Complete Plays, The (378 page)

Gratiano

We have not made good preparation.

Salarino

We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

Salanio

’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,
And better in my mind not undertook.

Lorenzo

’Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours
To furnish us.

Enter Launcelot, with a letter

Friend Launcelot, what’s the news?

Launcelot

An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.

Lorenzo

I know the hand: in faith, ’tis a fair hand;
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.

Gratiano

Love-news, in faith.

Launcelot

By your leave, sir.

Lorenzo

Whither goest thou?

Launcelot

Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

Lorenzo

Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her; speak it privately.
Go, gentlemen,

Exit Launcelot

Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.

Salanio

Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.

Salanio

And so will I.

Lorenzo

 
Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.

Salarino

’Tis good we do so.

Exeunt Salarino and Salanio

Gratiano

Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

Lorenzo

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,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-beare r.

Exeunt

S
CENE
V. T
HE
SAME
. B
EFORE
S
HYLOCK
’
S
HOUSE
.

Enter Shylock and Launcelot

Shylock

Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:—
What, Jessica!— thou shalt not gormandise,
As thou hast done with me:— What, Jessica!—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;—
Why, Jessica, I say!

Launcelot

Why, Jessica!

Shylock

Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

Launcelot

Your worship was wont to tell me that
I could do nothing without bidding.

Enter Jessica

Jessica

Call you? what is your will?

Shylock

I am bid forth to supper, 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. 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.

Launcelot

I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach.

Shylock

So do I his.

Launcelot

An 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 on Black-Monday last at six o’clock i’ the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon.

Shylock

What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,
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.

Launcelot

I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this, There will come a Christian boy, will be worth a Jewess’ eye.

Exit

Shylock

What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?

Jessica

His words were ‘Farewell mistress;’ nothing else.

Shylock

The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that would have him help to waste
His borrow’d purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
Perhaps I will return immediately:
Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
Fast bind, fast find;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

Exit

Jessica

Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

Exit

S
CENE
VI. T
HE
SAME
.

Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued

Gratiano

This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.

Salarino

His hour is almost past.

Gratiano

And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salarino

O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly
To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gratiano

That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.
How like a younker or a prodigal
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet 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!

Salarino

Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

Enter Lorenzo

Lorenzo

Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach;
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?

Enter Jessica, above, in boy’s clothes

Jessica

Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

Lorenzo

Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jessica

Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
For who love I so much? And now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lorenzo

Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

Jessica

Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
But love is blind and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lorenzo

Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

Jessica

What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscured.

Lorenzo

So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once;
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.

Jessica

I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

Exit above

Gratiano

Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

Lorenzo

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 proved herself,
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter Jessica, below

What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

Exit with Jessica and Salarino

Enter Antonio

Antonio

Who’s there?

Gratiano

Signior Antonio!

Antonio

Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
’Tis nine o’clock: our friends all stay for you.
No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
Bassanio presently will go aboard:
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gratiano

I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

Exeunt

S
CENE
VII. B
ELMONT
. A
ROOM
IN
P
ORTIA
’
S
HOUSE
.

Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince Of Morocco, and their trains

Portia

Go draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.
Now make your choice.

Morocco

The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;’
The second, silver, which this promise carries,
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;’
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’
How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Portia

The one of them contains my picture, prince:
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Morocco

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: 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?
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.’
As much as he deserves! 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
May not extend so far as to the lady:
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray’d no further, but chose here?
Let’s see once more this saying graved in gold
‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’
Why, that’s the lady; all the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now
For princes to come view fair Portia:
The watery 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 see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation
To think so base a thought: it were too gross
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she’s immured,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that’s insculp’d upon;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliver me the key:
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

Portia

There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours.

He unlocks the golden casket

Morocco

 
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing.

[Reads]
 
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll’d:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!

Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets

Portia

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.

Exeunt

S
CENE
VIII. V
ENICE
. A
STREET
.

Enter Salarino and Salanio

Salarino

Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.