ACT III. SCENE I. Venice. A street  Enter SOLANIO and SALERIO    SOLANIO. Now, what news on the Rialto?   SALERIO. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath a ship     of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins I think     they call the place, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the     carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my     gossip Report be an honest woman of her word.   SOLANIO. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapp'd     ginger or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a     third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or     crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the     honest Antonio- O that I had a title good enough to keep his name     company!-   SALERIO. Come, the full stop.   SOLANIO. Ha! What sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a     ship.   SALERIO. I would it might prove the end of his losses.   SOLANIO. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer,     for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.                               Enter SHYLOCK      How now, Shylock? What news among the merchants?   SHYLOCK. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my     daughter's flight.   SALERIO. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made     the wings she flew withal.   SOLANIO. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was flidge;     and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam.   SHYLOCK. She is damn'd for it.   SALERIO. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.   SHYLOCK. My own flesh and blood to rebel!   SOLANIO. Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?   SHYLOCK. I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.   SALERIO. There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than     between jet and ivory; more between your bloods than there is     between red wine and Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether     Antonio have had any loss at sea or no?   SHYLOCK. There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a prodigal,     who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was     us'd to come so smug upon the mart. Let him look to his bond. He     was wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond. He was wont     to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond.   SALERIO. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his     flesh. What's that good for?   SHYLOCK. To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing else, it will     feed my revenge. He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a     million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my     nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine     enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes?     Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,     passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,     subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed     and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If     you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?     If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we     not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you     in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility?     Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance     be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me     I will execute; and itshall go hard but I will better the     instruction.                      Enter a MAN from ANTONIO    MAN. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to     speak with you both.   SALERIO. We have been up and down to seek him.                            Enter TUBAL    SOLANIO. Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be     match'd, unless the devil himself turn Jew.                                 Exeunt SOLANIO, SALERIO, and MAN   SHYLOCK. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my     daughter?   TUBAL. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.   SHYLOCK. Why there, there, there, there! A diamond gone, cost me     two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our     nation till now; I never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in     that, and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter     were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear; would she were     hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No news of     them? Why, so- and I know not what's spent in the search. Why,     thou- loss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so much to     find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge; nor no ill luck     stirring but what lights o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my     breathing; no tears but o' my shedding!   TUBAL. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in     Genoa-   SHYLOCK. What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?   TUBAL. Hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.   SHYLOCK. I thank God, I thank God. Is it true, is it true?   TUBAL. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.   SHYLOCK. I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news- ha, ha!-     heard in Genoa.   TUBAL. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night,     fourscore ducats.   SHYLOCK. Thou stick'st a dagger in me- I shall never see my gold     again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats!   TUBAL. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to     Venice that swear he cannot choose but break.   SHYLOCK. I am very glad of it; I'll plague him, I'll torture him; I     am glad of it.   TUBAL. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter     for a monkey.   SHYLOCK. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my     turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor; I would not     have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.   TUBAL. But Antonio is certainly undone.   SHYLOCK. Nay, that's true; that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an     officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of     him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what     merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go,     good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.                  Exeunt     SCENE II. Belmont. PORTIA'S house  Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and all their trains    PORTIA. I pray you tarry; pause a day or two     Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,     I lose your company; therefore forbear a while.     There's something tells me- but it is not love-     I would not lose you; and you know yourself     Hate counsels not in such a quality.     But lest you should not understand me well-     And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought-     I would detain you here some month or two     Before you venture for me. I could teach you     How to choose right, but then I am forsworn;     So will I never be; so may you miss me;     But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,     That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes!     They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;     One half of me is yours, the other half yours-     Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,     And so all yours. O! these naughty times     Puts bars between the owners and their rights;     And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,     Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.     I speak too long, but 'tis to peize the time,     To eke it, and to draw it out in length,     To stay you from election.   BASSANIO. Let me choose;     For as I am, I live upon the rack.   PORTIA. Upon the rack, Bassanio? Then confess     What treason there is mingled with your love.   BASSANIO. None but that ugly treason of mistrust     Which makes me fear th' enjoying of my love;     There may as well be amity and life     'Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.   PORTIA. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,     Where men enforced do speak anything.   BASSANIO. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.   PORTIA. Well then, confess and live.   BASSANIO. 'Confess' and 'love'     Had been the very sum of my confession.     O happy torment, when my torturer     Doth teach me answers for deliverance!     But let me to my fortune and the caskets.   PORTIA. Away, then; I am lock'd in one of them.     If you do love me, you will find me out.     Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof;     Let music sound while he doth make his choice;     Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,     Fading in music. That the comparison     May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream     And wat'ry death-bed for him. He may win;     And what is music then? Then music is     Even as the flourish when true subjects bow     To a new-crowned monarch; such it is     As are those dulcet sounds in break of day     That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear     And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,     With no less presence, but with much more love,     Than young Alcides when he did redeem     The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy     To the sea-monster. I stand for sacrifice;     The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,     With bleared visages come forth to view     The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules!     Live thou, I live. With much much more dismay     I view the fight than thou that mak'st the fray.                              A SONG        the whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself                   Tell me where is fancy bred,                  Or in the heart or in the head,                  How begot, how nourished?                    Reply, reply.                  It is engend'red in the eyes,                  With gazing fed; and fancy dies                  In the cradle where it lies.                    Let us all ring fancy's knell:                    I'll begin it- Ding, dong, bell.   ALL.           Ding, dong, bell.    BASSANIO. So may the outward shows be least themselves;     The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.     In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt     But, being season'd with a gracious voice,     Obscures the show of evil? In religion,     What damned error but some sober brow     Will bless it, and approve it with a text,     Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?     There is no vice so simple but assumes     Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.     How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false     As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins     The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;     Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk!     And these assume but valour's excrement     To render them redoubted. Look on beauty     And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight,     Which therein works a miracle in nature,     Making them lightest that wear most of it;     So are those crisped snaky golden locks     Which make such wanton gambols with the wind     Upon supposed fairness often known     To be the dowry of a second head-     The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.     Thus ornament is but the guiled shore     To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf     Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,     The seeming truth which cunning times put on     To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,     Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;     Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge     'Tween man and man; but thou, thou meagre lead,     Which rather threaten'st than dost promise aught,     Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,     And here choose I. Joy be the consequence!   PORTIA.  [Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,     As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,     And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy!     O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,     In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!     I feel too much thy blessing. Make it less,     For fear I surfeit.   BASSANIO.  [Opening the leaden casket]  What find I here?     Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god     Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?     Or whether riding on the balls of mine     Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,     Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar     Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs     The painter plays the spider, and hath woven     A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men     Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes-     How could he see to do them? Having made one,     Methinks it should have power to steal both his,     And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look how far     The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow     In underprizing it, so far this shadow     Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,     The continent and summary of my fortune.          'You that choose not by the view,          Chance as fair and choose as true!          Since this fortune falls to you,          Be content and seek no new.          If you be well pleas'd with this,          And hold your fortune for your bliss,          Turn to where your lady is          And claim her with a loving kiss.'     A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;     I come by note, to give and to receive.     Like one of two contending in a prize,     That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,     Hearing applause and universal shout,     Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt     Whether those peals of praise be his or no;     So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,     As doubtful whether what I see be true,     Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.   PORTIA. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,     Such as I am. Though for myself alone     I would not be ambitious in my wish     To wish myself much better, yet for you     I would be trebled twenty times myself,     A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich,     That only to stand high in your account     I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,     Exceed account. But the full sum of me     Is sum of something which, to term in gross,     Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd;     Happy in this, she is not yet so old     But she may learn; happier than this,     She is not bred so dull but she can learn;     Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit     Commits itself to yours to be directed,     As from her lord, her governor, her king.     Myself and what is mine to you and yours     Is now converted. But now I was the lord     Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,     Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,     This house, these servants, and this same myself,     Are yours- my lord's. I give them with this ring,     Which when you part from, lose, or give away,     Let it presage the ruin of your love,     And be my vantage to exclaim on you.   BASSANIO. Madam, you have bereft me of all words;     Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;     And there is such confusion in my powers     As, after some oration fairly spoke     By a beloved prince, there doth appear     Among the buzzing pleased multitude,     Where every something, being blent together,     Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy     Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring     Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;     O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!   NERISSA. My lord and lady, it is now our time     That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper     To cry 'Good joy.' Good joy, my lord and lady!   GRATIANO. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,     I wish you all the joy that you can wish,     For I am sure you can wish none from me;     And, when your honours mean to solemnize     The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you     Even at that time I may be married too.   BASSANIO. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.   GRATIANO. I thank your lordship, you have got me one.     My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:     You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;     You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission     No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.     Your fortune stood upon the caskets there,     And so did mine too, as the matter falls;     For wooing here until I sweat again,     And swearing till my very roof was dry     With oaths of love, at last- if promise last-     I got a promise of this fair one here     To have her love, provided that your fortune     Achiev'd her mistress.   PORTIA. Is this true, Nerissa?   NERISSA. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal.   BASSANIO. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?   GRATIANO. Yes, faith, my lord.   BASSANIO. Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.   GRATIANO. We'll play with them: the first boy for a thousand     ducats.   NERISSA. What, and stake down?   GRATIANO. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down-     But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?     What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!            Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a messenger                            from Venice    BASSANIO. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither,     If that the youth of my new int'rest here     Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,     I bid my very friends and countrymen,     Sweet Portia, welcome.   PORTIA. So do I, my lord;     They are entirely welcome.   LORENZO. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,     My purpose was not to have seen you here;     But meeting with Salerio by the way,     He did entreat me, past all saying nay,     To come with him along.   SALERIO. I did, my lord,     And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio     Commends him to you.               [Gives BASSANIO a letter]   BASSANIO. Ere I ope his letter,     I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.   SALERIO. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;     Nor well, unless in mind; his letter there     Will show you his estate.        [BASSANIO opens the letter]   GRATIANO. Nerissa, cheer yond stranger; bid her welcome.     Your hand, Salerio. What's the news from Venice?     How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?     I know he will be glad of our success:     We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.   SALERIO. I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.   PORTIA. There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper     That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:     Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world     Could turn so much the constitution     Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!     With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,     And I must freely have the half of anything     That this same paper brings you.   BASSANIO. O sweet Portia,     Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words     That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,     When I did first impart my love to you,     I freely told you all the wealth I had     Ran in my veins- I was a gentleman;     And then I told you true. And yet, dear lady,     Rating myself at nothing, you shall see     How much I was a braggart. When I told you     My state was nothing, I should then have told you     That I was worse than nothing; for indeed     I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,     Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy,     To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,     The paper as the body of my friend,     And every word in it a gaping wound     Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?     Hath all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?     From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,     From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,     And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch     Of merchant-marring rocks?   SALERIO. Not one, my lord.     Besides, it should appear that, if he had     The present money to discharge the Jew,     He would not take it. Never did I know     A creature that did bear the shape of man     So keen and greedy to confound a man.     He plies the Duke at morning and at night,     And doth impeach the freedom of the state,     If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,     The Duke himself, and the magnificoes     Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;     But none can drive him from the envious plea     Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.   JESSICA. When I was with him, I have heard him swear     To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,     That he would rather have Antonio's flesh     Than twenty times the value of the sum     That he did owe him; and I know, my lord,     If law, authority, and power, deny not,     It will go hard with poor Antonio.   PORTIA. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?   BASSANIO. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,     The best condition'd and unwearied spirit     In doing courtesies; and one in whom     The ancient Roman honour more appears     Than any that draws breath in Italy.   PORTIA. What sum owes he the Jew?   BASSANIO. For me, three thousand ducats.   PORTIA. What! no more?     Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;     Double six thousand, and then treble that,     Before a friend of this description     Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.     First go with me to church and call me wife,     And then away to Venice to your friend;     For never shall you lie by Portia's side     With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold     To pay the petty debt twenty times over.     When it is paid, bring your true friend along.     My maid Nerissa and myself meantime     Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;     For you shall hence upon your wedding day.     Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;     Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.     But let me hear the letter of your friend.   BASSANIO.  [Reads]  'Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried,     my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the     Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I     should live, all debts are clear'd between you and I, if I might     but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if     your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.'   PORTIA. O love, dispatch all business and be gone!   BASSANIO. Since I have your good leave to go away,     I will make haste; but, till I come again,     No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,     Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.               Exeunt     SCENE III. Venice. A street  Enter SHYLOCK, SOLANIO, ANTONIO, and GAOLER    SHYLOCK. Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy-     This is the fool that lent out money gratis.     Gaoler, look to him.   ANTONIO. Hear me yet, good Shylock.   SHYLOCK. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond.     I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.     Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,     But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs;     The Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,     Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond     To come abroad with him at his request.   ANTONIO. I pray thee hear me speak.   SHYLOCK. I'll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak;     I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.     I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool,     To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield,     To Christian intercessors. Follow not;     I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.             Exit   SOLANIO. It is the most impenetrable cur     That ever kept with men.   ANTONIO. Let him alone;     I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.     He seeks my life; his reason well I know:     I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures     Many that have at times made moan to me;     Therefore he hates me.   SOLANIO. I am sure the Duke     Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.   ANTONIO. The Duke cannot deny the course of law;     For the commodity that strangers have     With us in Venice, if it be denied,     Will much impeach the justice of the state,     Since that the trade and profit of the city     Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go;     These griefs and losses have so bated me     That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh     To-morrow to my bloody creditor.     Well, gaoler, on; pray God Bassanio come     To see me pay his debt, and then I care not.          Exeunt     SCENE IV. Belmont. PORTIA'S house  Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR    LORENZO. Madam, although I speak it in your presence,     You have a noble and a true conceit     Of godlike amity, which appears most strongly     In bearing thus the absence of your lord.     But if you knew to whom you show this honour,     How true a gentleman you send relief,     How dear a lover of my lord your husband,     I know you would be prouder of the work     Than customary bounty can enforce you.   PORTIA. I never did repent for doing good,     Nor shall not now; for in companions     That do converse and waste the time together,     Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,     There must be needs a like proportion     Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit,     Which makes me think that this Antonio,     Being the bosom lover of my lord,     Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,     How little is the cost I have bestowed     In purchasing the semblance of my soul     From out the state of hellish cruelty!     This comes too near the praising of myself;     Therefore, no more of it; hear other things.     Lorenzo, I commit into your hands     The husbandry and manage of my house     Until my lord's return; for mine own part,     I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow     To live in prayer and contemplation,     Only attended by Nerissa here,     Until her husband and my lord's return.     There is a monastery two miles off,     And there we will abide. I do desire you     Not to deny this imposition,     The which my love and some necessity     Now lays upon you.   LORENZO. Madam, with all my heart     I shall obey you in an fair commands.   PORTIA. My people do already know my mind,     And will acknowledge you and Jessica     In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.     So fare you well till we shall meet again.   LORENZO. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!   JESSICA. I wish your ladyship all heart's content.   PORTIA. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd     To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.                                       Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO     Now, Balthasar,     As I have ever found thee honest-true,     So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,     And use thou all th' endeavour of a man     In speed to Padua; see thou render this     Into my cousin's hands, Doctor Bellario;     And look what notes and garments he doth give thee,     Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed     Unto the traject, to the common ferry     Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,     But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee.   BALTHASAR. Madam, I go with all convenient speed.         Exit   PORTIA. Come on, Nerissa, I have work in hand     That you yet know not of; we'll see our husbands     Before they think of us.   NERISSA. Shall they see us?   PORTIA. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit     That they shall think we are accomplished     With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,     When we are both accoutred like young men,     I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,     And wear my dagger with the braver grace,     And speak between the change of man and boy     With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps     Into a manly stride; and speak of frays     Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,     How honourable ladies sought my love,     Which I denying, they fell sick and died-     I could not do withal. Then I'll repent,     And wish for all that, that I had not kill'd them.     And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,     That men shall swear I have discontinued school     About a twelvemonth. I have within my mind     A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,     Which I will practise.   NERISSA. Why, shall we turn to men?   PORTIA. Fie, what a question's that,     If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!     But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device     When I am in my coach, which stays for us     At the park gate; and therefore haste away,     For we must measure twenty miles to-day.              Exeunt     SCENE V. Belmont. The garden  Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA    LAUNCELOT. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father are to     be laid upon the children; therefore, I promise you, I fear you.     I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of     the matter; therefore be o' good cheer, for truly I think you are     damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, and     that is but a kind of bastard hope, neither.   JESSICA. And what hope is that, I pray thee?   LAUNCELOT. Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not-    that you are not the Jew's daughter.   JESSICA. That were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my     mother should be visited upon me.   LAUNCELOT. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by father and     mother; thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into     Charybdis, your mother; well, you are gone both ways.   JESSICA. I shall be sav'd by my husband; he hath made me a     Christian.   LAUNCELOT. Truly, the more to blame he; we were Christians enow     before, e'en as many as could well live one by another. This     making of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all     to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the     coals for money.                               Enter LORENZO    JESSICA. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say; here he     comes.   LORENZO. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you     thus get my wife into corners.   JESSICA. Nay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelot and I are     out; he tells me flatly there's no mercy for me in heaven,     because I am a Jew's daughter; and he says you are no good member     of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians you     raise the price of pork.   LORENZO. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you     can the getting up of the negro's belly; the Moor is with child     by you, Launcelot.   LAUNCELOT. It is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but     if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I     took her for.   LORENZO. How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best     grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow     commendable in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them     prepare for dinner.   LAUNCELOT. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.   LORENZO. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them     prepare dinner.   LAUNCELOT. That is done too, sir, only 'cover' is the word.   LORENZO. Will you cover, then, sir?   LAUNCELOT. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.   LORENZO. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the     whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee understand a     plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover     the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.   LAUNCELOT. For the table, sir, it shall be serv'd in; for the meat,     sir, it shall be cover'd; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why,     let it be as humours and conceits shall govern.  Exit   LORENZO. O dear discretion, how his words are suited!     The fool hath planted in his memory     An army of good words; and I do know     A many fools that stand in better place,     Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word     Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica?     And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,     How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?   JESSICA. Past all expressing. It is very meet     The Lord Bassanio live an upright life,     For, having such a blessing in his lady,     He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;     And if on earth he do not merit it,     In reason he should never come to heaven.     Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match,     And on the wager lay two earthly women,     And Portia one, there must be something else     Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world     Hath not her fellow.   LORENZO. Even such a husband     Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.   JESSICA. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.   LORENZO. I will anon; first let us go to dinner.   JESSICA. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.   LORENZO. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;     Then howsome'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things     I shall digest it.   JESSICA. Well, I'll set you forth.                      Exeunt     ACT IV. SCENE I. Venice. The court of justice  Enter the DUKE, the MAGNIFICOES, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, and OTHERS    DUKE OF VENICE. What, is Antonio here?   ANTONIO. Ready, so please your Grace.   DUKE OF VENICE. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer     A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,     Uncapable of pity, void and empty     From any dram of mercy.   ANTONIO. I have heard     Your Grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify     His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,     And that no lawful means can carry me     Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose     My patience to his fury, and am arm'd     To suffer with a quietness of spirit     The very tyranny and rage of his.   DUKE OF VENICE. Go one, and call the Jew into the court.   SALERIO. He is ready at the door; he comes, my lord.                            Enter SHYLOCK    DUKE OF VENICE. Make room, and let him stand before our face.     Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,     That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice     To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,     Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange     Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;     And where thou now exacts the penalty,     Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,     Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,     But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,     Forgive a moiety of the principal,     Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,     That have of late so huddled on his back-     Enow to press a royal merchant down,     And pluck commiseration of his state     From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,     From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd     To offices of tender courtesy.     We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.   SHYLOCK. I have possess'd your Grace of what I purpose,     And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn     To have the due and forfeit of my bond.     If you deny it, let the danger light     Upon your charter and your city's freedom.     You'll ask me why I rather choose to have     A weight of carrion flesh than to receive     Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that,     But say it is my humour- is it answer'd?     What if my house be troubled with a rat,     And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats     To have it ban'd? What, are you answer'd yet?     Some men there are love not a gaping pig;     Some that are mad if they behold a cat;     And others, when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose,     Cannot contain their urine; for affection,     Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood     Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:     As there is no firm reason to be rend'red     Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;     Why he, a harmless necessary cat;     Why he, a woollen bagpipe, but of force     Must yield to such inevitable shame     As to offend, himself being offended;     So can I give no reason, nor I will not,     More than a lodg'd hate and a certain loathing     I bear Antonio, that I follow thus     A losing suit against him. Are you answered?   BASSANIO. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,     To excuse the current of thy cruelty.   SHYLOCK. I am not bound to please thee with my answers.   BASSANIO. Do all men kill the things they do not love?   SHYLOCK. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?   BASSANIO. Every offence is not a hate at first.   SHYLOCK. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?   ANTONIO. I pray you, think you question with the Jew.     You may as well go stand upon the beach     And bid the main flood bate his usual height;     You may as well use question with the wolf,     Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;     You may as well forbid the mountain pines     To wag their high tops and to make no noise     When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;     You may as well do anything most hard     As seek to soften that- than which what's harder?-     His jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,     Make no moe offers, use no farther means,     But with all brief and plain conveniency     Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.   BASSANIO. For thy three thousand ducats here is six.   SHYLOCK. If every ducat in six thousand ducats     Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,     I would not draw them; I would have my bond.   DUKE OF VENICE. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none?   SHYLOCK. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?     You have among you many a purchas'd slave,     Which, fike your asses and your dogs and mules,     You use in abject and in slavish parts,     Because you bought them; shall I say to you     'Let them be free, marry them to your heirs-     Why sweat they under burdens?- let their beds     Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates     Be season'd with such viands'? You will answer     'The slaves are ours.' So do I answer you:     The pound of flesh which I demand of him     Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it.     If you deny me, fie upon your law!     There is no force in the decrees of Venice.     I stand for judgment; answer; shall I have it?   DUKE OF VENICE. Upon my power I may dismiss this court,     Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,     Whom I have sent for to determine this,     Come here to-day.   SALERIO. My lord, here stays without     A messenger with letters from the doctor,     New come from Padua.   DUKE OF VENICE. Bring us the letters; call the messenger.   BASSANIO. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!     The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,     Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.   ANTONIO. I am a tainted wether of the flock,     Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit     Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.     You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,     Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.             Enter NERISSA dressed like a lawyer's clerk    DUKE OF VENICE. Came you from Padua, from Bellario?   NERISSA. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.                                              [Presents a letter]   BASSANIO. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?   SHYLOCK. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.   GRATIANO. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,     Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can,     No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness     Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?   SHYLOCK. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.   GRATIANO. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!     And for thy life let justice be accus'd.     Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,     To hold opinion with Pythagoras     That souls of animals infuse themselves     Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit     Govern'd a wolf who, hang'd for human slaughter,     Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,     And, whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,     Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires     Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd and ravenous.   SHYLOCK. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,     Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud;     Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall     To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.   DUKE OF VENICE. This letter from Bellario doth commend     A young and learned doctor to our court.     Where is he?   NERISSA. He attendeth here hard by     To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.   DUKE OF VENICE. With all my heart. Some three or four of you     Go give him courteous conduct to this place.     Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.   CLERK.  [Reads]  'Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt     of your letter I am very sick; but in the instant that your     messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor     of Rome- his name is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause     in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant; we     turn'd o'er many books together; he is furnished with my opinion     which, bettered with his own learning-the greatness whereof I     cannot enough commend- comes with him at my importunity to fill     up your Grace's request in my stead. I beseech you let his lack     of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation,     for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him     to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his     commendation.'        Enter PORTIA for BALTHAZAR, dressed like a Doctor of Laws    DUKE OF VENICE. YOU hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes;     And here, I take it, is the doctor come.     Give me your hand; come you from old Bellario?   PORTIA. I did, my lord.   DUKE OF VENICE. You are welcome; take your place.     Are you acquainted with the difference     That holds this present question in the court?   PORTIA. I am informed throughly of the cause.     Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?   DUKE OF VENICE. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.   PORTIA. Is your name Shylock?   SHYLOCK. Shylock is my name.   PORTIA. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;     Yet in such rule that the Venetian law     Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.     You stand within his danger, do you not?   ANTONIO. Ay, so he says.   PORTIA. Do you confess the bond?   ANTONIO. I do.   PORTIA. Then must the Jew be merciful.   SHYLOCK. On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.   PORTIA. The quality of mercy is not strain'd;     It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven     Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:     It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.     'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes     The throned monarch better than his crown;     His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,     The attribute to awe and majesty,     Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;     But mercy is above this sceptred sway,     It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,     It is an attribute to God himself;     And earthly power doth then show likest God's     When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,     Though justice be thy plea, consider this-     That in the course of justice none of us     Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy,     And that same prayer doth teach us all to render     The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much     To mitigate the justice of thy plea,     Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice     Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.   SHYLOCK. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,     The penalty and forfeit of my bond.   BASSANIO. Yes; here I tender it for him in the court;     Yea, twice the sum; if that will not suffice,     I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er     On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart;     If this will not suffice, it must appear     That malice bears down truth. And, I beseech you,     Wrest once the law to your authority;     To do a great right do a little wrong,     And curb this cruel devil of his will.   PORTIA. It must not be; there is no power in Venice     Can alter a decree established;     'Twill be recorded for a precedent,     And many an error, by the same example,     Will rush into the state; it cannot be.   SHYLOCK. A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!     O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!   PORTIA. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.   SHYLOCK. Here 'tis, most reverend Doctor; here it is.   PORTIA. Shylock, there's thrice thy money off'red thee.   SHYLOCK. An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.     Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?     No, not for Venice.   PORTIA. Why, this bond is forfeit;     And lawfully by this the Jew may claim     A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off     Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful.     Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.   SHYLOCK. When it is paid according to the tenour.     It doth appear you are a worthy judge;     You know the law; your exposition     Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law,     Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,     Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear     There is no power in the tongue of man     To alter me. I stay here on my bond.   ANTONIO. Most heartily I do beseech the court     To give the judgment.   PORTIA. Why then, thus it is:     You must prepare your bosom for his knife.   SHYLOCK. O noble judge! O excellent young man!   PORTIA. For the intent and purpose of the law     Hath full relation to the penalty,     Which here appeareth due upon the bond.   SHYLOCK. 'Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,     How much more elder art thou than thy looks!   PORTIA. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.   SHYLOCK. Ay, his breast-     So says the bond; doth it not, noble judge?     'Nearest his heart,' those are the very words.   PORTIA. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh     The flesh?   SHYLOCK. I have them ready.   PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,     To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.   SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond?   PORTIA. It is not so express'd, but what of that?     'Twere good you do so much for charity.   SHYLOCK. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.   PORTIA. You, merchant, have you anything to say?   ANTONIO. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd.     Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well.     Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you,     For herein Fortune shows herself more kind     Than is her custom. It is still her use     To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,     To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow     An age of poverty; from which ling'ring penance     Of such misery doth she cut me off.     Commend me to your honourable wife;     Tell her the process of Antonio's end;     Say how I lov'd you; speak me fair in death;     And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge     Whether Bassanio had not once a love.     Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,     And he repents not that he pays your debt;     For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,     I'll pay it instantly with all my heart.   BASSANIO. Antonio, I am married to a wife     Which is as dear to me as life itself;     But life itself, my wife, and all the world,     Are not with me esteem'd above thy life;     I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all     Here to this devil, to deliver you.   PORTIA. Your wife would give you little thanks for that,     If she were by to hear you make the offer.   GRATIANO. I have a wife who I protest I love;     I would she were in heaven, so she could     Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.   NERISSA. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back;     The wish would make else an unquiet house.   SHYLOCK.  [Aside]  These be the Christian husbands! I have a     daughter-     Would any of the stock of Barrabas     Had been her husband, rather than a Christian!-     We trifle time; I pray thee pursue sentence.   PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine.     The court awards it and the law doth give it.   SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge!   PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.     The law allows it and the court awards it.   SHYLOCK. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.   PORTIA. Tarry a little; there is something else.     This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood:     The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh.'     Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;     But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed     One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods     Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate     Unto the state of Venice.   GRATIANO. O upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!   SHYLOCK. Is that the law?   PORTIA. Thyself shalt see the act;     For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd     Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.   GRATIANO. O learned judge! Mark, Jew. A learned judge!   SHYLOCK. I take this offer then: pay the bond thrice,     And let the Christian go.   BASSANIO. Here is the money.   PORTIA. Soft!     The Jew shall have all justice. Soft! No haste.     He shall have nothing but the penalty.   GRATIANO. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!   PORTIA. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.     Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more     But just a pound of flesh; if thou tak'st more     Or less than a just pound- be it but so much     As makes it light or heavy in the substance,     Or the division of the twentieth part     Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn     But in the estimation of a hair-     Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.   GRATIANO. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!     Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.   PORTIA. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.   SHYLOCK. Give me my principal, and let me go.   BASSANIO. I have it ready for thee; here it is.   PORTIA. He hath refus'd it in the open court;     He shall have merely justice, and his bond.   GRATIANO. A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel!     I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.   SHYLOCK. Shall I not have barely my principal?   PORTIA. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture     To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.   SHYLOCK. Why, then the devil give him good of it!     I'll stay no longer question.   PORTIA. Tarry, Jew.     The law hath yet another hold on you.     It is enacted in the laws of Venice,     If it be proved against an alien     That by direct or indirect attempts     He seek the life of any citizen,     The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive     Shall seize one half his goods; the other half     Comes to the privy coffer of the state;     And the offender's life lies in the mercy     Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice.     In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;     For it appears by manifest proceeding     That indirectly, and directly too,     Thou hast contrived against the very life     Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd     The danger formerly by me rehears'd.     Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.   GRATIANO. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself;     And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,     Thou hast not left the value of a cord;     Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.   DUKE OF VENICE. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,     I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.     For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;     The other half comes to the general state,     Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.   PORTIA. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio.   SHYLOCK. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that.     You take my house when you do take the prop     That doth sustain my house; you take my life     When you do take the means whereby I live.   PORTIA. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?   GRATIANO. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake!   ANTONIO. So please my lord the Duke and all the court     To quit the fine for one half of his goods;     I am content, so he will let me have     The other half in use, to render it     Upon his death unto the gentleman     That lately stole his daughter-     Two things provided more; that, for this favour,     He presently become a Christian;     The other, that he do record a gift,     Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd     Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.   DUKE OF VENICE. He shall do this, or else I do recant     The pardon that I late pronounced here.   PORTIA. Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?   SHYLOCK. I am content.   PORTIA. Clerk, draw a deed of gift.   SHYLOCK. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;     I am not well; send the deed after me     And I will sign it.   DUKE OF VENICE. Get thee gone, but do it.   GRATIANO. In christ'ning shalt thou have two god-fathers;     Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,     To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.                                                     Exit SHYLOCK   DUKE OF VENICE. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.   PORTIA. I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon;     I must away this night toward Padua,     And it is meet I presently set forth.   DUKE OF VENICE. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.     Antonio, gratify this gentleman,     For in my mind you are much bound to him.                              Exeunt DUKE, MAGNIFICOES, and train   BASSANIO. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend     Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted     Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof     Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,     We freely cope your courteous pains withal.   ANTONIO. And stand indebted, over and above,     In love and service to you evermore.   PORTIA. He is well paid that is well satisfied,     And I, delivering you, am satisfied,     And therein do account myself well paid.     My mind was never yet more mercenary.     I pray you, know me when we meet again;     I wish you well, and so I take my leave.   BASSANIO. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further;     Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,     Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you,     Not to deny me, and to pardon me.   PORTIA. You press me far, and therefore I will yield.     [To ANTONIO]  Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake.     [To BASSANIO]  And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you.     Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more,     And you in love shall not deny me this.   BASSANIO. This ring, good sir- alas, it is a trifle;     I will not shame myself to give you this.   PORTIA. I will have nothing else but only this;     And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.   BASSANIO.. There's more depends on this than on the value.     The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,     And find it out by proclamation;     Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.   PORTIA. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers;     You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks,     You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.   BASSANIO. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;     And, when she put it on, she made me vow     That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.   PORTIA. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.     And if your wife be not a mad woman,     And know how well I have deserv'd this ring,     She would not hold out enemy for ever     For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!                                        Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA   ANTONIO. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.     Let his deservings, and my love withal,     Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.   BASSANIO. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;     Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,     Unto Antonio's house. Away, make haste.        Exit GRATIANO     Come, you and I will thither presently;     And in the morning early will we both     Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.                    Exeunt     SCENE II. Venice. A street  Enter PORTIA and NERISSA    PORTIA. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed,     And let him sign it; we'll away tonight,     And be a day before our husbands home.     This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.                            Enter GRATIANO    GRATIANO. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en.     My Lord Bassanio, upon more advice,     Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat     Your company at dinner.   PORTIA. That cannot be.     His ring I do accept most thankfully,     And so, I pray you, tell him. Furthermore,     I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house.   GRATIANO. That will I do.   NERISSA. Sir, I would speak with you.     [Aside to PORTIA]  I'll See if I can get my husband's ring,     Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.   PORTIA.  [To NERISSA]  Thou Mayst, I warrant. We shall have old       swearing     That they did give the rings away to men;     But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.     [Aloud]  Away, make haste, thou know'st where I will tarry.   NERISSA. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?                                                           Exeunt     ACT V. SCENE I. Belmont. The garden before PORTIA'S house  Enter LORENZO and JESSICA    LORENZO. The moon shines bright. In such a night as this,     When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,     And they did make no noise- in such a night,     Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,     And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,     Where Cressid lay that night.   JESSICA. In such a night     Did Thisby fearfully o'ertrip the dew,     And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,     And ran dismayed away.   LORENZO. In such a night     Stood Dido with a willow in her hand     Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love     To come again to Carthage.   JESSICA. In such a night     Medea gathered the enchanted herbs     That did renew old AEson.  LORENZO. In such a night     Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,     And with an unthrift love did run from Venice     As far as Belmont.   JESSICA. In such a night     Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well,     Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,     And ne'er a true one.   LORENZO. In such a night     Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,     Slander her love, and he forgave it her.   JESSICA. I would out-night you, did no body come;     But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.                         Enter STEPHANO    LORENZO. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?   STEPHANO. A friend.   LORENZO. A friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?   STEPHANO. Stephano is my name, and I bring word     My mistress will before the break of day     Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about     By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays     For happy wedlock hours.   LORENZO. Who comes with her?   STEPHANO. None but a holy hermit and her maid.     I pray you, is my master yet return'd?   LORENZO. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.     But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,     And ceremoniously let us prepare     Some welcome for the mistress of the house.                           Enter LAUNCELOT    LAUNCELOT. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!   LORENZO. Who calls?   LAUNCELOT. Sola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola,     sola!   LORENZO. Leave holloaing, man. Here!   LAUNCELOT. Sola! Where, where?   LORENZO. Here!   LAUNCELOT. Tell him there's a post come from my master with his     horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning.  Exit   LORENZO. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.     And yet no matter- why should we go in?     My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,     Within the house, your mistress is at hand;     And bring your music forth into the air.       Exit STEPHANO     How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!     Here will we sit and let the sounds of music     Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night     Become the touches of sweet harmony.     Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven     Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;     There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st     But in his motion like an angel sings,     Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins;     Such harmony is in immortal souls,     But whilst this muddy vesture of decay     Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.                            Enter MUSICIANS      Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;     With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear.     And draw her home with music.                        [Music]   JESSICA. I am never merry when I hear sweet music.   LORENZO. The reason is your spirits are attentive;     For do but note a wild and wanton herd,     Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,     Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,     Which is the hot condition of their blood-     If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,     Or any air of music touch their ears,     You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,     Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze     By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet     Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;     Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,     But music for the time doth change his nature.     The man that hath no music in himself,     Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,     Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;     The motions of his spirit are dull:as night,     And his affections dark as Erebus.     Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.                      Enter PORTIA and NERISSA    PORTIA. That light we see is burning in my hall.     How far that little candle throws his beams!     So shines a good deed in a naughty world.   NERISSA. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.   PORTIA. So doth the greater glory dim the less:     A substitute shines brightly as a king     Until a king be by, and then his state     Empties itself, as doth an inland brook     Into the main of waters. Music! hark!   NERISSA. It is your music, madam, of the house.   PORTIA. Nothing is good, I see, without respect;     Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.   NERISSA. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.   PORTIA. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark     When neither is attended; and I think     ne nightingale, if she should sing by day,     When every goose is cackling, would be thought     No better a musician than the wren.     How many things by season season'd are     To their right praise and true perfection!     Peace, ho! The moon sleeps with Endymion,     And would not be awak'd.                      [Music ceases]   LORENZO. That is the voice,     Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.   PORTIA. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,     By the bad voice.   LORENZO. Dear lady, welcome home.   PORTIA. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare,     Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.     Are they return'd?   LORENZO. Madam, they are not yet;     But there is come a messenger before,     To signify their coming.   PORTIA.. Go in, Nerissa;     Give order to my servants that they take     No note at all of our being absent hence;     Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.        [A tucket sounds]   LORENZO. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet.     We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.   PORTIA. This night methinks is but the daylight sick;     It looks a little paler; 'tis a day     Such as the day is when the sun is hid.         Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers    BASSANIO. We should hold day with the Antipodes,     If you would walk in absence of the sun.   PORTIA. Let me give light, but let me not be light,     For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,     And never be Bassanio so for me;     But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.   BASSANIO. I thank you, madam; give welcome to my friend.     This is the man, this is Antonio,     To whom I am so infinitely bound.   PORTIA. You should in all sense be much bound to him,     For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.   ANTONIO. No more than I am well acquitted of.   PORTIA. Sir, you are very welcome to our house.     It must appear in other ways than words,     Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.   GRATIANO.  [To NERISSA]  By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;     In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.     Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,     Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.   PORTIA. A quarrel, ho, already! What's the matter?   GRATIANO. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring     That she did give me, whose posy was     For all the world like cutler's poetry     Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'   NERISSA. What talk you of the posy or the value?     You swore to me, when I did give it you,     That you would wear it till your hour of death,     And that it should lie with you in your grave;     Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,     You should have been respective and have kept it.     Gave it a judge's clerk! No, God's my judge,     The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.   GRATIANO. He will, an if he live to be a man.   NERISSA. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.   GRATIANO. Now by this hand I gave it to a youth,     A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy     No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;     A prating boy that begg'd it as a fee;     I could not for my heart deny it him.   PORTIA. You were to blame, I must be plain with you,     To part so slightly with your wife's first gift,     A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger     And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.     I gave my love a ring, and made him swear     Never to part with it, and here he stands;     I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it     Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth     That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,     You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;     An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.   BASSANIO.  [Aside]  Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,     And swear I lost the ring defending it.   GRATIANO. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away     Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed     Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,     That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;     And neither man nor master would take aught     But the two rings.   PORTIA. What ring gave you, my lord?     Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.   BASSANIO. If I could add a lie unto a fault,     I would deny it; but you see my finger     Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.   PORTIA. Even so void is your false heart of truth;     By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed     Until I see the ring.   NERISSA. Nor I in yours     Till I again see mine.   BASSANIO. Sweet Portia,     If you did know to whom I gave the ring,     If you did know for whom I gave the ring,     And would conceive for what I gave the ring,     And how unwillingly I left the ring,     When nought would be accepted but the ring,     You would abate the strength of your displeasure.   PORTIA. If you had known the virtue of the ring,     Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,     Or your own honour to contain the ring,     You would not then have parted with the ring.     What man is there so much unreasonable,     If you had pleas'd to have defended it     With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty     To urge the thing held as a ceremony?     Nerissa teaches me what to believe:     I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.   BASSANIO. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,     No woman had it, but a civil doctor,     Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,     And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,     And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away-     Even he that had held up the very life     Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?     I was enforc'd to send it after him;     I was beset with shame and courtesy;     My honour would not let ingratitude     So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;     For by these blessed candles of the night,     Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd     The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.   PORTIA. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house;     Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,     And that which you did swear to keep for me,     I will become as liberal as you;     I'll not deny him anything I have,     No, not my body, nor my husband's bed.     Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.     Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus;     If you do not, if I be left alone,     Now, by mine honour which is yet mine own,     I'll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.   NERISSA. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd     How you do leave me to mine own protection.   GRATIANO. Well, do you so, let not me take him then;     For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.   ANTONIO. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels.   PORTIA. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome not withstanding.   BASSANIO. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;     And in the hearing of these many friends     I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,     Wherein I see myself-   PORTIA. Mark you but that!     In both my eyes he doubly sees himself,     In each eye one; swear by your double self,     And there's an oath of credit.   BASSANIO. Nay, but hear me.     Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear     I never more will break an oath with thee.   ANTONIO. I once did lend my body for his wealth,     Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,     Had quite miscarried; I dare be bound again,     My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord     Will never more break faith advisedly.   PORTIA. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this,     And bid him keep it better than the other.   ANTONIO. Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.   BASSANIO. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!   PORTIA. I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio,     For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.   NERISSA. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,     For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,     In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.   GRATIANO. Why, this is like the mending of highways     In summer, where the ways are fair enough.     What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv'd it?   PORTIA. Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz'd.     Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;     It comes from Padua, from Bellario;     There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,     Nerissa there her clerk. Lorenzo here     Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,     And even but now return'd; I have not yet     Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;     And I have better news in store for you     Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon;     There you shall find three of your argosies     Are richly come to harbour suddenly.     You shall not know by what strange accident     I chanced on this letter.   ANTONIO. I am dumb.   BASSANIO. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?   GRATIANO. Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?   NERISSA. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,     Unless he live until he be a man.   BASSANIO. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow;     When I am absent, then lie with my wife.   ANTONIO. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;     For here I read for certain that my ships     Are safely come to road.   PORTIA. How now, Lorenzo!     My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.   NERISSA. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.     There do I give to you and Jessica,     From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,     After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.   LORENZO. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way     Of starved people.   PORTIA. It is almost morning,     And yet I am sure you are not satisfied     Of these events at full. Let us go in,     And charge us there upon inter'gatories,     And we will answer all things faithfully.   GRATIANO. Let it be so. The first inter'gatory     That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,     Whether till the next night she had rather stay,     Or go to bed now, being two hours to day.     But were the day come, I should wish it dark,     Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk.     Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing     So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.               Exeunt  THE END