"—Vell, ma tear," says the Jew, "I'll see vat I can do! But Mishter Antonio, hark you, 'tish funny You say to me, 'Shylock, ma tear, ve'd have money!' Ven you very vell knows How you shpit on ma clothes, And use naughty vords—call me Dog—and avouch Dat I put too much int'resht py half in ma pouch, And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch, You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I'm a Smouch. —Vell!—no matters, ma tear,— Von vord in your ear! I'd be friends mit you bote—and to make dat appear, Vy, I'll find you de monies as soon as you vill, Only von littel joke musht be put in de pill;— Ma tear, you musht say, If on such and such day Such sum, or such sums, you shall fail to repay, I shall cut vere I like, as de pargain is proke, A fair pound of your flesh—chest by vay of a joke."
So novel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause; But Antonio, like most of those sage "Johnny Raws" Who care not three straws About Lawyers or Laws, And think cheaply of "Old Father Antic," because They have never experienced a gripe from his claws, "Pooh pooh'd" the whole thing.—"Let the Smouch have his way— Why, what care I, pray, For his penalty?—Nay, It's a forfeit he'd never expect me to pay; And, come what come may, I hardly need say My ships will be back a full month ere the day." So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey, And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he Affixed with all speed His name to a deed, Duly stamp'd and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney. Thus again furnished forth, Lord Bassanio, instead Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread, With fiddling and masques at the Saracen's Head, In the morning "made play," And, without more delay, Started off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day. But scarcely had he From the harbour got free, And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea, Ere the 'Change and Rialto both rung with the news That he'd carried off more than mere cash from the Jew's.
Though Shylock was old, And, if rolling in gold, Was as ugly a dog as you'd wish to behold, For few in his tribe 'mongst their Levis and Moseses Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his, Still, whate'er the opinions of Horace and some be, Your aquilæ generate sometimes Columbæ.[24] Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he'd "one fair daughter," And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her A jewel—a gem of the very first water; A great many sought her, Till one at last caught her, And, upsetting all that the Rabbis had taught her, To feelings so truly reciprocal brought her, That the very same night Bassanio thought right To give all his old friends that farewell "invite," And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite, On "wings made by a tailor" the damsel took flight.
By these "wings" I'd express A grey duffle dress, With brass badge and muffin cap, made, as by rule, For an upper class boy in the National School. Jessy ransack'd the house, popped her breeks on, and when so Disguised, bolted off with her beau—one Lorenzo, An "Unthrift," who lost not a moment in whisking Her into the boat, And was fairly afloat Ere her Pa had got rid of the smell of the griskin.
Next day, while old Shylock was making a racket, And threatening how well he'd dust every man's jacket Who'd helped her in getting aboard of the packet, Bassanio at Belmont was capering and prancing, And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing, Making eyes at Miss Portia, and doing his best To perform the polite, and to cut out the rest; And, if left to herself, he, no doubt, had succeeded, For none of them waltz'd so genteelly as he did; But an obstacle lay, Of some weight, in his way, The defunct Mr. P., who was now turned to clay, Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant, Left but a queer sort of "Last will and testament,"— Bequeathing her hand, With her houses and land, &c., from motives one don't understand, As she rev'renced his memory, and valued his blessing, To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing!
Like a good girl, she did Just what she was bid; In one of three caskets her picture she hid, And clapped a conundrum a-top of each lid. A couple of Princes, a black and a white one, Tried first, but they both failed in choosing the right one. Another from Naples, who shoed his own horses; A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D'Orsay's;— A young English Baron;—a Scotch Peer his neighbour:— A dull drunken Saxon, all mustache and sabre;— All followed, and all had their pains for their labour. Bassanio came last—happy man be his dole! Put his conjuring cap on,—considered the whole,— The gold put aside as Mere "hard food for Midas," The silver bade trudge As a "pale common drudge;" Then choosing the little lead box in the middle, Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle.
Now you're not such a goose as to think, I dare say, Gentle Reader, that all this was done in a day, Any more than the dome Of St. Peter's at Rome Was built in the same space of time; and, in fact, Whilst Bassanio was doing His billing and cooing, Three months had gone by ere he reach'd the fifth act; Meanwhile, that unfortunate bill became due, Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew, And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew, For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do; (The bitter old Israelite would not renew), What with contrary winds, storms, and wrecks, and embargoes, his Funds were all stopped, or gone down in his argosies, None of the set having come into port, And Shylock's attorney was moving the Court For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport.
The serious news Of this step of the Jew's, And his fix'd resolution all terms to refuse, Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of "the Blues," Especially, too, as it came from the pen Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day,—then, When the Parson had scarce shut his book up, and when The Clerk was yet uttering the final Amen.
"Dear Friend," it continued, "all's up with me—I Have nothing on earth now to do but to die! And, as death clears all scores, you're no longer my debtor; I should take it as kind Could you come—never mind— If your love don't persuade you, why—don't let this letter!" I hardly need say this was scarcely read o'er Ere a post-chaise and four Was brought round to the door, And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore, Gave his Lady one kiss, and then started at score. But scarce in his flight Had he got out of sight, Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, "My lad, you a Journey must take on the instant to Padua; Find out there Bellario, a Doctor of Laws, Who, like Follett, is never left out of a cause, And give him this note, Which I've hastily wrote, Take the papers he'll give you—then push for the ferry Below, where I'll meet you—you'll do't in a wherry, If you can't find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it— —Stay!—bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it."
Giovanni (that's Jack) Brought out his hack, Made a bow to his mistress, then jump'd on its back, Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack. The Signora soon followed herself, taking as her Own escort Nerissa her maid, and Balthazar.