ACT I.
[000] Scene I. Venice. A street.
TMOV I. 1 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio.
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,
[005] I am to learn;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies with portly sail,
[010] Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
[013] That curt’sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
015 Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
[019] Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
020 And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.
Salar.
My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
[024] What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
025 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
[027] And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
030 And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
[033] Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
035 And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
But tell not me; I know, Antonio
040 Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
045 Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
[046] Salar. Why, then you are in love.
Ant.
Fie, fie!
[047] Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
[048] Because you are not merry: and ’twere as easy
For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry,
050 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;
[054] And other of such vinegar aspect,
055 That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile,
[056] Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
[058] Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
We leave you now with better company.
060 Salar. I would have stay’d till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
065 Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?
[068] Salar. We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.
[069] Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
070 We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
[072] Bass. I will not fail you.
Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
075 They lose it that do buy it with much care:
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
[078] A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Gra.
Let me play the fool:
080 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine
[082] Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
[084] Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
085 Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—,
[087] I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,—
There are a sort of men, whose visages
[089] Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
090 And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
[093] As who should say, ‘I am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!’
[095] O my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise
[097] For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
[098] If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
100 I’ll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
[102] For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
[103] Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.
105 Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time:
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
[108] Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
[110] Ant. Farewell: I’ll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra. Thanks, i’faith; for silence is only commendable
[112] In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.
[113] Ant. Is that any thing now?
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
[115] than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains
of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day
ere you find them: and when you have them, they are not
worth the search.
[119] Ant. Well, tell me now, what lady is the same
120 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promised to tell me of?
Bass. ’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
[124] By something showing a more swelling port
[125] Than my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
130 Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
135 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assured,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.
140 Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way with more advised watch,
[143] To find the other forth; and by adventuring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
145 Because what follows is pure innocence.
[146] I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost: but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
150 As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time
To wind about my love with circumstance;
[155] And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
In making question of my uttermost,
Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
[160] And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.
Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left;
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
[163] Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
[164] I did receive fair speechless messages:
165 Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia:
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
170 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
[171] Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,
[172] And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
[175] I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate!
Ant. Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;
[178] Neither have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
180 Try what my credit can in Venice do:
That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
185 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.
[000] Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.
TMOV I. 2 Enter Portia and Nerissa.
[001] Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.
Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and 005 yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too [006] much, as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs; but competency lives longer.
Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced.
010 Ner. They would be better, if well followed.
Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages [013] princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be [015] done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps o’er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But [019] this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. [020] O me, the word ‘choose’! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living [022] daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?
Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at 025 their death, have good inspirations: therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead,—whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you,— [028] will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one [029] who shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 030 affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?
[032] Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection.
035 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
[036] Por. Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but [037] talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to [038] his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am [039] much afeard my lady his mother played false with a smith.
[040] Ner. 040 Then there is the County Palatine.
Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, [042] ‘if you will not have me, choose:’ he hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in [045] his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these two!
Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le [049] Bon?
050 Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a [051] man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he! —why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan’s; a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is [054] every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a 055 capering: he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, [058] I shall never requite him.
[059] Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young 060 baron of England?
Por. You know I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, [063] nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear [064] that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a 065 proper man’s picture; but, alas, who can converse with a dumbshow? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where.
[069] Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?
070 Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he [071] borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was able: I think the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under for another.
075 Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?
Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, [079] he is little better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever 080 fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.
Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept him.
Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a 085 deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for, if the devil be within and that temptation without, I know [087] he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I’ll be married to a sponge.
Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these [090] lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some [093] other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the caskets.
095 Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his [099] very absence; and I pray God grant them a fair departure.
100 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s [101] time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?
[103] Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think he was so called.
105 Ner. True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.
Por. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise.
Enter a Serving-man.
[109] How now! what news?
[110] Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco; who brings word, the prince his master will be here to-night.
[114] Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a 115 heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.
[118] Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks [120] at the door. [Exeunt.
Scene III. Venice. A public place.
TMOV I. 3 Enter Bassanio and Shylock.
Shy. Three thousand ducats; well.
Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.
[003] Shy. For three months; well.
Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 005 bound.
Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well.
Bass. May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I know your answer?
Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and 010 Antonio bound.
Bass. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.
Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
[014] Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no: my meaning, in saying he is 015 a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, [018] moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a [019] fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squandered 020 abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be [021] land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I mean pirates; and then there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may take his bond.
025 Bass. Be assured you may.
Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?
Bass. If it please you to dine with us.
[029] Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation 030 which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink [033] with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? [034] Who is he comes here?
Enter Antonio.
035 Bass. This is Signior Antonio.
Shy. [Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him for he is a Christian;
But more for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis and brings down
040 The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
[045] On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!
Bass.
[047] Shylock, do you hear?
Shy. I am debating of my present store;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
050 I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
Do you desire? [To Ant.] Rest you fair, good signior;
055 Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
[056] Ant. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking nor by giving of excess,
[058] Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
[059] I’ll break a custom. Is he yet possess’d
How much ye would?
Shy.
060 Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.
[062] Shy. I had forgot; three months, you told me so.
[063] Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
[064] Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
Upon advantage.
Ant.
065 I do never use it.
Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban’s sheep,—
This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
The third possessor; ay, he was the third,—
070 Ant. And what of him? did he take interest?
Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
[073] When Laban and himself were compromised
[074] That all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied
075 Should fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes, being rank,
[076] In the end of autumn turned to the rams;
[077] And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
[079] The skilful shepherd peel’d me certain wands,
080 And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
[082] Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
Fall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:
085 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.
Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;
A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven.
[089] Was this inserted to make interest good?
090 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?
[091] Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
But note me, signior.
Ant.
Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
095 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
[096] A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
[097] O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Shy. Three thousand ducats; ’tis a good round sum.
[099] Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate—
[100] Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
[102] In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances:
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
105 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
[106] You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
[107] And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help:
110 Go to, then; you come to me, and you say
[111] ‘Shylock, we would have moneys:’ you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold: moneys is your suit.
115 What should I say to you? Should I not say
‘Hath a dog money? is it possible
[117] A cur can lend three thousand ducats?’ or
Shall I bend low and in a bondman’s key,
With bated breath and whispering humbleness,
[120] Say this,—
[121] ‘Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
[122] You spurn’d me such a day; another time
You call’d me dog; and for these courtesies
I’ll lend you thus much moneys’?
125 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again,
[126] To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
[128] As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
[129] A breed for barren metal of his friend?
130 But lend it rather to thine enemy;
Who if he break, thou mayst with better face
[132] Exact the penalty.
Shy.
Why, look you, how you storm!
I would be friends with you, and have your love,
Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with,
135 Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me:
[137] This is kind I offer.
[138] Bass. This were kindness.
Shy.
This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
140 Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
145 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
[146] In what part of your body pleaseth me.
[147] Ant. Content, i’faith: I’ll seal to such a bond,
[148] And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
150 I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.
Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
Within these two months, that’s a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
155 Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are,
[156] Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
160 A pound of man’s flesh taken from a man
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
165 And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s;
Give him direction for this merry bond;
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
[170] See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently
[172] I will be with you.
Ant.
Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shylock.
[173] The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.
[174] Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.
175 Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt.