The Comical History of the
Merchant of Venice.

Enter *Anthony, Salaryno, and Salanio*.

of me,

That I haue much adoe to know my selfe.

**Salarino.** Your minde is toffing on the Ocean,
There where your Argofies with portly sayle,
Like Signiors and rich Burgars on the flood,
Or as it were the Pageants of the sea,
Doe ouer-peere the petty traffiquers
That curfie to them, do them reuerence

As they flie by them with their wouen wings.

**Salanio.** Beleeue me fir, had I such venture foorth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be full
Plucking the graffe, to know where fits the winde,
Piering in Maps, for Ports, for Peeres and Rodes;
And euery obieſt that might make me feare
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me fad.

A 2

Salar.

## The Comicall History of

**Salar.** My winde cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought
What harme a winde too great at sea, might do.
I should not see the sandy howre-glasse runne,
But I should thinke of shallowes, and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dockes in sand,
Veyling her high top lower then her ribs,
To kisse her buriall. Should I go to Church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rockes,
Which touching but my gentle vessels fide,
Would scatter all the spices on the streame,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my filkes ;
And in a word, but euen now worth this,
And now worth nothing ? Shall I haue the thought
To thinke on this, and shall I hacke the thought,
That such a thing be-chanc'd would make me sad ?
But tell not me, I know Anthonio
Is sad to thinke vpon his merchandize.

**Anth.** Beleeue me no : I thanke my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottome trufted,
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate
Vpon the fortune of this preſent yeare :
Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad.

**Salar.** Then y'are in loue.

**Anth.** Fie, fie.

**Salar.** Not in loue neither ? Then let vs say you are sad,
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as eafe
For you to laugh and leape, and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ianus,
Nature hath fram'd ſtrange fellowes in her time:
Some that will euermore peepe through their cies,
And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.
And other of such vinegar aspect,
That they'l not ſhow their teeth in way of smile,
Though Neſtor ſweare the ieſt be laughable.

Enter.

## the Merchant of Venice.

Enter Baffanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.

**Salan.** Here comes Baffanio your moſt noble kinfman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo : Faryewell,
We leaue you now with better company.

**Salar.** I would haue ſtraide till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not preuented me.

**Anth.** Your worth is very deere in my regard.
I take it your owne buſinesſe cals on you,
And you embrace the occafion to depart.

**Salar.** Good morrow my good Lords.

**Baff.** Good ſigniors both, when shall we laugh ? say, when ?
You grow exceeding ſtrange : muſt it be so ?

**Salar.** Wee'l make our leyſures to attend on yours.

Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.

**Lor.** My Lord Baffanio, ſince you haue found Anthonio,
we two will leaue you ; but at dinner time
I pray you haue in minde where we muſt meete.

**Baff.** I will not faile you.

**Grat.** You looke not well ſignior Anthonio,
You haue too much reſpect vpon the world :
They loose it that do buy it with much care,
Beleeue me you are meruailouſly chang'd.

**Ant.** I hold the world but as the world Gratiano,
A ſtage, where euery one muſt play a part,
And mine a sad one.

**Gra.** Let me play the fool,
with mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my Liuer rather heate with wine,
Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.
Why ſhould a man whose blood is warme within,
Sit like his Grandſire cut in Alablafter ?
Sleepe when he wakes ? and creepe into the Iaundies.
By being peecuifh ? I tell thee what Anthonio,
I loue thee, and tis my loue that ſpeakes.
There are a ſort of men, whose ſvisages

Exit.

A3.

Do.

The Comical History of

Doe dreame and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilfull tilness entertainmente,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Of wifedome, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say, I am fir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog barke.
O my Anthonio, I do know of those
That therefore onely are reputed wife
For faying nothing; when I am very sure
If they should fpeake, would almost dam those eares,
Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles,
Ile tell thee more of this another time,
But fath not with this melancholy baite,
For this foole gudgin, this opinion:
Come good Lorenzo, farwell a while,
Ile end my exhortation after dinner.

Loren. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time.
I muſt be one of theſe fame dumbe wife men,
For Gratiano neuer lets me ſpeake.

Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares moe,
Thou ſhalt not know the ſound of thine owne tongue.

An. Farwell, Ile grow a talker for this geare.

Gra. Thanks ifaith, for ſilence is onely commendable
In a neats tongue dried, and a maide not vendable.

An. It is that any thing now.

Baff. Gratiano ſpeakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then
any man in all Venice, his reaſons are as two graines of wheate
hid in two buſhels of chaffe: you ſhall feeke all day ere you
finde them, and when you haue them, they are not worth the
ſearch.

Ant. Well, tell me now what Lady is the ſame
To whom you ſwore a ſecret pilgrimage,
That you to day promiſd to tell me of.

Baff. Tis not vnknowne to you Anthonio,
How much I haue diſabled mine eſtate,

Exeunt.

By

the Merchant of Venice.

By ſomething ſhewing a more ſwelling port,
Then my faint meanes would grant continuance :
Nor do I now make moane to be abridg'd
From ſuch a noble rate, but my cheeſe care
Is to come fairely off from the great debts
Wherein my time ſomething too prodigall.
Hath left me gag'd: to you Anthonio,
I owe the moſt in money and in loue,
And from your loue I haue a warranty
To vnburthen all my plots and purpofes
How to get cleere of all the debts I owe.

Autho. I pray you good Baffanio, let me know it,
And if it stand as you your ſelſe ſtill do,
Within the eye of honour, be affured
My purſe, my perſon, my extremest meanes
Lie all vnlockt to your occafions.

Baff. In my ſchoole dayes, when I had loft one shaft,
I ſhot his ſellow of the ſelſe-fame flight
The ſelſe-fame way, with more aduiled watch
To finde the other foorth, and by aduentring both,
I loft found both: I vrge this child-hood proofe,
Because what followes, is pure innoſcence.
I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth,
That which I owe is loft, but if you pleafe
To ſhoote another arrow that ſelſe way
Which you did ſhoote the firſt, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the ayme or to finde both,
Or bring your latter hazard backe againe,
And thankfully reſt debter for the firſt.

Ant. You know me well, and heerein ſpend but time
To winde about my loue with circumſtance,
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong,
In making queſtion of my vttermoſt,
Then if you had made waſte of all I haue :
Then do but ſay to me, what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,

And

The Comical History of

And I am preft vnto it, therefore I speake.

Bass. In Belmont is a Lady richly left,

An d she is faire, and fairer then that word,
Of wondrous vertues. Sometimes from her eyes
I did receiue faire speechlesse meffages :
Her name is Portia; nothing vnder-valew'd
To Catos daughter, Brutus Portia.

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
For the foure winds blow in from euery coast
Renowned futors, and her funny lockes
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,
which makes her feat of Belmont, Colchos ftrond,
And many Iafons comes in queft of her.
O my Anthonio, had I but the meanes
To hold a riuall place with one of them,
I haue a minde prefages me such thrift,
That I should questionlesse be fortunate.

Ant. Thou knowſt that all my fortunes are at fea,
Neither haue I money, nor commodity,
To raife a preſent ſumme. Therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do,
That ſmall be rackt euen to the vttermoſt,
To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia.
Go preſently enquire, and so will I
where money is, and I no question make,
To haue it of my truſt, or for my ſake.

Exeunt

Enter Portia with her waiting Woman Nerriffa.

Portia. By my troth Nerriffa, my little body is a wearie of this great world.

Ner. You would be sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the fame abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I fee, they are as ſick that furſet with too much, as they that ſtarue with nothing; it is no meane happineſſe therefore to be feated in the meane, ſuperfluity comes ſooner by white haires, but competency liues longer.

Por.

the Merchant of Venice.

Portia. Good ſentences, and well pronounced.

Ner. They would be better, if well followed.

Por. If to do, were as eafe as to know what were good to do, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages, Princes Pallaces; it is a good diuine that followes his owne inſtructions: I can eafier teach twenty what were good to bee done, then to be one of the twenty to follow mine owne teaching : the braine may deuife lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, ſuch a hare is madneſſe the youth, to skip ore the meſhes of good counſell the cripple; but this reaſoning is not in the ſaſhion to chooſe me a husband; O me, the word chooſe, I may neyther chooſe who I would, nor refuse who I diſlike, ſo is the will of a liuing daughter curbd by the will of a dead father: is it not hard Nerriffa, that I cannot chooſe one, nor refuse none.

Ner. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good inſpirations, therefore the lottry that he hath deuifed in theſe three cheſts of gold, filuer, and leade, whereof who chooſes his meaning chooſes you, no doubt you will neuer be choſen by any rightely, but one who ſhall rightely loue: But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these Princely futers that are already come ?

Por. I prethee ouer-name them, and as thou nameſt them, I will deſcribe them, and according to my deſcription, leuell at my affection.

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitane Prince.

Por. I that's a colt indeed, for hee doth nothing but talke of his horſe, and he makes it a great appropriation vnto his owne good parts, that he can ſhoo himſelfe: I am much aſeard my La-
dy his Mother plaid false with a ſmith.

Ner. Then there is the County Palatine.

Por. He doth nothing but frowne (as who should ſay, if you will not haue me, chooſe; he heares merry tales and ſmiles not, I feare he will prooue the weeping Philosopher who he growes old, being ſo full of vnmannerly ſadneſſe in his youth.) I had ra-
ther be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then

B

to

The Comical History of

to eyther of these: God defend me from these two.

Ner. How say you by the French Lord, Mounfier le Boune?

Por. God made him, and therefore let him paffe for a man, in
truth I know it is a finne to be a الموcker, but he, why he hath a
horse better then the Neapolitans, a better bad habite of frow-
ning then the Count Palatine, hee is euery man in no man, if a
Traffell sing, hee fals straight a capring, hee will fence with his
owne shadow. If I should marry him, I should marry twenty
husbands : if he would despise me, I would forgiue him, for if
he loue me to madnesse, I shall neuer require him.

Ner. What say you then to Fauenbridge, the young Baron of
England?

Por. You know I say nothing to him, for he vnderstands not
me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, & you
will come into the Court and sweare that I haue a poore penni-
worth in the English : he is a proper mans picture, but alas who
can conuerse with a dumbe show ? how odly he is futed, I think
he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hofe in France, his
bonnet in Germany, and his behauiour euery where.

Neriffa. What thinke you of the Scottish Lord his Neighbour?

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he bor-
rowed a boxe of the care of the Englishman, and sware he wold
pay him againe when he was able: I thinke the Frenchman be-
came his furety, and feald vnder for another.

Ner. How like you the young Germaine, the Duke of Saxo-
nies nephew ?

Por. Very vildely in the morning when he is sober, and moft
vilely in the afternoone when he is drunke: when he is beſt, hee
is a little worſe then a man, and when he is worſt he is little bet-
ter then a beaſt; and the worſt fall that euer fell, I hope I ſhall
make thist to go without him.

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right Caf-
ket, you should refuse to performe your fathers will, if you should
refuse to accept him.

Por. Therefore for feare of the worſt, I prethee fet a deep glaſſe
of

the Merchant of Venice.

of Reyniſh Wine on the contrary Casket, for if the diuell bee
within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it.
I will do any thing Neriffa, ere ile be married to a Spunge.

Ner. You need not feare Lady, the hauing any of these Lords,
they haue acquainted me with their determinations, which is
indeed to returne to their home, and to trouble you with no
more fute, vnleſſe you may be won by some other fort then your
fathers impofition, depending on the Caskets.

Por. If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will die as chafte as Di-
ana, vnleſſe I bee obtained by the manner of my fathers will: I
am glad this parcell of wooers are fo reasonable, for there is not
one among them but I dote on his very absence; & I pray God
grant them a faire departure.

Ner. Do you not remember Lady in your fathers time, a Ven-
netian Scholler and a Souldior that came hither in company of
the Marquſe of Mountferrat?

Portia. Yes, yes, it was Baffanio, as I thinke he was so call'd.

Ner. True Maddam, he of all the men that euer my foolifsh
eyes lookt vpon, was the beſt deferuing a faire Lady.

Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
thy praisc.

How now, what newes ?

Enter a ſeruingman.

Ser. The foure ſtrangers ſeeke for you Madame, to take their
leaue; and there is a ſore-runner come from a ſift, the Prince of
Morocco, who brings word the Prince his Maſter will be heere to
night.

Por. If I could bid the ſift welcome, with ſo good a heart as I
can bid the other foure farwell, I should be glad of his approch:
if he haue the condition of a Saint, and the complection of a di-
uell, I had rather he should ſhriue me then wiue me. Come Ner-
viffa, firra go before: whiles we ſhut the gates vpon one wooer,
another knocks at the doore.
Exeunt.

Enter Baffanio, with Shylocke the Iew.

Shy. Three thousand ducats, well.

Baff. I fix, for three months.

B. 2.

Shy.

The Comical History of

Shy. For three moneths, well.

Baff. For the which as I told you,
          Anthonio shall be bound.

Shy. Anthonio shall become bound, well.

Baff. May you read me? Will you pleasure me?
          Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three moneths,
          and Anthonio bound.

Baff. Your answer to that.

Shy. Anthonio is a good man.

Baff. Haue you heard any imputation to the contrary?

Shy. Hono, no, no, no: my meaning in saying hee is a good man, is to haue you vnderstand me, that he is sufficient, yet his meanes are in suppofition: he hath an Argosie bound to Tripolie, another to the Indies, I vnderstand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, & other ventures he hath a squandred abroad, but ships are but boards, Sayers but men; there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues, and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is the perill of waters, windes, and rockes: the man is not withstanding sufficient, three thousand ducats, I thinke I may take his bond.

Baff. Be affured you may.

Shy. I will be affured I may: and that I may be affured, I will bethinke me, may I speake with Anthonio?

Baff. If it please you to dine with vs.

Shy. Yes, to smell porke, to eate of the habitation which your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuell into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talke with you, walke with you, and so following: but I will not eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you. What newes on the Ryalto, who is he comes heere?

Enter Anthonio.

Baff. This is ligniour Anthonio.

Shy. How like a fawning Publican he looks.

I hate him for he is a Christian.

But

the Merchant of Venice.

But more, for that in lowe simplicity
He lends out mony gratis, and brings downe
The rate of vance heere with vs in Venice.

If I can catch him once vpon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I beare him.
He hates our sacred Nation, and he rayles
Euen there where Merchants moft do congregate,
On me, my bargaines, and my well-won thrift,
Which he cals intereſt: Curfed be my Tribe
If I forgiue him.

Baff. Shylocke, do you heare.

Shy. I am debating of my preſent ſtore,
And by the neere gueſſe of my memory,
I cannot inſtantly raſe vp the groſſe
Of full three thousand ducats: what of that?

Tuball, a wealthy Hebrew of my Tribe,
Will furnish me; but ſoft, how many months
Doe you desire? Reſt you faire good Signior,
Your worſhip was the laſt man in our mouthes.

Ant. Shylocke, although I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking nor by giuing of exceſſe,
Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
Ile breake a custome: are you refolu'd,
How much he would haue?

Shy. I, I, three thousand ducats.

Ant. And for three moneths.

Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so.
Well then, your bond: and let me fee, but heare you,
Me-thought you said, you neither lend nor borrow
Vpon aduantage.

Ant. I do neuer vſe it.

Shy. When Iacob graz'd his Vnckle Labans Sneepe,
This Iacob from our holy Abram was
(As his wife Mother wrought in his behalfe)

The third poſſeſſer; I, he was the third.

Ant. And what of him, did he take intereſt?

B 3

Shy.

The Comicall History of

Shy.No,not take intereſt, not as you would ſay
Directly intereſt,marke what Iacob did,
When Laban and himſelfe were compremyzd,
That all the canelings which were ſteakt and pied,
Should fall as Iacobſ hier, the Ewes being rancke,
In th'end of Autume turned to the Rams,
And when the worke of generation was
Betweene theſe woolly breeders in the acte,
The skilfull ſhepheard pyld me certaine wands,
And in the doing of the deed of kinde,
He ſtucke them vp before the ſuſome Ewes,
Who then conceiuing, did in eaning time
Fall party-coloured lambes, and thoſe were Iacobſ.
This was a way to thrive, and he was bleſt :
And thrift is bleſſing if men ſteale it not.

Ant. This was a venture fir, that Iacob ſer'ud for,
A thing not in his power to bring to paffe,
But ſwavd and ſashion'd by the hand of heauen.
Was this inferted to make intereſt good ?
Or is your gold and filuer, Ewes and Rams ?
Shy, I cannot tell, I make it breed as ſaſt,
But note me ſignior.

Ant. Marke you this Baffanio,
The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpose,
An euill ſoule producing holy witneſſe,
Is like a villaine with a ſmiling cheeke,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.

O what a goodly outside falſhood hath,
Shy. Three thouſand ducats, tis a good round ſum.

Three months from twelue, then let me see the rate.

Ant. Well Shylocke, ſhall we be beholding to you?
Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft
In the Ryalto you haue rated me

About my monies and my ſvances :
Still haue I borne it with a patient ſhrug,

Still haue I borne it with a patient ſhrug,
(For ſufferance is the badge of all our Tribe)

You

the Merchant of Venice.

You call me misbeleuer, cut-throate dog,
And ſpet vpon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for vſe of that which is mine owne.
Well then, it now appears you need my helpe:
Goe to then, you come to me, and you ſay,
Shylocke, we would haue monies, you ſay so:
You that did voyd your rume vpon my beard,
And foote me as you ſpurne a ſtranger curre
Ouer your threshold, money is your ſute,
What ſhould I ſay to you ? Should I not ſay,
Hath a dog money? is it poffible
A curre can lend three thouſand ducats ? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bond-mans key,
With bated breath, and whispring humbleneſſe
Say this: Faire fir, you ſpet on me on wendſday laſt,
You ſpurn'd me ſuch a day another time,
You call'd me dog: and for theſe curſes
Ile lend you thus much monies.

Ant. I am as like to call thee so againe,
To ſpet on thee againe, to ſpurne thee to.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends, for when did friendſhip take
A breed for barren mettall of his friend?
But lend it rather to thine enemy,
Who if he breake, thou maſt with better face
Exact the penalty.

Shy. Why looke you how you ſtorme,
I would be friends with you, and haue your loue,
Forget the ſhames that you haue ſtain'd me with,
Supply your preſent wants, and take no doyte
Of ſvance for my monies, and you'l not heare me,
This is kinde I offer.

Baff. This were kindneſſe.

Shy. This kindneſſe will I ſhow,
Goe with me to a Notarie, ſeale me there
Your ſingle bond, and in a merry ſport,

If

The Comical History of

If you repay me not on such a day
In such a place, such fumme or fummes as are
Expreft in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your faire flinch, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleafeth me.
Ant. Content if faith, ile ſeale to such a bond,
And ſay there is much kindneſſe in the Iew.
Baff. You ſhall not ſeale to such a bond for me,
Ile rather dwell in my neceflity.

An. Why feare not man, I will not forſet it,
Within theſe two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect returne
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

Shy. O father Abram, what theſe Chriſtians are,
Whose owne hard dealings teaches them ſuſpect
The thoughts of others: pray you tell me this,
If he ſhould breake his day, what ſhould I gaine
By the exaction of the forſeiture?
A pound of man's ſlesh taken from a man,
Is not ſo estimable, profitable neyther
As ſlesh of Muttons, Beefes, or Goats, I ſay,
To buy his fauour, I extend this friendſhip,
If he will take it ſo, if not adiew,
And for my loue, I pray you wrong me not.
Ant. Yes Shylocke, I will ſeale vnto this bond.
Shy. Then meete me forthwith at the Noteries,
Giv him direction for this merry bond,
And I will goe and purſe the ducats ſtraight,
See to my house, left in the ſeaſefull guard.
Of an vnthrifty knaue; and preſently
Ile be with you.

Exit.

Ant. Hie thee gentle Iew: the Hebrew will turne Christian,
he growes ſo kinde.

Baff. I like not faire termes, and a villaines minde.

Ant. Come on, in this there can be no dismay.

My

the Merchant of Venice.

Exeunt

My ſhips come home a month before the day.

Enter Morochus a tawny Moore all in white, and three or
fourre followers accordingly, with Portia,
Nerriffa, & their traine.

Moroc. Mislike me not for my complexion,
The ſhadowed liuery of the burniſht ſunne,
To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred.
Bring the faireſt creature North-ward borne,
VVhere Phœbus fire ſcarſe thawes the yſicles,
And let vs make inciſion for your loue,
To proue whose blood is redded, his or mine.
I tell thee Lady, this aſpect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant (by my Loue I ſweare)
The beſt regarded virgins of our clime
Hath lou'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to ſeale your thoughts my gentle Queene.

Por. In termes of choife I am not ſoly led
By nice direction of a maydens eyes.
Befides, the Lottry of my deſiny
Barres me the right of voluntary chooſing:
But if my father had not ſcanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yeeld my ſelfe
His wife, who winnes me by that meanes I told you,
Your ſelfe (renowned Prince) than ſtood as faire
As any commer I haue look'd on yet,
For my affection.

Mor. Euen for that I thanke you,
Therefore I pray you leade me to the Caskets
To try my fortune. By this Semitaur
That flew the Sophy, and a Perſian Prince,
That wonne three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would out-ſtare the ſterneſt eyes that looke:
Out-braue the heart moſt daring on the earth:
Plucke the yong fucking Cubs from the ſhee-Beare,

C

Yea,

The Comical History of

Yea, mocke the Lyon when he rores for prey,
To win the Lady. But alas, the while
If Hercules and Lychas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turne by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his rage,
And so may I, blinde fortune leading mee,
Miffle that which one ynworthier may attaine,
And dye with greeuing.

*Portia.* You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong,
Neuer to speake to Lady afterward
In way of marriage, therefore be aduifde.

*Mor.* Nor will not, come bring me to my chance
*Por.* First forward to the Temple, after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.

*Mor.* Good fortune then,
To make me bleſt, or curſed as among men.

*Enter the Clowne alone.*

Exeunt.

*Clowne.* Certainly, my conscience will ferue me to run from
this Iew my maſter. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me
faying to mee, *Gobbo*, *Lancelet Gobbo*, good *Lancelet*, or good
*Gobbo*, or good *Lancelet Gobbo*, vſe your legges, take the ſtarte,
runne away: *My Conſcience fayes no; take heed honest *Lancelet*,
take heede honest *Gobbo*, or as aforeſaide, honest *Launcelet*
*Gobbo*, do not runne, ſcorne running with thy heeles. Well, the
moſt couragious fiend bids me packe, *fia fayes* the fiend, away
fayes the fiend, for the heauens ſoule vp a braue mind fayes the
fiend, and runne. Well, my conscience hanging about the neck
of my heart, fayes very wifely to me; *My honest friend *Lancelet*,
being an honest mans ſonne, or rather an honest womans
ſonne, for indeede my Father did ſomething ſmack, ſomething
grow too, he had a kinde of tafte: *well*, my conscience fayes
bouge

the Merchant of Venice.

bouge not; bouge faies the fiend; bouge not fayes my Conſcience. Conſcience ſay I you counſell well; Fiend ſay I you counſell ill. To be rul'd by my Conſcience, I ſhould ſtay with the Iew my maſter, who (God bleſſe the marke) is a kinde of diuell; and to runne away from the Iew, I ſhould be rul'd by the fiend, who (fauing your reuerence) is the Diuell himſelfe. Certainly the Iew is the very diuell incarnall, and in my conſcience, my conſcience is but a kinde of hard conſcience, to offer to counſell me to ſtay with the Iew. The fiende giues the more friendly counſaile, I will run fiend, my heeles are at your command, I will run.

*Enter old Gobbo with a Basket.*

*Gobbo.* Maſter yong man, you I pray you, which is the way to Maſter Iewes?

*Lance.* O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, who be-
ing more then fand blind, high grauell blinde, knowes me not,
I will try conclufions with him.

*Gobbo.* Maſter yong Gentleman, I pray you which is the way to maſter Iewes?

*Lance.* Turne vp on your right hand at the next turning, but
at the next turning of all on your left; marry at the verie nexte
turning turne of no hand, but turne downe indirectly vnto the
Iewes houſe.

*Gobbo.* Be Gods fonties twill bee a hard way to hit, can you tell me whither one *Lancelet* that dwels with him, dwell with him, or no?

*Lancelet.* Talke you of young maſter *Lancelet*? Marke mee now, now will I raife the waters:
Talke you of yong M. *Lancelet*?

*Gobbo.* No maſter fir, but a poore mans ſonne.
His Father (though I ſay it)
Is an honest exceeding poore man,
And God be thanked, well to liue.

*Lancelet.* Well, let his Father be what a will, we talk of yong maſter

C 2

The Comical History of

Master Launcelet.

Gob. Your worships friend, and Lancelet fir.

Lan. But I pray you ergo olde man, ergo I befeech you, talke you of yong M. Lancelet.

Gob. Of Lancelet an't please your mastership.

Lan. Ergo master Lancelet, talke not of maifter Lancelet Father; for the yong Gentleman according to fates and deſtinies, and fuch odd ſayings, the fifters three, and fuch braunches of learning, is indeed deceaſed, or as you would ſay in plain terms, gone to heauen.

Gob. Marry God forbid, the boy was the verie ſtaffe of my age, my very prop.

Lance. Do I looke like a cudgell or a houell poſte, a ſtaffe, or a prop: do you know me Father.

Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman, but I pray you tell mee, is my boy (GOD reſt his ſoule) aliue or dead.

Lance. Do you not know me Father?

Gob. Alacke fir, I am ſand blinde, I know you not.

Lan. Nay, in deede if you had your eyes you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wife Father that knowes his own child. Well, olde man, I will tell you newes of your ſonne, giue mee your bleſſing; Trueth will come to light, Murther cannot be hiddelong, a mans ſonne may, but at the length trueth will out.

Gobbo. Pray you fir ſtand vp, I am ſure you are not Launcelet my boy.

Lance. Pray you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue me your bleſſing; I am Lancelot your boy that was, your ſon that is, your child that ſhall be.

Gob. I cannot thinke you are my ſonne.

Lance. I know not what I ſhall thinke of that, but I am Launcelet the Iews man, and I am ſure Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery indeede, ile be ſworne if thou bee Lancelet, thou art mine owne fleſh and blood: Lord worſhip might

the Merchant of Venice.

might he be, what a beard haſt thou got? thou haſt got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my pilhorſe has on his tale.

Lan. It should ſeeme then that Dobbins taile growes backward. I am ſure he had more haire of his tayle then I haue of my face, when I laſt ſaw him.

Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd: how does t thou and thy Master agree? I haue brought him a preſent; how agree you now?

Lance. Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue ſet vp my reſt to runne away, so I will not reſt till I haue run ſome ground; My maſter's a very Iew, giue him a preſent, giue him a halter, I am famiſht in his ſeruice. You may tell euery finger I haue with my ribs: Father I am glad you are come, giue me your preſent to one Maſter Baffanio, who indeed giues rare new ſlueries, if I ſerue not him, I will runne as farre as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Iew if I ſerue the Iew any longer.

Enter Baffanio with a follower or two.

Baff. You may doe so, but let it be so haſted that ſupper be ready at the fartheſt by ſiue of the clocke: see theſe Letters deſuiered, put the Lyueries to making, and deſire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Exit one of his men.

Lance. To him Father.

Gob. God bleſſe your Worſhip.

Baff. Gramercy, would ſt thou ought with me?

Gob. Here's my ſonne fir, a poore boy.

Lance. Not a poore boy fir, but the rich Iewes man that wold fir, as my father ſhall ſpeciſe.

Gob. He hath a great inſection fir, as one would ſay to ſerue.

Lance. Indeed the ſhort and the long is, I ſerue the Iew, and haue a deſire as my Father ſhall ſpeciſe.

Gob. His Maſter and he (ſauing your worſhips reuerence) are ſcarſe catercoſins,

C 3

Lan.

## The Comical History of

Lan. To be briefe, the very truth is, that the Iew having don me wrong, doth cause me as my Father, being I hope, an olde man, shall frutifie vnto you.

Gob. I haue heere a dish of Doues that I would beftow vpon your worship: and my fute is—

Lan. In very briefe, the fute is impertinent to my ſelfe, as your worship ſhal know by this honest old man, and though I ſay it, though old man, yet poore man my father.

Baff. One ſpeake for both, what would you?

Lan. Serue you fir.

Gob. That is the verie defect of the matter fir.

Baff. I know thee well, thou haſt obtain'd thy ſute, Shylocke thy maſter ſpoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment To leaue a rich Iewes ſeruice, to become The follower of so poore a Gentleman.

Lan. The old Prouerbe is very well parted between my maſter Shylock and you fir, You haue the grace of God fir, and hee hath enough.

Baff. Thou ſpeakſt it well. Go Father with thy ſonne, Take leaue of thy old maſter, and enquire My Lodging out. Giue him a Luiery More garded then his fellowes, ſee it done.

Lan. Father in, I cannot get a ſeruice, no, I ha e here a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy haue a fairer table which doth offer to ſweare vppon a booke, I shall haue good fortune. Go too, heere's a ſimple line of life, here's a ſmal trifle of wives: Alas, fifteene wiues is norhing, eleuen VViddowes and nine maids, is a ſimple comming in for one man, and then to eſcape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of a feather-bed, heere are ſimple ſcapes: well, if Fortune bee a woman, ſhee's a good wench for this geere. Father, come, ile take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling of an eye.

Baff. I pray thee good Leonardo thinke on this, These things being bought, and orderly beſtow'd,

Returne

## the Merchant of Venice,

Returne in haſt, for I do ſeaſt to night, My best eſteem'd acquaintance, hie thee, go.

Leon. My best endeuors shall be done heerein,

Exit

Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Where's your Maſter.

Leon. Yonder fir he walkes.

Gra. Signior Baffanio.

Baff. Gratiano?

Gra. I haue a ſute to you.

Baff. You haue obtain'd it.

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

Baff. Why then you muſt. But heare thee Gratiano,

Thou art too wilde, too rude, and bold of voice, Parts that become thee happily enough, And in such eies as ours appeare not faults, But where thou art not knowne. Why there they ſhew Something too lib'rall: prethee take paine To allay with ſome cold drops of modeſtie Thy skipping ſpirit, left through thy wilde behauiour I be miſconſtred in the place I go to, And lose my hopes.

Gra. Signior Baffanio, heare me:

If I do not put on a ſober habite, Talke with reſpect, and ſweare but now and than; Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely, Nay more, while Grace is ſaying, hood mine eies

Thus with my hat, and ſigh, and ſay Amen :

Vſe all the obſeruance of ciuility.

Like one well studied in a ſad oſtent.

To pleafe his Grandam, neuer truſt me more.

Baff. Well, we shall ſee your bearing.

Gra. Nay but I barre to night, you shall not gage me

By what we do to night.

Baff. No that were pitty,

I would entreate you rather to put on

Your

The Comical History of

Your boldest fute of mirth, for we haue friends
That purpose merriment: but faryewell,
I haue some buſineſſe.

Gra. And I muſt to Lorenzo and the reſt,
But we will viſite you at ſupper time.

Exeunt.

Enter Iefſica and the Clowne.

Iefſica. I am ſorry thou wilt leaue my Father so,
Our houſe is hell, and thou a merry diuell
Didſt rob it of some taſte of tediousneſſe,
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee,
And Lancelet, soone at ſupper ſhalt thou ſee
Lorenzo, who is thy new Maſters gueſt,
Giuſe him this Letter, do it secretly,
And so farwell: I would not haue my Father
See me in talke with thee.

Lance. Adew, teares exhibite my tongue, moſt beautiſull Pa-
gan, moſt sweete Iew, if a Chriſtian doe not play the knaue and
get thee, I am much deceiued; but adew, theſe ſooliſh drops do
ſomething drowne my manly ſpirit : adieu.

Exit.

Iefſica. Farwell good Lancelet.

Alacke, what heynous ſinne is it in me,
To be a ſham'd to be my fathers childe,
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,
If thou keepe promife, I ſhall end this ſtrife,
Become a Chriſtian, and thy louing wife.

Exit.

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio.

Loren, Nay, we will ſlinke away in ſupper time,
Difguife vs at my lodging, and returne all in an houre.

Gra. We haue not made good preparation.

Salar. We haue not spoke vs yet of Torch-bearers,

Saliano. Tis vile, vnleſſe it may be quaintly ordered,

And better in my minde not vndertooke,

Loren. Tis now but ſoure a clocke, we haue two hours

To

the Merchant of Venice.

Enter Lancelet.

To furniſh vs; friend Lancelet, what's the newes?

Lan. If it please you to breake vp this, it ſhall seeme to ſigniſe,

Loren. I know the hand, in faith, tis a faire hand,

And whiter then the paper it writ on,

Is the faire hand that writ.

Grat. Loue newes, in faith,

Lance. By your leaue fir,

Loren. Whither goeſt thou?

Lance. Matry fir, to bid my olde Maſter the Iew to ſup to night
with my new Maſter the Chriſtian.

Loren. Hold here take this, tell gentle Iefſica,
I will not fayle her, ſpeake it priuately.

Goe Gentlemen, will you prepare for this maske to night,

I am prouided of a Torch-bearer.

Exit Clowne.

Salar. I marry, ile be gone about it ſtraight.

Salar. And so will I.

Loren. Meete me and Gratiano at Gratianos lodging,
Some houre hence.

Salar. Tis good we do so.

Exit.

Grat. Was not that Letter from faire Iefſica?

Loren. I muſt needs tell thee all, ſhe hath directed
How I ſhall take her from her Fathers houſe,
What gold and iewels ſhe is furniſht with,
What Pages ſute ſhe hath in readineſſe,
If ere the Iew her father come to heauen,
It will be for his gentle daughters ſake,
And neuer dare misfortune croſſe her ſoote,
Vnleſſe ſhe do it vnder this excuse,

That ſhe is iſſue to a faithleſſe Iew:
Come goe with me, perſuse this as thou goeſt,

Faire Iefſica ſhall be my Torch-bearer.

Exit.

Enter the Iew and Lancelet.

Shy. Well, thou ſhalt ſee, thy eyes ſhall be thy iudge,
The diſſrence of old Shylocke and Baffanio;

D

What

The Comical History of

What *Ieffica*, thou shalt not gourmandize

As thou haft done with me: what *Ieffica*?
And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.

Why *Ieffica* I say.

*Clowne.* Why *Ieffica*.

*Shy.* Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

*Clo.* Your wor'ship was wont to tell me, that I could do no-
thing without bidding.

*Enter Ieffica.*

*Ief.* Call you? what is your will?

*Shy.* I am bid forth to fupper *Ieffica*,

There are my keyes; but wherefore should I go?

I am not bid for loue, they flatter me,
But yet ile go in hate, to feede vpon

The prodigall Chriſtian. *Ieffica* my gytle,

Looke to my houſe. I am right loth to go,

There is fome ill a bruing towards my reſt,
For I did dreame of money bagges to night.

*Clowne.* I beſeech you fir go,

My yong Maſter doth expect your reproch.

*Shy.* So do I his.

*Clown.* And they haue confired together, I will not ſay you
ſhall fee a Maske; but if you doe, then it was not for nothing
that my noſe fell a bleeding on black monday laſt, at ſix a clock
in the morning, falling out that yeare on Aſh>wensday was four
yeare in th> afternoone.

*Shy.* What, are there maskes? Heare me *Ieffica* :

Locke vp my doores, and when you heare the drumme,
And the vile ſqueaking of the wry-neckt Fife,

Clamber not you vp to the Cafements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publike firete,

To gaze on Chriſtian fooles with varnifht faces:
But ſtop my houſes eares, I meane my Cafements,

Let not the found of ſhallow foppery enter
My sober houſe. By *Iacobs* ſtaffe I ſweare,

I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:

But

the Merchant of Venice.

But I will go. Go you before me, Ira,
Say I will come.

*Clowne.* I will go before fir,

Miftrefſe looke out at a window for all this,
There will come a Chriſtian by,
Will be worth a Iewes eye.

*Shy.* What ſayes that ſoole of *Hagars* off-Spring ? ha.

*Ief.* His words were, Farewell miſtris, nothing else.

*Shy.* The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder,
Snaile-flow in profit, and he sleepeſ by day
More then the wilde Cat : Drones hie not with me,
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one, that I would haue him helpe to waſſe
His borrowed purſe. Well *Ieffica* goe in,
Perhaps I will returne immediately,
Do as I bid you, ſhut doores after you,
Aſt binde, aſt finde,

A Prouerbe neuer ſtale in thrifty minde.

Exit.

*Ief.* Farewell, and if my fortune be not croſt,
I haue a Father, you a daughter loſt.

Exit.

*Enter the maſkers, Gratiano and Salarino.*

*Gra.* This is the pent-house vnder which
*Lorenzo* deſir'd vs to make a stand,

*Sal.* His houre is almoſt paſt.

*Gra.* And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre,
For louers euer run before the clocke.

*Sal.* O ten times after *Venus* pigeons flye
To ſeale loues bonds new made, then they are wont
To keepe obliged faith vnforfaited.

*Gra.* That euer holds: who rifeſh from a ſaſt
With that keene appetite that he ſits downe?
Where is the horſe that doth vntreade againe
His tedious measures, with the vnbaſed fire
That he did pace them firſt? All things that are,
Are with more ſpirit chafed then enioy'd.

D.

How

The Comical History of

How like a younger or a prodigall,
The skarfed Barke puts from her native bay,
Hugd and embraced by the trumpet winde,
How like the prodigall doth she returue
With ouer-wetherd ribs and ragged sayles,
Leane, rent, and beggerd by the trumpet wind ?

Enter Lorenzo.

Sal. Here comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.

Lo. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode
Not I, but my affaires haue made you waite :
When you shall please to play the thecues for wiues
Ile watch as long for you then: approach,
Here dwels my father Iew. Ho, whose within ?

Iessica above.

Ieff. Who are you ? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit Ile sweare that I do know your tongue.

Lor. Lorenzo and thy loue.

Ieff. Lorenzo certaine, and my loue indeed,
For who loue I so much ? and now who knowes

But you Lorenzo, whether I am yours ?
Lo. Heauen & thy thoghts are witnesses that thou art
Ieff. Here, catch this Casket, tis worth the paines,
I am glad this night you do not looke on me,
For I am much agham'd of my exchange :
But loue is blinde, and louers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit,
For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Ieff. What, must I hold a Candle to my flames,
They in themselves good-sooth are too too light.
Why this is an office of discovery, Loue,
And I should be obscure.

Lor. So are you sweete,
Euen in the lovely garnish of a boy,
But come at once, for the close night.

Doth

the Merchant of Venice.

Doth play the run-away,
And we are ftaid for at Baffanios feast.

Ieff. I will make fast the doores, and guild my selfe
With some mo ducats, and be with you straight.

Grat. Now by my hood, a Gentile and no Iew.

Lor. Be shrew me but I loue her hartily,
For she is wife, if I can iudge of her,
And faire she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she hath proo'd herselfe,
And therefore like herselfe, wife, faire and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant foule.

Enter Iessica.

What, art thou come on gentlemen, away,
Our masking mates by this time for vs flay.
Exit.

Enter Anthony.

Ant. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio.

Ant. Fie, fie Gratiano, where are all the rest ?
Tis nine a clocke, our friends all flay for you,

No maske to night, the winde is come about,
Baffanio presently will goe aboard,

I am glad on't, I desire no more delight.
Then to be vnder sayle, & gone to night.

Exeunt.

Enter Portia with Morroche, and both their tr Associates.

Por. Goe, draw aside the Curtaines, and discover

The feuerall Caskets to this noble Prince.

Now make your choise.

Mor. The first of gold, who this inscription heares,
Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire.
The second filuer, which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he defers.

This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Por.

D 3

The Comical History of

Por. The one of them containes my picture Prince,
If you choose that, then I am yours withall.

Por. Some God direct my judgement, let me see,
I will furwayt this inscriptions backe againe,
What fayes this leaden Casket?

What fayes this leaden Casket?
Who chooseth me, muft giue and hazard all he hath,
Muft giue, for what ? for lead, hazard for lead?

This Casket threatens men that hazard all,

Doe it in hope of faire aduantages :

A golden minde stoopes not to showes of droffe,
Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead.

What fayes the filuer with her virgine hue ?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deferues.

Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deferues.
As much as he deferues, paufe there Morocho,
And weigh thy value with an eeuen hand,

If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
Thou doft deferue enough, and yet enough

May not extend so farre as to the Lady :

And yet to be afeard of my deferuing :

Were but a weake disabling of my selfe.

As much as I deferue, why that's the Lady,

I do in birth deferue her, and in fortunes,

In graces, and in qualities of breeding :

But more then these, in loue I do deferue.

What if I atraid no farther, but chose here ?

Let's see once more this saying grau'd in gold :

Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire :

Why that's the Lady, all the world desires her.

From the foure corners of the earth they come
To kiffe this shrine, this mortall breathing Saint,

The Hircation deferts, and the vafty wildes

Of wide Arabia, are as through fares now

For Princes to come view faire Portia.

The watry Kingdome, whose ambitious head

Spets in the face of heauen, is no barre

To stop the forraine spirits, but they come

As

the Merchant of Venice.

As ore a brooke to see faire Portia.

One of these three containes her heauenly picture.

Is't like that leade containes her, 't were damnation

To thinke so base a thought, it were too grosse

To rib her fere-cloth in the obscure graue,

Or shall I thinke in filuer fhee's immur'd,

Being ten times under-yalewed to tride gold,

O infull thought, neuer so rich a Iem

Was let in worse then gold. They haue in England

A coyne that beares the figure of an Angell

Stampt in gold, but that's infculpt vpon :

But heere an Angell in a golden bod.

Lies all within. Deliuer me the key :

Heere do I choose, and thriue I as I may.

Por. There take it Prince, and if my forme lie there,
Then I am yours.

Mor. O hell ! what haue we heere, a carrion death ?
Within whose empty eye there is a written scruple,
Ile reade the writing.

All that glisters is not gold,
Often haue you heard that told,
Many a man his life hath solde,
But my out fide to behold,
Gilded timber do wormes infold :
Had you bene as wife as bold,
Young in limbes, in judgement old,
Your answere had not bene infrolde,
Fare you well, your fute is cold.

Mor. Cold indeed, and labour loft,
Then farwell heate, and welcome froft:

Portia adiew, I have too green'd a heart

To take a tedious leaue; thus losers part.

Por. A gentle riddance, draw the curtaines, goe,
Let all of his completion choose me so.

Exit.

Exeunt.

Enter

The Comical History of

Enter Salarino and Salanio.

Salar. Why man, I saw Baffanio vnder layle.
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship Imure Lorenzo is not.
Salar. The villaine Iew with outcries raide the Duke,
Who went with him to search Baffanios ship.

Salar. He came too late, the ship was vnder faile,
But there the Duke was giuen to vnderstand,
That in a Gondylo were seene together
Lorenza and his armorous Iessica.
Besides Anthonio certified the Duke,
They were not with Baffanio in his ship.

Salar. I neuer heard a passion so confused,
So strange, outragious, and so variable,
As the Dog Iew did ytter in the streetes,
My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter,
Fled with a Christian, O my christian ducats.
Iustice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter.
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stolne from me by my daughter,
And iewels, two stones, two rich & precious stones,
Stolne by my daughter: iustice, finde the gyrle,
She hath the stones vpon her, and the ducats.

Salar. Why all the boyes in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

Salar. Let good Anthonio looke he keep his days,
Or he shall pay for this.

Salar. Marry well remembred,
I reasom'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow feas that part
The French and English, there miſcarried

A veſſell of our country richly fraught :
I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me,
And wiſht in ſilence that it were not his.

Salario

the Merchant of Venice.

Salar. You were beſt to tell Anthonio what you heare,
Yet do not ſodainely, for it may greeue him.

Salar. A kinder Gentleman treades not the earth,
I saw Baffanio and Anthonio part :
Baffanio told him he would make some ſpeede
Of his returne: he anſwered, do not so,
Slubber not buſineſſe for my ſake Baffanio,
But ſtay the very riping of the time,
And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your minde of loue :
Bemerry, and employ your cheeſed thoughts
To Courtship, and ſuch faire oſtents of loue,
As shall conueniently become you there,
And euen there his eye being bigge with teares,
Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him;
And with affection wondrous ſenſible,
He wrung Baffanios hand, and so they parted.

Salar. I thinke he onely loues the world for him:
I prethee let vs goe and finde him out,
And quicken his embraced heauineſſe,
With ſome delight or other.

Salar. Do we so.

Exeunt

Enter Nerriffa and a Seruitor.

Ner. Quicke, quicke, I pray thee, draw the Curtain straite,
The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath,
And comes to his election preſently.

Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia.

Por. Behold, there stand the Caskets Noble Prince,
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptiall rights be solemniz'd: 1
But if you faile, without more ſpeech my Lord,
You muſt be gone from hence immediately.

Arra. I am enioynd by oath to obſerue three things.
First, neuer to vnfold to any one

B

Which

The Comicall History of

Which Casket twas I choſe. Next, if I faile
Of the right Casket, neuer in my life

To woe a maide in way of marriage :

Laſtly, if I do faile in fortune of my choſe,

Immediately to leaue you, and be gone.

Por. To theſe iniuications euery one doth ſweare,

That comes to hazard for my worthleſſe ſelfe.

Arr. And ſo haue I addreſt me, fortune now

To my hearts hope: Gold, Siluer, and bafe Lead.

Who chooſeth me, muſt giue and hazard all he hath.

You ſhall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard.

VVhat ſayes the golden Cheſt? ha, let me ſee,

VWho chooſeth me, ſhall gaine what many men deſire.

VWhat many men deſire, that many may be meant

By the ſoole-multitude, that chuſe by ſhow :

Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach,

VWhich pries not to th'interiour, but like the Martlet,

Builds in the weather on the outward wall,

Euen in the force and rode of caſualty,

I will not chuſe what many men deſire,

Because I will not iumpe with common ſpirits,

And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes.

VWhy then to thee thou Siluer treaſure houſe,

Tell me once more what title thou doſt beare :

Who chooſeth me ſhall get as much as he deſerues.

And well ſaid too, for who ſhall go about

To coſen Fortune, and be honourable

VWithout the ſtampe of merit, let none preſume

To weare an vndeſerued dignity :

O that eſtates, degrees, and offices,

VWere not deri'd corruptly, and that cleare honor

VWere purchac'd by the merit of the wearer,

How many then ſhould couer, that ſtand bare?

How many be commanded, that command?

How much low pezantry would then be gleaned

From the true ſeede of honor? And how much honor,

Picks

the Merchant of Venice.

Pictk from the chaffe and ruine of the times

To be new verniſh'd? well, but to my choſe,

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

And inſtantly vnlocke my fortunes heere.

Por. Too long a paſue for that which you finde there,

Arrag. VVhat's heere, the portrait of a blinking Ideot,

Preſenting me a ſedule? I will reade it.

How much vnlike art thou to Portia?

How much vnlike my hopes, and my deſeruings.

Who chooſeth me ſhall haue as much as he deſerues.

Did I deſerue no more then a ſooleſ head?

Is that my prize? Are my deſerts no better?

Por. To offenſ and iudge are diſtinct offices,

And of oppoſed Natures.

Arrag. VWhat heere?

Heere reads.

The fire ſeuen times tried this :

Seuen times tried that iudgement is,

That did neuer choſe amis.

Some there be that ſhadowes kis,

Such haue but a ſhadowes blis :

There be ſooleſ aline I wis,

Siluer'd ore, and so was this.

Take what wifc you will to bed,

I will euer be your head :

So be gone, you are ſped.

Still more ſoole I ſhall appeere,

By the time I linger heere,

VWith one ſooleſ head I came to woe,

But I go away vvith two.

Sweet adieu, Ile keepe my oath,

Patiently to beare my vvroath.

Portia. Thus hath the candle findg'd the Moth.

O theſe deliberate ſooleſ, vywhen they do chooſe,

E 2

They

The Comicall History of

They haue their wisedome, by their wit to looke.

Ner. The ancient saying is no hereſie,
Hanging and wuuing goes by deſtiny.

Por. Come draw the Curtaine Nerriffa.

Enter a Messenger.

Meff. Where is my Lady?

Por. Heere, what would my Lord ?

Meff. Madam, there is a-lighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signifie th'approching of his Lord,
From whom he bringeth ſenſible regreets ;
To wit (deſides commends and courteous breath)
Gifts of rich valew ; yet I haue not ſene
So likely an Embaſſador of loue.
A day in Aprill neuer came so ſweet,
To ſhew how coſtly Summer was at hand,
As this fore-ſpurrer comes before his Lord.

Por. No more I pray thee, I am halfe a-fear'd
Thou wilt ſay anon he is ſome kin to thee,

Thou ſpendſt ſuch high day wit in praiſing him :
Come, come Nerriffa, for I long to ſee

Quicke Cupids poſt that comes ſo manerly.

Ner. Baſſanio Lord, loue if thy will it be.

Exit.

Enter Salanio and Salarino.

Salar. Now, what newes on the Ryalto ?

Salar. Why yet it liues there vncheckt, that Anthonio hath a ſhip of rich lading wrackt on the narrowe ſeas ; the Goodwins I thinke they call the place, a very dangerous flat, & fatal, wher the carkaſſes of many a tall ſhippe lie buried, as they ſay, if my goſſips report be an honest woman of her word.

Salar. I would ſhee were as a lying goſſippe in that, as euer knapt Ginger, or made her neighbors beleuee (he wept for the death of a third husband : but it is true, without any flippes of prolixy, or croſſing the plaine highway of talk, that the good

Anthonio

the Merchant of Venice.

Anthonio, the honest Anthonio, O that I had a title good enough to keepe his name company.

Salar. Come, the full ſtop.

Sal. Ha, what ſaſt thou? why the end is, he hath loft a ſhip.

Salar. I would it might proue the end of his loſſes.

Salar. Let me ſay Amen betimes, leaſt the deuill croſſe my prayer, for heere he comes in the likeneſſe of a lew.

Enter Shylocke.

How now Shylocke, what newes among the Marchants ?

Shy. You know, none so well, none so well as you,
Of my daughters flight.

Salar. That's certaine, I for my part knew the Taylor
That made the wings he flew withall.

Salar. And Shylocke for his owne part knew the Birde was fledg'd, and then it is the complexion of them all to leaue the Dam.

Shy. She is damn'd for it.

Salar. That's certaine, if the diuell may be her iudge.

Shy. My owne ſlesh and blood to rebell.

Salar. Out vpon it old carrion, rebels it at theſe yeares.

Shy. I ſay my daughter is my ſlesh and blood.

Salar. There is more difference betweene thy ſlesh and hirs, then betweene Iet and Iuory: more between your bloods, then there is between red wine & rennifh: but tell vs, do you heare, whether Anthonio haue had at-loſſe a ſea or no ?

Shy. There I haue another bad match, a bankrout, a prodigal, who dare ſearſe ſhew his head on the Ryalto, a begger that was vsd to come so ſmug vpon the Mart: let him looke to his bond: he was want to call me vsurer, let him looke to his bond; he was want to lend money for a Chriſtian curſie, let him looke to his bond.

Salar. Why I am ſure if he forſet, thou wilt not take his ſleſh, what's that good for ?

Shy. To baite ſish withall; if it will feede nothing els it will feed my reuenge: he hath diſgrac'd me, and hindred me half a million, daught at my loſſes, mockt at my gaines, ſcorned my na-
tion.

E 3

The Comical History of

tion, thwarted my bargaines, cooled my friendes, heated mine
enemies, and what's his reason, I am a lewe. Hath nos a lewe
cyes? hath not a Iew hands? organs, dimensions, senfes, affeeti-
ons, passions? fed with the same food? hurt with the same wea-
pons? subieſt to the same diſeaſes? healed by the same meanes?
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Chri-
ſtian is? If you pricke vs, do we not bleede? If you tickle vs, do
we not laugh? If you poyſon vs, do wee not dye? And if you
wrong vs, ſhall we not reuenge? If wee are like you in the reſt,
we will reſemble you in that. If a Iew wrong a Chriſtian, what
is his humilitie, Reuenge? If a Chriſtian wrong a lewe, what
ſhould his ſufferance be by Chriſtian example, why Reuenge?
The villany you teach me I will execute, and it ſhall goe hard,
but I will better the inſtruction.

*Enter a man from Anthonio.*

Gentlemen, my maſter Anthonio is at his house, and deſires to ſpeake with you both.

Salar. We haue bene vp and downe to ſeeke him.

*Enter Tuball.*

Salar. Here comes another of the Tribe, a third cannot bee matcht, vnleſſe the diuell himselfe ſurne Iew.

*Exeunt Gentlemen.*

Shy. How now Tuball, what newes from Genoway? haſt thou found my daughter?

Tuball. I often came where I did heare of her, but cannot finde her.

Shy. Why there, there, there, there, a Diamond gone coſt me two thouſand ducats in Frankford. The curſe neuer ſell vp on our Nation till now, I neuer felt it till now: two thouſande ducats in that, and other precious precious iewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foote, and the iewels in her eare: O would ſhee were hearſt at my foote, and the ducats in her cofin. No newes of them, why ſo: and I know not what ſpent in the ſearch: why thou loffe vpon loffe, the theeſe gone vwith ſo much,

the *Merchant of Venice*.

much, and so much to finde the Theeſe, and no ſatisfaction, no
reuenge, nor no ill lucke stirring but what lights on my ſhou-
ders, no ſighes but of my breathing, no teares but of my ſhed-
ding.

Tuball. Yes, other men haue ill luck too, Anthonio as I heard in Genoway.

Shy. What, what, what ill lucke, ill lucke?

Tuball. Hath an Argofie caſt away comming from Tripolis.

Shy. I thanke God, I thanke God, iſt true? iſt true?

Tuball. I ſpoke with ſome of the Saylers that eſcaped the wracke.

Shy. I thanke the good Tuball, good newes, good newes: ha ha, heere in Genoway.

Tuball. Your daughter ſpent in Genoway, as I heard, in one fight, ſourefcore ducats.

Shy. Thou ſtick't a dagger in me, I ſhall neuer ſee my golde againe; ſourefcore ducates at a ſitting! ſourefcore ducats!

Tuball. There came diuers of Anthonios Creditours in my company vnto Venice, that ſwere that hee cannot chooſe but breake.

Shy. I am very glad of it, ile plague him, ile torture him, I am glad on't.

Tuball. One of them ſhewed me a ring that hee had of your daughter for a Monkey.

Shy. Out vpon her: thou tortur't me Tuball, it was my Tur-kies, I had it of Leah when I was a Batchellor. I would not haue giuen it for a wilderneſſe of Monkies.

Tuball. But Anthonio is certainly vndone.

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true: go Tuball, ſee mee an Officer, be ſpeake him a fortnight before, I will haue the heart of him if he forfeit. For were he out of Venice I can make what merchandize I will go: go Tuball, and meete me at our Synagogue, go good Tuball, at our Synagogue Tuball.

*Exeunt.*

*Enter Baffanio, Portia, Gratiano, and all their Traines.*

*Portia.*