Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

Enter Jessica.

Jes.

Call you? what is your will?

Shy.

I am bid forth to supper, Jessica.

There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?

I am not bid for love, they flatter me,

But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon

The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,

Look to my house. I am right loath to go;

There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,

For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspir’d together. I will not say you shall see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six a’ clock i’ th’ morning, falling out that year on Ash We’n’sday was four year in th’ afternoon.

Shy.

What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:

Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum

And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,

Clamber not you up to the casements then,

Nor thrust your head into the public street

To gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces;

But stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements;

Let not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter

My sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear

I have no mind of feasting forth to-night;

But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah,

Say I will come.

Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window for all this—

There will come a Christian by,

Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.

[Exit.]

Shy.

What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?

Jes.

His words were “Farewell, mistress!”—nothing else.

Shy.

The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,

Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day

More than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me,

Therefore I part with him, and part with him

To one that I would have him help to waste

His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in,

Perhaps I will return immediately.

Do as I bid you, shut doors after you;

Fast bind, fast find—

A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

Exit.

Jes.

Farewell, and if my fortune be not cross’d,

I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

Exit.

¶

Robert Smirke , p. — John Peter Simon , e.

Enter [two of] the masquers, Gratiano and Salerio.

Gra.

This is the penthouse under which Lorenzo

Desir’d us to make stand.

Sal.

His hour is almost past.

Gra.

And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,

For lovers ever run before the clock.

Sal.

O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly

To seal love’s bonds new made, than they are wont

To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra.

That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast

With that keen appetite that he sits down?

Where is the horse that doth untread again

His tedious measures with the unbated fire

That he did pace them first? All things that are,

Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.

How like a younger or a prodigal

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,

Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!

How like the prodigal doth she return,

With over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,

Lean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!

Enter Lorenzo.

Sal.

Here comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.

Lor.

Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;

Not I but my affairs have made you wait.

When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,

I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach,

Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?

[Enter] Jessica above [in boy’s clothes].

Jes.

Who are you? tell me for more certainty,

Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

Lor.

Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes.

Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,

For who love I so much? And now who knows

But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor.

Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

Jes.

Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.

I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,

For I am much asham’d of my exchange.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see

The pretty follies that themselves commit,

For if they could, Cupid himself would blush

To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor.

Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Jes.

What, must I hold a candle to my shames?

They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love,

And I should be obscur’d.

Lor.

So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once,

For the close night doth play the runaway,

And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.

Jes.

I will make fast the doors, and gild myself

With some moe ducats, and be with you straight.

[Exit above.]

Gra.

Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.

Lor.

Beshrow me but I love her heartily,

For she is wise, if I can judge of her,

And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,

And true she is, as she hath prov’d herself;

And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,

Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter Jessica.

What, art thou come? On, [gentlemen], away!

Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

Exit [with Jessica and Salerio].

Enter Antonio.

Ant.

Who’s there?

Gra.

Signior Antonio!

Ant.

Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?

’Tis nine a’ clock—our friends all stay for you.

No masque to-night, the wind is come about,

Bassanio presently will go aboard.

I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gra.

I am glad on’t. I desire no more delight

Than to be under sail, and gone to-night.

Exeunt.

¶

[Flourish cornets.] Enter Portia with [the Prince of] Morocco and both their Trains.

Por.

Go, draw aside the curtains and discover

The several caskets to this noble prince.

Now make your choice.

Mor.

This first, of gold, who this inscription bears,

“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire”;

The second, silver, which this promise carries,

“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves”;

This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,

“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”

How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Por.

The one of them contains my picture, Prince:

If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Mor.

Some god direct my judgment! Let me see,

I will survey th’ inscriptions back again.

What says this leaden casket?

“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”

Must give—for what? for lead, hazard for lead?

This casket threatens. Men that hazard all