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, some

thing 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 incarnation: 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.

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

Laun. [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.

Gob. Master, 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 sonties, '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 ?[Aside.]-Mark me now; now will I raise the wa

ters.-[To him.]-Talk you of young master Launcelot ?

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man; and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo. 1 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 say ings, 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. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a

hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?-[ To him.]—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.—[Kneels.]—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. I know 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 might he be! what a beard hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my phill-horse has on his tail.

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

Gob. Lord! how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How agree you now?

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. My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his service; you may tell every finger I have 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 I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and Followers.
Bass. You may do so;-but let it be so hasted,
that supper be ready at the furthest by five of the
clock. See these letters delivered: put the liveries
to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my
lodging.
[Exit a Servant.

Laun. To him, father.
Gob. God bless your worship!
Bass. Gramercy. Would'st thou aught with

me?

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 lordship 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. That 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 parted between 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.

Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
My lodging out.—Give him 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 feather-bed :-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-esteemed acquaintance: hie thee; go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter GRATIANO.

Gra. Where is your master?
Leon.

Gra. Signior Bassanio!
Bass. Gratiano.

Gra. I have a suit to you.
Bass.

Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit LEONARDO.

You have obtain'd it. I must go with

Gra. You must not deny me. you to Belmont.

Bass. Why, then you must; but, hear thee,

Gratiano.

Signior Bassanio, hear me : If I do not put on a sober habit,

Enter JESSICA, and LAUNCELOT.

Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so:
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Give him this letter; do it secretly,

And so farewell: I would not have my father
See me in talk with thee.

Laun. Adieu!-tears exhibit my tongue.-Most beautiful pagan,-most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived: but, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu!

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.-
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo!
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

[Exit.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street. Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, Salarino, and SALANIO.

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an honr.

Gra. We have not made good preparation. Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, And better, in my mind, not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours

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.

do.

Laun. And they have conspired together:-1 will not say, you shall see a masque; but if you then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on black Monday last, at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the 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 foppery enter
My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear,

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 a prodigal doth she return; With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

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 whom 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.

But come at once;

For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
[Exit, from above.
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor. Beshrew 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.

"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.
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!

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 deserve enough; 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-fares now,
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 see fair 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 tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set 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.

Mor.

[He unlocks the golden casket. O hell! what have we here! A carrion death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll. I'll read the 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 infold.