The Merchant of Venice

 ACT 2  

Scene I

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 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.

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!

They Exit

Scene II

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- 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; 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 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? [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.

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, God 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- God 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 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.

Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, with 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 these letters

delivered, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to

come anon to my lodging.

The Attendant Exits

LAUNCELOT

To him, father.

GOBBO

God bless your worship!

BASSANIO

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.

BASSANIO

One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT

Serve you, sir.

GOBBO

That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO

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 God, sir, and he hath

enough.

BASSANIO

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.

LAUNCELOT and OLD GOBBO Exit

BASSANIO

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

GRATIANO

Where's your master?

LEONARDO

Yonder, sir, he walks.

Leonardo Exits

GRATIANO

Signior Bassanio!

BASSANIO

Gratiano!

GRATIANO

I have suit to you.

BASSANIO

You have obtain'd it.

GRATIANO

You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO

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 thou art not known, why there they show

Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain

To allay with some cold drops of modesty

Thy skipping spirit; lest through thy wild behaviour

I be misconst'red in the place I go to

And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO

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

Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen,

Use all the observance of civility

Like one well studied in a sad ostent

To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO

Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO

Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gauge me

By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO

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.

GRATIANO

And I must to Lorenzo and the rest;

But we will visit you at supper-time.

They Exit

Scene III

Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT

JESSICA

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 shalt 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.

LAUNCELOT

Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan,

most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave and get

thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! these foolish drops do

something drown my manly spirit; adieu!

JESSICA

Farewell, good Launcelot.

Exit 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.

She Exits

Scene IV

Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO

LORENZO

Nay, we will slink away in suppertime,

Disguise us at my lodging, and return

All in an hour.

GRATIANO

We have not made good preparation.

SALERIO

We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.

SOLANIO

'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered;

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 to-night?

I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALERIO

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

SOLANIO

And so will I.

LORENZO

Meet me and Gratiano

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALERIO

'Tis good we do so.

Exit SALERIO and SOLANIO

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-bearer.

They Exit

Scene V

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 gormandize

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 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

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 on Black Monday last at six o'clock

i' th' morning, falling out that year on Ash Wednesday was four

year, in th' 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 fopp'ry 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 by

Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

He Exits

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 I would have him help to waste

His borrowed 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.

He Exits

JESSICA

Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,

I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

She Exits

Scene VI

Enter the masquers, GRATIANO and SALERIO

GRATIANO

This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo

Desired us to make stand.

SALERIO

His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO

And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,

For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALERIO

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 enjoyed.

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!

Enter LORENZO

SALERIO

Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.

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 asham'd 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 torch-bearer.

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 obscur'd.

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 moe ducats, and be with you straight.

Jessica Exits above

GRATIANO

Now, by my hood, a gentle, 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 prov'd 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 SALERIO

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.

They Exit 

Scene VII

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.

PRINCE OF 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.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO

Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;

I will survey th' 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 beest 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 farther, but chose here?

Let's see once more this saying grav'd 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 throughfares 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 immur'd,

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

Stamp'd 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 opens the golden casket]

PRINCE OF MOROCCO

O hell! what have we here?

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye

There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

'All that glisters 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 infold.

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 griev'd a heart

To take a tedious leave; thus losers part.

Exit with his train. 

PORTIA

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so.

They Exit

Scene VIII

Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO

SALERIO

Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;

With him is Gratiano gone along;

And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SOLANIO

The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke,

Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALERIO

He came too late, the ship was under sail;

But there the Duke was given to understand

That in a gondola were seen together

Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica;

Besides, Antonio certified the Duke

They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SOLANIO

I never heard a passion so confus'd,

So strange, outrageous, and so variable,

As the dog Jew did utter in the streets.

'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!

Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!

Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter!

A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,

Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!

And jewels- two stones, two rich and precious stones,

Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl;

She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.'

SALERIO

Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,

Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SOLANIO

Let good Antonio look he keep his day,

Or he shall pay for this.

SALERIO

Marry, well rememb'red;

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,

Who told me, in the narrow seas that part

The French and English, there miscarried

A vessel of our country richly fraught.

I thought upon Antonio when he told me,

And wish'd in silence that it were not his.

SOLANIO

You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;

Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALERIO

A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.

I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.

Bassanio told him he would make some speed

Of his return. He answered 'Do not so;

Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,

But stay the very riping of the time;

And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,

Let it not enter in your mind of love;

Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts

To courtship, and such fair ostents of love

As shall conveniently become you there.'

And even there, his eye being big with tears,

Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,

And with affection wondrous sensible

He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SOLANIO

I think he only loves the world for him.

I pray thee, let us go and find him out,

And quicken his embraced heaviness

With some delight or other.

SALERIO

Do we so.

They Exit

Scene IX

Enter NERISSA, and a SERVITOR

NERISSA

Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;

The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,

And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of cornets. 

Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their trains

PORTIA

Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince.

If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,

Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;

But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,

You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON

I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:

First, never to unfold to any one

Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail

Of the right casket, never in my life

To woo a maid in way of marriage;

Lastly,

If I do fail in fortune of my choice,

Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIA

To these injunctions every one doth swear

That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON

And so have I address'd me. Fortune now

To my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'

You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.

What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:

'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'

What many men desire- that 'many' may be meant

By the fool multitude, that choose by show,

Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;

Which pries not to th' interior, but, like the martlet,

Builds in the weather on the outward wall,

Even in the force and road of casualty.

I will not choose what many men desire,

Because I will not jump with common spirits

And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.

Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house!

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'

And well said too; for who shall go about

To cozen fortune, and be honourable

Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume

To wear an undeserved dignity.

O that estates, degrees, and offices,

Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear honour

Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!

How many then should cover that stand bare!

How many be commanded that command!

How much low peasantry would then be gleaned

From the true seed of honour! and how much honour

Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,

To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice.

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'

I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,

And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

[He opens the silver casket]

PORTIA

[Aside] Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON

What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot

Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.

How much unlike art thou to Portia!

How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!

'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'

Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?

Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?

PORTIA

To offend and judge are distinct offices

And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON

What is here? [Reads]

'The fire seven times tried this;

Seven times tried that judgment is

That did never choose amiss.

Some there be that shadows kiss,

Such have but a shadow's bliss.

There be fools alive iwis

Silver'd o'er, and so was this.

Take what wife you will to bed,

I will ever be your head.

So be gone; you are sped.'

'till more fool I shall appear

By the time I linger here.

With one fool's head I came to woo,

But I go away with two.

Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,

Patiently to bear my wroth.

He Exits with his train

PORTIA

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.

O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,

They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA

The ancient saying is no heresy:

Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA

Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Enter a SERVANT

SERVANT

Where is my lady?

PORTIA

Here; what would my lord?

SERVANT

Madam, there is alighted at your gate

A young Venetian, one that comes before

To signify th' approaching of his lord,

From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;

To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,

Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen

So likely an ambassador of love.

A day in April never came so sweet

To show how costly summer was at hand

As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA

No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard

Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,

Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.

Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see

Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA

Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!

They Exit