William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur

Over your threshold; moneys is your suit.

What should I say to you? Should I not say

‘Hath a dog money? Is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats?’ Or

Shall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key,

With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,

Say this:—

‘Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;

You spurn’d me such a day; another time

You call’d me dog; and for these courtesies

I’ll lend you thus much moneys?’

ANTONIO.

I am as like to call thee so again,

To spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.

If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not

As to thy friends,—for when did friendship take

A breed for barren metal of his friend?—

But lend it rather to thine enemy;

Who if he break thou mayst with better face

Exact the penalty.

SHYLOCK.

Why, look you, how you storm!

I would be friends with you, and have your love,

Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with,

Supply your present wants, and take no doit

Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me:

This is kind I offer.

BASSANIO.

This were kindness.

SHYLOCK.

This kindness will I show.

Go with me to a notary, seal me there

Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,

If you repay me not on such a day,

In such a place, such sum or sums as are

Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit

Be nominated for an equal pound

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken

In what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO.

Content, in faith; I’ll seal to such a bond,

And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO.

You shall not seal to such a bond for me;

I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO.

Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it;

Within these two months, that’s a month before

This bond expires, I do expect return

Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

SHYLOCK.

O father Abram, what these Christians are,

Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect

The thoughts of others. Pray you, tell me this;

If he should break his day, what should I gain

By the exaction of the forfeiture?

A pound of man’s flesh, taken from a man,

Is not so estimable, profitable neither,

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,

To buy his favour, I extend this friendship;

If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIO.

Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK.

Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s;

Give him direction for this merry bond,

And I will go and purse the ducats straight,

See to my house, left in the fearful guard

Of an unthrifty knave, and presently

I’ll be with you.

ANTONIO.

Hie thee, gentle Jew.

[Exit SHYLOCK]

This Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO.

I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.

ANTONIO.

Come on; in this there can be no dismay;

My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exeunt]

ACT 2.

SCENE I. Belmont. A room in PORTIA’s house.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, and his

Followers;

PORTIA, NERISSA, and Others of her train.]

PRINCE OF Morocco.

Mislike me not for my complexion,

The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d sun,

To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.

Bring me the fairest creature northward born,

Where Phoebus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,

And let us make incision for your love

To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.

I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine

Hath fear’d the valiant; by my love, I swear

The best-regarded virgins of our clime

Have lov’d it too. I would not change this hue,

Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA.

In terms of choice I am not solely led

By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;

Besides, the lottery of my destiny

Bars me the right of voluntary choosing;

But, if my father had not scanted 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 stood as fair

As any comer I have look’d on yet

For my affection.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO.

Even for that I thank you:

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets

To try my fortune. By this scimitar,—

That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,

That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,—

I would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look,

Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,

Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-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 so may I, blind Fortune leading me,

Miss that which one unworthier may attain,

And die with grieving.

PORTIA.

You must take your chance,

And either not attempt to choose at all,

Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong,

Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advis’d.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO.

Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA.

First, forward to the temple: after dinner

Your hazard shall be made.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO.

Good fortune then!

To make me blest or cursed’st among men!

[Cornets, and exeunt.]

SCENE 2. Venice. A street

[Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO.]

LAUNCELOT. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying to me ‘Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot’ or ‘good Gobbo’ or ‘good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.’ My conscience says ‘No; take heed, honest Launcelot, take heed, honest Gobbo’ or, as aforesaid, ‘honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels.’ Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. ‘Via!’ says the fiend; ‘away!’ says the fiend. ‘For the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,’ says the fiend ‘and run.’ Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me ‘My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man’s son’—or rather ‘an honest woman’s son’;—for indeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste;—well, my conscience says ‘Launcelot, budge not.’ ‘Budge,’ says the fiend. ‘Budge not,’ says my conscience. ‘Conscience,’ say I, (you counsel well.’ ‘Fiend,’ say I, ‘you counsel well.’ To be ruled 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 should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence! is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I will run.

[Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket]

GOBBO.

Master young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master

Jew’s?

LAUNCELOT. [Aside] O heavens! This is my true-begotten father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBO.

Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master