Shakespeare's play of the Merchant of Venice · William Shakespeare
SCENE I.--VENICE.(A) EXTERIOR OF SHYLOCK'S HOUSE.
_Enter_ LAUNCELOT GOBBO. _Lau_. 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_;[44] _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 (Heaven 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 conscience, my conscience is 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.
_Gob_. Marry, Heaven forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. _Lau_. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?--Do you know me, father? _Gob_. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you tell me, is my boy (rest his soul!) alive or dead? _Lau_. Do you not know me, father? _Gob_. Alack! sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. _Lau_. 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: _(kneels.)_ Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out. _Gob_. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. _Lau_. 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. _Gob_. I cannot think you are my son. _Lau_. 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.
_Lau_. Not a poor boy, sir; but the rich Jew's man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify. _Gob_. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve---- _Lau_. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire as my father shall specify. _Gob_. His master and he (saving your worship's reverence) are scarce cater-cousins. _Lau_. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you. _Gob_. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is---- _Lau_. In very brief, the suit is impertinent[51] to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father. _Bas_. One speak for both. What would you? _Lau_. Serve you, sir. _Gob_. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. _Bas_. I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit: Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, To leave a rich Jew's service, to become The follower of so poor a gentleman. _Lau_. The old proverb is very well parted between my master, Shylock, and you, sir; you have the grace of Heaven, sir, and he hath---- enough.
_Bas_. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son:-- Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out:--give him a livery. [_To his Followers_. More guarded[52] than his fellows': See it done. _Lau_. Father, in:--_(Exit_ OLD GOBBO.) I cannot get a service, no!--I have ne'er a tongue in my head!--Well; (_looking on his palm_) if any man in Italy have a fairer table;[53] which doth offer to swear upon a book I shall have good fortune![54] Go to, here's a simple line of life![55] here's a small trifle of wives: Alas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine maids, is a simple coming in for one man: and then, to 'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed,[56] here are simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman she's a good wench for this gear.--I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [_Exit_ LAUNCELOT. _Bas_. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, Return in haste, for I do feast to-night My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. _Leo_. My best endeavours shall be done herein. _Enter_ GRATIANO. _Gra_. Where is your master? _Leo_. Yonder, sir, he walks. [_Exit_ LEONARDO _Gra_. Signior Bassanio,-- _Bas_. Gratiano! _Gra_. I have a suit to you.
_Bas_. You have obtained it. _Gra_. You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont. _Bas_. Why, then you must.--But hear thee, Gratiano; Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; Parts, that become thee happily enough, And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; But, where they are not known, why, there they show Something too liberal:[57]--pray thee take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 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[58] Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen; Use all the observance of civility, Like one well studied in a sad ostent;[59] To please his grandam,--never trust me more. _Bas_, Well, we shall see your bearing.[60] _Gra_. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me By what we do to-night. _Bas_. No, that were 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. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ JESSICA _and_ LAUNCELOT _from_ SHYLOCK'S _house_. _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: But fare thee well: there is a ducat for thee; And, Launcelot, soon at supper shall thou see Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: Give him this letter; do it secretly, And so farewell; I would not have my father See me in talk with thee. _Lau_. Adieu!--Tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan,--most sweet Jew! Adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu. [_Exit_. _Jes_. Farewell, good Launcelot. Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asham'd to be my father's child! But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife; Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [_Exit into house_. _Enter_ GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, _and_ SALANIO. _Lor_. Nay, we will slink away in supper time; Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an hour. _Gra_. We have not made good preparation. _Salar_. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.[61] _Sal_. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd; And better, in my mind, not undertook.
_Lor_. 'Tis now but four o'clock; we have two hours To furnish us.-- _Enter_ LAUNCELOT _with a letter_. Friend Launcelot, what's the news? _Lau_. An it shall please you to break up this,[62] it shall seem to signify. _Lor_. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ. _Gra_. Love-news, in faith. _Lau_. By your leave, sir. _Lor_. Whither goest thou? _Lau_. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. _Lor_. Hold here, take this:--tell gentle Jessica, I will not fail her;--speak it privately; go. [_Exit_ LAUNCELOT _into house_. Gentlemen, Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? I am provided of a torch-bearer. _Salar_. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. _Sal_. And so will I. _Lor_. Meet me and Gratiano At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. _Salar_. 'Tis good we do so. [_Exeunt_ SALARINO _and_ SALANIO. _Gra_. Was not that 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; Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ SHYLOCK _and_ LAUNCELOT _from House_.
_Shy_. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandize, As thou hast done with me;--What, Jessica!-- And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;-- Why, Jessica, I say! _Lau_. Why, Jessica! _Shy_. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. _Lau_. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding. _Enter_ JESSICA. _Jes_. Call you? What is your will? _Shy_. I am bid forth to supper,[63] Jessica; There are my keys:--But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love: they flatter me: But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian:[64]--Jessica, my girl, Look to my house:--I am right loath to go; There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags to night. _Lau_. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth expect your reproach. _Shy_. So do I his. _Lau_. And they have conspired together,--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[65] on Black Monday(B) last, at six o'clock i'the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the afternoon. _Shy_. What! are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica: Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,[66] Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public 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.--By Jacob's staff I swear, I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: But I will go.--Go you before me, sirrah; Say, I will come.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.