N

And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. *a
Anth. Yes, Shylock, I will feal unto this bond. F.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's.
Give him direction for this merry bond.
And I will go and purse the ducats ftrait;
See to my houfe, left in the fearless guard
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
I will be with you.

Anth. Hie thee gentle Jew.

1

[Exit.

This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. Baff. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. Anth. Come on, in this there can be no difmay; My fhips come home a month before the day [Exeunt.

Enter Morochius, a Tawny-Moor, all in white; and three or four followers accordingly; with Portia, Neriffa, and her train. Flourish cornets.

-Mor. Iflike me not for my complexion,

M'

The fhadow'd livery of the burnish'd fun,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phebus' fire fcarce thaws the icicles,
And let us make incifion for your love,
To prove whofe blood is reddeft, his or mine.
I tell thee, Lady, this afpect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I fwear,
The beft-regarded virgins of our clime

Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle Queen.
Por. In terms of choice I am not folely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Befides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary chufing.
But if my father had not feanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself

His wife, who wins me by that means I told you;
Yourself, renowned Prince, then flood as fair,

As

As any comer I have look'd on yet,

For my affection.

Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the cafkess
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,
That flew the Sophy and a Persian Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would outftare the fterneft eyes that look,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the fhe-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, Lady. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;

And fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Mifs that, which one unworthier may attain ;
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance,

And either not attempt to chufe at all,

Or fwear, before you chufe, if you chufe wrong,
Never to fpeak to lady afterward

In

way of marriage; therefore be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; therefore bring me to my

chance.

Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard fhall be made.

Mor. Good fortune then,

[Cornets.

To make me blefs'd, or curfed'ft among men! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Changes to Venice.

Enter Launcelot alone.

Laun. Certainly my confcience will ferve me to run from this Jew my mafter. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, faying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, ufe your legs, take the start, run away. My confcience fays, No; take heed, honeft Launcelot; take heed, honeft Gobbo; or, as aforefaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo, de not run; fcorn running with thy

heels.

heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; Via! fays the fiend; Away! fays the fiend; for the heav'ns roufe up a brave mind, fays the fiend, and run. Well, my confcience, hanging about the neck of my heart, fays very wifely to me, My honest friend Launcelot, being an honeft man's fon, or rather an honest woman's fon (for indeed my father did fomething fmack, fomething grow to; he had a kind of tafte;)

well, my confcience fays, Budge not; Budge, fays the fiend; Budge not, fays my confcience; Confcience, fay I, you counfel ill; Fiend, fay I you counfel ill. To be rul'd by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew, I fhould be ruled by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my confcience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counfel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo, with a basket.

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to Mafter Jew's?

Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confusions with him.

Gob. Mafter young Gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew's?

Laun. Turn up, on your right-hand at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's fonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit: can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot ? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters); talk you of young Mafter Launcelot ?

Gob. No, Mafter, Sir, but a poor man's fon. His

father,

father, though I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Mafter Launcelot

Gob. Your Worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I be feech you, talk you of young Mafter Launcelot ? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't pleafe your Maftership.

Laun. Ergo, Mafter Launcelot; talk not of Mafter Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and deftinies, and fuch odd fayings, the fifters three, and fuch branches of learning) is indeed deceafed; or, as you would fay, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.

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

very ftaff

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-poft, a ftaff or a prop? Do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God reft his foul, alive or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, Sir, I am fand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wife father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your bleffing, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, Sir, ftand up; I am fure you are not Launcelot my boy.

1

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your bleffing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your fon that is, your child that shall

be.

Gob. I cannot think you are my fon.

Laun. I know not what I fhall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be fworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: Lord worfhipp'd might he be! what a beard haft thou

got thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill horfe has on his tail.

Laun. It fhould seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I laft saw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou change'd! how doft thou and thy mafter agree? I have brought him a prefent; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, fo I will not reft till I have run fome ground. My mafter's a very Jew: give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am famifh'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your prefent to one Master Baffanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I ferve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the` man; to him, father, for I am a Jew, if I ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Ballanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two

more.

Baff. You may do fo; but let it be fo hafted, that fupper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock: fee thefe letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Laun. To him, father.

Gob. God bless your Worship!

Baff. Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?
Gob. Here's my fon, Sir, a poor boy,

Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father shall specify,

Gob. He hath a great infection, Sir, as one would fay, to ferve

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I ferve the Jew, and have a defire, as my father fhall fpecify,Gob. His mafter and he, faving your Worship's reverence, are fcarce catercoufins.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth caufe me, as my father, being I hope an old man, fhall frutify unto you,

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow apon your Worship; and my fuit is

VOL. II.

M

Laun.