ACT II.

SCENE I. Belmont.

Enter the Prince of Morocco, and three or four Followers accordingly, with PORTIA, Nerissa, and ber train. Flourish cornets.

Morocco.

MISLIKE me not for my complexion,
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 Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
And let us make incifion for our love,

Το prove whose 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 best regarded virgins of our clime

Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to fteal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
Por. In terms 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 choofing:
But, if my father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his will, 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.

Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you;

Therefore,

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,-
That flew the Sophy, and a Perfian Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,-
I would outftare the fternest eyes
that look,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking 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 fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that, which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

Par. You must take your chance;

And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or fwear, before you choose-if you choofe
Never to fpeak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advis❜d.

wrong,

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

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

Mor. Good fortune then!

[Cornets,

To make me bleft,or curfed'it among men. [Exeunt,

SCENE II. A Street in Venice.

Enter LAUNCElot Gobbo.

Laun. Certainly, my confcience will ferve me to run from this Jew my mafter: The fiend is at minė elbow; and tempts me, faying to me, Gobbo, Laun

celąz

celot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, ufe your legs, take the fart, run away: My confcience fays-no; take heed, honeft Launcelot, take beed honeft Gobbo; or, as aforefaid, boneft Launcelot Gobbo; do not run ; fcorn running with thy heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! fays the fiend; away! fays the fiend, for the heavens; 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 boneft 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, -Launcelot, budge not; budge, fays the fiend; budge not, fays my confcience: Confcience, fay 1, you counfel well; fiend, fay I, you counfel well: to be rul'd by my confcience, I thould ftay 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 rul'd by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my confcience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counsel me to flay with the Jew: The fiend gives the more friendly counfel; I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I will run.

1

Enter old GOBBO his Father, with a basket. Gob Master, young man, you, I pray you, which

is the way to mafter Jew's?

Laun. [Afide.] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than fand-blind, C

high

high-gravel blind, knows me not:-I will try conclufions with him.

Gob. Mafter young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to mafter 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 directly to the Jew's houfe.

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 mafter Launcelot ?Mark me now, [afide.] now will I raise the waters: :-Talk you of young mafter Launcelot ›

Gob. No master, fir, but a poor man's fon; his father, though I fay it, 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, fir. Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I befeech you; Talk you of young mafter Launcelot ? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't pleafe your mastership.

Laun. Ergo, matter Launcelot; talk not of mafter Launcelot, father: for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, 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 heaven.

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

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;

gentleman: but, I
pray you, tell me, is my
(God reft his foul!) alive, or dead?
Laun. Do you not know me, father?

boy

Gob. Alack, fir, 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, fir, stand not Launcelot my boy.

up: I am fure

you are

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 sworn if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'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 should feem, 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 last saw him.

Gob. Lord, how thou art chang'd! How doft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a prefent; How agree ye now?

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, fo I will not

C 2

reft