Jaco. Nay, sir, her estimation’s mounted up.
She shall be ladied and sweet-madam’d now. 130
Ran. Be ladied? Ha! ha! O, could she but recall
The honour’d port of her deceasèd love!
But think whose wife she was! God wot no knight’s,
But one (that title off) was even a prince,
A Sultan Solyman. Thrice was he made,
In dangerous arms, Venice providetore.
And. He was a merchant; but so bounteous,
Valiant, wise, learned, all so absolute,
That naught was valued praiseful excellent,
But in it was he most praiseful excellent. 140
Jaco. O, I shall ne’er forget how he went clothed.
He would maintain ’t a base ill-usèd fashion
To bind a merchant to the sullen habit
Of precise black; chiefly in Venice state,
Where merchants gilt the top;
And therefore should you have him pass the bridge
Up the Rialto like a soldier
(As still he stood a potestate at sea).
Ran. In a black beaver felt, ash-colour plain,
A Florentine cloth-of-silver jerkin, sleeves 150
White satin cut on tinsel, then long stock.[411]
Jaco. French panes[412] embroider’d, goldsmith’s work, O God!
Methinks I see him now how he would walk;
With what a jolly presence he would pace
Round the Rialto.[413] Well, he’s soon forgot;
A straggling sir in his rich bed must sleep,
Which if I cannot cross I’ll curse and weep.
Shall I be plain as truth? I love your sister:
My education, birth, and wealth deserves her.
I have no cross, no rub to stop my suit; 160
But Laverdure’s a knight: that strikes all mute.
And. Ay, there’s the devil, she must be ladied now.
Jaco. O ill-nursed custom!
No sooner is the wealthy merchant dead,
His wife left great in fair possessions,
But giddy rumour grasps it ’twixt his teeth,
And shakes it ’bout our ears. Then thither flock
A rout of crazèd fortunes, whose crack’d states
Gape to be solder’d up by the rich mass
Of the deceased labours; and now and then 170
The troop of “I beseech,” and “I protest,”
And “Believe it, sweet,” is mix’d with two or three
Hopeful, well-stock’d, neat clothèd citizens.