> ACT II. SCENE I.
Belmont. PORTIA"S house
Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, a tawny Moor all in white, and three or four FOLLOWERS accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA, and train
PRINCE OF 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, 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 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 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, Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair As any comer I have look"d on yet For my affection.
PRINCE OF 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 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, 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 band.
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.
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 advis"d.
PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.
PORTIA. First, forward to the temple. After dinner Your hazard shall be made.
PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Good fortune then, To make me blest or cursed"st among men!
[Cornets, and exeunt]
SCENE II.
Venice. A street
Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO
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 rul"d by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who- G.o.d 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 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.
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 more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not.
I will try confusions with him.
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 turn down indirectly to the Jew"s house.
GOBBO. Be G.o.d"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? [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, G.o.d be thanked, well to live.
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?
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 learning, is indeed deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.
GOBBO. Marry, G.o.d forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.
LAUNCELOT. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-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- G.o.d rest his soul!- alive or dead?
LAUNCELOT. Do you not know me, father?
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. Give me your blessing; 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 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 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 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 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 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 Ba.s.sanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run as far as G.o.d 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 Ba.s.sANIO, with LEONARDO, with a FOLLOWER or two
Ba.s.sANIO. 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. Exit a SERVANT LAUNCELOT. To him, father.
GOBBO. G.o.d bless your worship!
Ba.s.sANIO. Gramercy; wouldst thou aught with me?
GOBBO. Here"s 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- GOBBO. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve- LAUNCELOT. Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify- GOBBO. His master and he, saving your worship"s reverence, are scarce cater-cousins- LAUNCELOT. 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- GOBBO. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is- LAUNCELOT. In very brief, the suit is impertinent 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.
Ba.s.sANIO. One speak for both. What would you?
LAUNCELOT. Serve you, sir.
GOBBO. That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Ba.s.sANIO. 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.
LAUNCELOT. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of G.o.d, sir, and he hath enough.
Ba.s.sANIO. Thou speak"st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out. [To a SERVANT] Give him a livery More guarded than his fellows"; see it done.
LAUNCELOT. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne"er a tongue in my head! [Looking on his palm] Well; if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book- I shall have good fortune. Go to, here"s a simple line of life; here"s a small trifle of wives; alas, fifteen wives is nothing; a"leven 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-here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she"s a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I"ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.
Exeunt LAUNCELOT and OLD GOBBO Ba.s.sANIO. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
These things being bought and orderly bestowed, Return in haste, for I do feast to-night My best esteem"d acquaintance; hie thee, go.
LEONARDO. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter GRATIANO