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To make me blest or cursed’st among men!
Cornets. Exeunt.
2.2 Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO (the clown) alone.
LAUNCELOT 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
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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
fiend bids me pack, ‘Fia!’ says the fiend, ‘away!’ says
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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
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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 I, ‘you counsel well,’ –
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to be rul’d by my conscience, I 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,
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and in my conscience, 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.
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Enter OLD GOBBO with a basket.
GOBBO Master young man, you I pray you, which is the
way to Master Jew’s?
LAUNCELOT [aside] O heavens! this is my true-begotten
father, who being mo
re than sand-blind, high gravel-
blind, knows me not, – I will try confusions with him.
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GOBBO Master young gentleman, I pray you which is
the way to Master Jew’s?
LAUNCELOT 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
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turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.
GOBBO Be 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?
LAUNCELOT Talk you of young Master Launcelot?
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[aside] Mark me now, now will I raise the waters; – talk
you of young Master Launcelot?
GOBBO 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.
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LAUNCELOT Well, let his father be what a will, we talk
of young Master Launcelot.
GOBBO Your worship’s friend and Launcelot sir.
LAUNCELOT But I pray you ergo old man, ergo I
beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot.
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GOBBO Of Launcelot an’t please your mastership.
LAUNCELOT Ergo Master Launcelot, – talk not of
Master Launcelot father, for the young gentleman
(according to fates and destinies, and such odd
sayings, the Sisters Three, and such branches of
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learning), is indeed deceased, or as you would say in
plain terms, gone to heaven.
GOBBO Marry God forbid! the boy was the very staff of
my age, my very prop.
LAUNCELOT [aside] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-
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post, a staff, or a prop? – Do you know me father?
GOBBO Alack the day! I know you not young gentleman,
but I pray you tell me, is my boy (God rest his soul)
alive or dead?
LAUNCELOT Do you not know me father?
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GOBBO Alack sir I am sand-blind, I know you not.
LAUNCELOT 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, – [Kneels.] give me your blessing, –
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truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a
man’s son may, but in the end truth will out.
GOBBO Pray you sir stand up, I am sure you are not
Launcelot my boy.
LAUNCELOT Pray you let’s have no more fooling about
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it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot your boy
that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
GOBBO I cannot think you are my son.
LAUNCELOT I know not what I shall think of that: but I
am Launcelot the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery
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your wife is my mother.
GOBBO Her name is Margery indeed, – I’ll be sworn if
thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood:
Lord worshipp’d might he be, what a beard hast thou
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin
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my fill-horse has on his tail.
LAUNCELOT It should seem then that Dobbin’s tail
grows backward. I am sure he had more hair of his tail
than I have of my face when I last saw him.
GOBBO Lord how art thou chang’d! How dost thou and
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thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how
‘gree you now?
LAUNCELOT Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have
run some ground; my master’s a very Jew, – give him
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a present? give him a halter! – I am famish’d in his
service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs:
father I am glad you are come, give me your present to
one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new
liveries, – if I serve not him, I will run as far as God
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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.
BASSANIO You may do so, but let it be so hasted that
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: see
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these letters delivered, put the liveries to making, and
desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Exit one of his men.
LAUNCELOT To him father.
GOBBO God bless your worship.
BASSANIO Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?