of young master Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you; talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone

to heaven.

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

Laun. Do look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, 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 rest his soul!) alive, or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

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

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

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

Gob. I cannot think you are my son.

Laun. Iknow not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd mighthe be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.

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

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; How 'gree you now?

a very

Laun. Well, well; but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground: d: my master's Jew! Give him a present! give him a halter. I am famish'd in his service; you may tell every finger Ihave with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run as far, as God has any ground.-O rare fortune! here comes the man;-to him, father: for Iam a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter Bassanio, with LEONARDO, and other Followers. Bass. You may do so; -but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters deliver'd; put the liveries to making; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging!

Laun. To him, father!

Gob. God bless your worship!

[Exit a Servant.

Bass. Gramercy; would'st thou aught with me?
Gob. Here's myson, 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 hatha great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve,

Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall specify,-Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's reverence) are scarce cater-cousins:

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you,Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is,

Laun.In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor man, my father.

Bass. One speak for both;-what would you?
Laun. Serve you, sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit:
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment,
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun. The old proverb is very well
my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace
of God, sir, and he hath enough.
Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy

son:

well parted between

Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out!-Givehim a livery [To his Followers.
More guarded than his fellows. See it done!

Laun. Father, in :-I cannot get a service, no; I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well; [Looking on his palm.] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book. I shall have good fortune; go to, here's a simple line of life! here's a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple coming-in for one man; and then, to 'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a featherbed;-here are simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.-Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and old Gobbo.

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this;
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd,
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best estem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go!
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.

Belmont.

Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano; -
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;-

Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such cyes as ours appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they show
Something too liberal; -pray thee, take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behaviour,
I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me:

If I do not put on a sober habit,

Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen;

Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Desir'd us to make stand.

Salar. His hour is almost past.

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salar. 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 younker, 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.

Salar. 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 obscured.

SCENE VII.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Flourish of 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. The 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 allhe 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 theinscriptions 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,

Do it in hope of fair advantages:

A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves? - Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand :

If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,

Thou dost deserveenough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afeard of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve!-Why, that's the lady;
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold:
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her:
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as through-faresnow,
For princes to come view fair Portia:
The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits; but they come,
As o'er a brook, to seefair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation,
To think so base a thought; it were too gross,
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold?
O sinful thought! Neversorich a gem
Was get in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin, that bears the figure of an angel

Stamped in gold; but that's insculp'd upon.

But here an angel in a golden bed

Lies all within. - Deliver me the key;

Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. Mor. O hell! what have we here?

A carrion death, within whose empty eye

There is a written scroll? I'll read thee writing.

All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms unfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, injudgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd:

SCENE VIII. - Venice. A street.
Enter SALARINO and SALANIO.

Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.
Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke;
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail:
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke,
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets :
My daughter!-Omy ducats!-O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian?-Omy Christian ducats!
Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,

Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels; two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stol'n by my daughter!-Justice! find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
Salan. Let good Antoniolook hekeep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.

Salar. Marry, well remember'd.

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday;
Who told me,- in the narrow seas, that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country, richly fraught:
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me;
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return; he answer'd-Do not so,
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time;
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love:
Bemerry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love

SCENE IX. - Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter NERISSA, with a Servant.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight!

The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon,
PORTIA, and their trains.

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince!
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more speech, mylord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to any one,
Which casket'twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage, lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
Por. To theseinjunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope!-Gold, silver, and base lead.
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:-
Who chooseth me, shall gainwhat many men desire.
What many men desire? That many may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
Who choosethme, shall get as much as he deserves.
And well said too: for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit! Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity!

O, that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
From the truc seed of honour? and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd? Well, but to my choice:
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
I will assume desert:- give me the key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

Por. Toolonga pause for that, which you find there.
Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule? I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia!
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings!