A LEGEND OF ITALY.
... Of the Merchant of Venice there are two 4to. editions in 1600, one by Heyes and the other by Roberts. The Duke of Devonshire and Lord Francis Egerton have copies of the edition by Heyes, and they vary importantly.
... It must be acknowledged that this is a very easy and happy emendation, which does not admit of a moment's doubt or dispute.
... Readers in general are not all aware of the nonsense they have in many cases been accustomed to receive as the genuine text of Shakspeare!
Reasons for a new edition of Shakspeare's Works, by J. Payne Collier.
I believe there are few But have heard of a Jew, Named Shylock, of Venice, as errant a "Screw" In money transactions, as ever you knew; An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent A ducat at less than three hundred per cent., Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice, Who'd take no more care of his pounds than his pennies, When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight. It is not my purpose to pause and inquire If he might not, in managing thus to retire, Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire; Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do, Who could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew.
But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives, We've been most of us taught, in the course of our lives, That "Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman drives!" In proof of this rule, A thoughtless young fool, Bassanio, a Lord of the Tom-noddy school, Who, by shewing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court, A "swelling" (Payne Collier would read "swilling") "port," And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup, Had shrunk his "weak means," and was "stump'd" and "hard up," Took occasion to send To his very good friend Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end, And who'd often before had the kindness to lend Him large sums, on his note, which he'd managed to spend.
"Antonio," said he, "Now listen to me: I've just hit on a scheme which, I think, you'll agree, All matters considered, is no bad design, And which, if it succeeds, will suit your book and mine. "In the first place, you know all the money I've got, Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot, And in making those loans you have made a bad shot; Now do as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows And tom-tits, they chance to lose one of their arrows, —Shoot another the same way—I'll watch well its track, And, turtle to tripe, I'll bring both of them back!— So list to my plan, And do what you can To attend to and second it, that's a good man!
"There's a Lady, young, handsome beyond all compare, at A place they call Belmont, whom, when I was there, at The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountferrat Was giving last season, we all used to stare at. Then, as to her wealth, her Solicitor told mine, Besides vast estates, a pearl-fishery, and gold mine, Her iron strong box Seems bursting its locks, It's stuffed so with shares in 'Grand Junctions' and 'Docks', Not to speak of the money she's got in the Stocks, French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian, In English Exchequer-bills full half a million, Not 'kites,' manufactured to cheat and inveigle, But the right sort of 'flimsy,' all sign'd by Monteagle. Then I know not how much in Canal-shares and Railways, And more speculations I need not detail, ways Of vesting which, if not so safe as some think 'em, Contribute a deal to improving one's income; In short, she's a Mint! —Now I say, deuce is in't If, with all my experience, I can't take a hint, And her 'eye's speechless messages,' plainer than print At the time that I told you of, know from a squint. In short, my dear Tony, My trusty old crony, Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan—I Am sure of my game—though, of course, there are brutes, Of all sorts and sizes, preferring their suits To her you may call the Italian Miss Coutts, Yet Portia—she's named from that daughter of Cato's— Is not to be snapp'd up like little potatoes, And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout Ere you'll whisper Jack Robinson—cut them all out— Surmount every barrier, Carry her, marry her! —Then hey! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed, For her Three-and-a-half per Cents—New and Reduced!
With a wink of his eye His friend made reply In his jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry, "Still the same boy, Bassanio—never say 'die'! —Well—I hardly know how I shall do't, but I'll try,— Don't suppose my affairs are at all in a hash, But the fact is, at present I'm quite out of cash; The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies, Tending, of course, my resources to cripple,—I 've one bound to England,—another to Tripoli— Cyprus—Masulipatam—and Bombay; A sixth, by the way, I consigned t'other day, To Sir Gregor M'Gregor, Cacique of Poyais, A country where silver's as common as clay. Meantime, till they tack, And come, some of them, back, What with Custom-house duties, and bills falling due, My account with Jones Loyd and Co. looks rather blue; While, as for the 'ready,' I'm like a Church-mouse,— I really don't think there's five pounds in the house. But, no matter for that, Let me just get my hat, And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat, And we'll go forth at once to the market—we two,— And try what my credit in Venice can do; I stand well on 'Change, and, when all's said and done, I Don't doubt I shall get it for love or for money."
They were going to go, When, lo! down below, In the street, they heard somebody crying, "Old Clo'!" —"By the Pope, there's the man for our purpose!—I knew We should not have to search long. Solanio, run you, —Salarino,—quick!—haste! ere he get out of view, And call in that scoundrel, old Shylock the Jew!"
With a pack, Like a sack Of old clothes, at his back, And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack, Saying, "Rest you fair, Signior Antonio!—vat, pray, Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay?"
—"Why, Shylock, although, As you very well know, I am what they call 'warm,'—pay my way as I go, And, as to myself, neither borrow nor lend, I can break through a rule, to oblige an old friend; And that's the case now—Lord Bassanio would raise Some three thousand ducats—well,—knowing your ways, And that nought's to be got from you, say what one will, Unless you've a couple of names to the bill, Why, for once, I'll put mine to it, Yea, seal and sign to it— Now, then, old Sinner, let's hear what you'll say As to 'doing' a bill at three months from to-day? Three thousand gold ducats, mind—all in good bags Of hard money—no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?"