The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 278
As any other suitor I have already met
Of winning my heart.
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
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would outstare 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 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.
For that, I thank you.
So, please lead me to the trunks
To try my luck. By this sword
That killed the Sophy and a Persian prince,
That won three battles with Sultan Solyman,
I would outstare the meanest eyes in the world
And act braver than the most daring man on earth.
I’d take a mother bear’s cubs from her,
And would even tease a roaring, hungry lion
To win your love, lady. But, this is not good!
If Hercules and Lichas were to toss dice
To decide which is the better man, the best toss
May by a turn of luck come from the weaker hand.
Just as Alcides could be beaten by his servant,
I might also, led by blind luck,
Miss the opportunity for you that one less worthy might win
And I would die with grief about it.
PORTIA
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.
You must take your chance,
And either choose not to attempt it at all
Or swear before chosing that if you choose wrong
You will never speak to any lady again
About marriage. That’s the deal.
MOROCCO
Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.
I won’t get married if I lose. So, let me take my chance.
PORTIA
First, forward to the temple: after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Let’s go to the temple first. After dinner
You can make your guess.
MOROCCO
Good fortune then!
To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
I’ll hope for good fortune!
I will be the luckiest man or the most cursed man in the world.
Cornets, and exeunt
Enter LAUNCELOT
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 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: '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 I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled 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
incarnal; 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 command; I will run.
I’m certain I will feel guilty if I run away
from this Jew who is my master. But the devil is at my side and
tempts me by saying ‘Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,’ or ‘good Gobbo,’ or ‘good Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs and take off and run away.’ My
conscience says, ‘No, be careful,’ honest Launcelot,
be careful, honest Gobbo, or, as I said before, ‘honest
Launecelot Gobbo, do not run, hold your
heels.’ But, not to be deterred, the devil tells me
to pack it up. ‘Hurry up!’ says the devil. ‘Let’s go!’ says the
devil. ‘For God’s sake, be brave,
says the devil, ‘and run.’ Well, my conscience,
which hangs close to my heart, says very wisely
to me, ‘My honest friend Launcelot, you are an honest
man’s son.’ Or, rather, an honest woman’s son, for
my father had characteristics, something
that was a part of him, a certain kind of taste for cheating. But my conscience
says, ‘Launcelot, don’t run.’ ‘Run,’ says the
devil. ‘Don’t run,’ says my conscience.
‘Conscience,’ I say, ‘you give good advice. ‘Devil,’
I say, ‘you give good advice.’ If I go with my
conscience, I will stay with my master the Jew,
who, to be sure, is a kind of devil. And to
run away from the Jew, I will be ruled by the
devil, who, forgive me, is the devil
himself. Certainly, the Jew is the devil
incarnate, and in my conscience, I know my conscience
is giving me some hard advice to tell me
to stay with the Jew. The devil gives
kinder advice: I will run, devil, my heels are
at your command, I will run.
Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket
GOBBO
Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
to master Jew's?
Can you tell me, young man, please, which is the way
the master Jew’s home?
LAUNCELOT
[Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
knows me not: I will try confusions with him.
[Aside] Oh my god, it is my real father!
And he’s more than just a little blind, he’s almost totally blind
and doesn’t recognize me. I’ll mess with him a bit.
GOBBO
Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
to master Jew's?
Young man, please, can you tell me which way
to the master Jew’s home?
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 turn
down indirectly to the Jew's house.
Turn right at the next turn, and then
turn left. Immediately, at
the next turn, turn neither left nor right, but
turn in the direction of the Jew’s house.
GOBBO
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?
My god, it will be hard to find it. Can
you tell me whether a man named Launcelot
that used to live there still lives there?
LAUNCELOT
Talk you of young Master Launcelot?
Do you mean the young Master Launcelot?
Aside
Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
of young Master Launcelot?
[Aside] Pay attention, I’m about to make things interesting. Are you talking
about the young Master Launcelot?
GOBBO
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.
He’s not a master, but a poor man’s son. His father,
if I might say, is an very honest but poor man
and—thank God—will most likely live long.
LAUNCELOT
Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of
young Master Launcelot.
Well, let his father be what he will, we are talking about
young Master Launcelot.
GOBBO
Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.
I beg your pardon but he is just Launcelot, sir.
LAUNCELOT
But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
talk you of young Master Launcelot?
But I beg you, therefore, old man, I ask you
are you talking about young Master Launcelot?
GOBBO
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
I’m talking about Launcelot, yes.
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
learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say
in plain terms, gone to heaven.
Well, then, Master Launcelot. Don’t speak of Master
Launcelot, old man, for the young man,
according to fate and destiny and other odd
reflections, the Three Sisters and those sort of branches of
learning, is deceased, or, as one might say
in plain terms, he has gone to heaven.
GOBBO
Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
age, my very prop.
By Mary, God forbid! The boy was the very support of my
age, he was my prop.
LAUNCELOT
Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
a prop? Do you know me, father?
Do I look like a short stick or a cane, a staff or
a prop? Do you know who I am, old man?
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?
I’m sorry, I do not know who you are, young man,
but, please, can you tell me, is my son, God rest his
soul, alive or dead?
LAUNCELOT
Do you not know me, father?
You don’t know me, old man?
GOBBO
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.
I’m sorry, sir, I am mostly blind. I do not know you.
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: give me your blessing: truth will come
to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
may, but at the length truth will out.
No, I think even if you had your sight
you wouldn’t know me. It is a wise father who can recognize his
own child. Well, old man, I will tell you about
your son: give me your blessing and the truth will
be revelaed. A murder cannot be hidden for long. A man’s son
may be hidden, but eventually the truth will come out.
GOBBO
Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
Launcelot, my boy.
Please, sir, stand up. I am sure you are not
Launcelot, my son.
LAUNCELOT
Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but
give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy
that was, your son that is, your child that shall
be.
Please, let’s not have any more fooling around, just
give me your blessing. I am Launcelot, your boy
that was, your son that is, your child that will
always be.
GOBBO
I cannot think you are my son.
I just can’t believe 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 your
wife is my mother.
I don’t know what to think of that, but I am
Launcelot, the Jew’s servant, and I am sure that Margery, 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 worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.
Her name is Margery, yes. I’ll be damned, if you
are Launcelot, you are my flesh and blood.
Praise be to God! What a beard you have
got! You have more hair on your chin than
my draught horse Dobbin 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.
It would seem, then that Dobbin’s tail grows
backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail
than I have on my face last time I saw him.
GOBBO
Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
master agree? I have brought him a present. How
'gree you now?
God, how you have changed! How do you and your
master get along? I’ve brought him a present. How
are you these days?
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 a present! give him a halter: I am famished 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 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.
Well, to be honest, as far as I go, I have made
up my mind to run away, and I will not rest until I
have gained some ground. My master is a Jew. Give
him a p
resent! You should give him a noose. I am starving in
his service. You can feel every single one of
my ribs. Father, I am glad you have come. Give me
your present and I will give it to Master Bassanio, who does
sometimes give new uniforms. If I can’t serve him, I
will run as far as God has put ground. Oh, what
luck! Here come the man. Let’s go talk to him, father. I will
be a Jew if I serve a Jew any longer.
Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers
BASSANIO
You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper
be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See
these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,
and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Okay, go on. But make sure to do things quickly so that supper
is ready no later than five o’clock. Make sure
these letters are delivered, and get the uniforms ready,
and ask Gratiano to come soon to my home.
Exit a Servant
LAUNCELOT
To him, father.
Go to him, father.
GOBBO
God bless your worship!
God bless your, sir!
BASSANIO
Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?
Thank you! What do you want with me?
GOBBO
Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,--
This is my son, sir, a poor boy—
LAUNCELOT
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that
would, sir, as my father shall specify—
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s servant, who
would, son, as my father will explain—