Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time

Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:

And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; A thing not in his power to bring to pass,

But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?

Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?

Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:But note me, signior.

Ant.

Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,

Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:

O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

Shy. Three thousand ducats,—'tis a good round sum.
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.
Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto, you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances:

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe :
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit (4) upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well, then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to, then; you come to me, and you say,
"Shylock, we would have moneys:"-you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
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 whispering 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?"

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again,
To spit 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.

Shy.
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.

Bass. This were kindness.
Shy.

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.

Ant. Content, in faith: I'll seal to such a bond,
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

Bass, You shall not seal to such a bond for me:

I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

Ant. 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.

Shy. O father Abraham, 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.

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. 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 will be with you.

Hie thee, gentle Jew.

[Exit Shylock.

Ant.
This Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on in this there can be no dismay;
My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

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

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and other of her attendants.

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd (5) 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 aspéct 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.
Por. 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, renownèd prince, then stood as fair
As any comer I have look'd on yet

For my affection.

Mor.

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 outstare 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.

Por.

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.

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. Por. First, forward to the temple: after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

Laun. 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 (6) 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 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.