Merchant of Venice (Play Script – Text): Act 2

This section contains the script of Act 2 of Merchant of Venice the play by William Shakespeare.

Read: Merchant of Venice the play by William Shakespeare (Brief Summary, Cast and characters).

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 others attending MOROCCO Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d 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 aspect of mine Hath fear’d the valiant: by my love I swear The best-regarded virgins of our clime Have loved it too: I would not change this hue, Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA 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 hedged me by his wit, 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.

MOROCCO 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.

PORTIA 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 advised.

MOROCCO Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA First, forward to the temple: after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed’st among men.

Cornets, and exeunt

SCENE II. Venice. A street.

Enter LAUNCELOT LAUNCELOT 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 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 incarnal; 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 command; I will run.

Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket

GOBBO Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s?

LAUNCELOT [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.

GOBBO Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s?

LAUNCELOT 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.

GOBBO 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?

LAUNCELOT Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

Aside

Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO 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.

LAUNCELOT Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO Your worship’s friend and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT 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.

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

LAUNCELOT Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBO 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?

LAUNCELOT Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOT 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 at the length truth will out.

GOBBO Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

LAUNCELOT 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.

GOBBO I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT 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.

GOBBO Her name is Margery, indeed: I’ll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT 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.

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

LAUNCELOT 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 famished 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 other followers

BASSANIO 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 delivered; put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Exit a Servant

LAUNCELOT To him, father.

GOBBO God bless your worship!

BASSANIO Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBO Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,–

LAUNCELOT Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify–

GOBBO He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve–

LAUNCELOT Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify–

GOBBO His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence, are scarce cater-cousins–

LAUNCELOT 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–

GOBBO I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is–

LAUNCELOT 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.

BASSANIO One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT Serve you, sir.

GOBBO That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO 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.

LAUNCELOT 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.

BASSANIO 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 More guarded than his fellows’: see it done.

LAUNCELOT Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have ne’er a tongue in my head. Well, 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

BASSANIO 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-esteem’d acquaintance: hie thee, go.

LEONARDO My best endeavours shall be done herein.

Enter GRATIANO

GRATIANO Where is your master?

LEONARDO Yonder, sir, he walks.

Exit

GRATIANO Signior Bassanio!

BASSANIO Gratiano!

GRATIANO I have a suit to you.

BASSANIO You have obtain’d it.

GRATIANO You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO 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 eyes 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 behavior I be misconstrued in the place I go to, And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO 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,’ Use all the observance of civility, Like one well studied in a sad ostent To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO No, that were pity: I would entreat you rather to put on Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends That purpose merriment. But fare you well: I have some business.

GRATIANO And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: But we will visit you at supper-time.

Exeunt

SCENE III. The same. A room in SHYLOCK’S house.

Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT JESSICA 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.

LAUNCELOT Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit: adieu.

JESSICA Farewell, good Launcelot.

Exit Launcelot

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me To be ashamed 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

SCENE IV. The same. A street.

Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO LORENZO Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging and return, All in an hour.

GRATIANO We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO ‘Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d, And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO ‘Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours To furnish us.

Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter

Friend Launcelot, what’s the news?

LAUNCELOT An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.

LORENZO I know the hand: in faith, ’tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO Love-news, in faith.

LAUNCELOT By your leave, sir.

LORENZO Whither goest thou?

LAUNCELOT Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

LORENZO Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica I will not fail her; speak it privately. Go, gentlemen,

Exit Launcelot

Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIO Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.

SALANIO And so will I.

LORENZO Meet me and Gratiano At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.

SALARINO ‘Tis good we do so.

Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO

GRATIANO Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed How I shall take her from her father’s house, What gold and jewels she is furnish’d with, What page’s suit she hath in readiness. If e’er the Jew her father come to heaven, It will be for his gentle daughter’s sake: And never dare misfortune cross her foot, Unless she do it under this excuse, That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: Fair Jessica shall be my torch-beare r.

Exeunt

SCENE V. The same. Before SHYLOCK’S house.

Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT SHYLOCK Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:– What, Jessica!–thou shalt not gormandise, As thou hast done with me:–What, Jessica!– And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;– Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT Why, Jessica!

SHYLOCK Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOT Your worship was wont to tell me that I could do nothing without bidding.

Enter Jessica

JESSICA Call you? what is your will?

SHYLOCK 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.

LAUNCELOT I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach.

SHYLOCK So do I his.

LAUNCELOT An they have conspired 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 o’clock i’ the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon.

SHYLOCK 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, I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah; Say I will come.

LAUNCELOT I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this, There will come a Christian boy, will be worth a Jewess’ eye.

Exit

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

JESSICA His words were ‘Farewell mistress;’ nothing else.

SHYLOCK 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 would have him help to waste His borrow’d 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

JESSICA Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

Exit

SCENE VI. The same.

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

SALARINO His hour is almost past.

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

SALARINO O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are wont To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO 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!

SALARINO Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

Enter LORENZO

LORENZO 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

JESSICA Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, For who love I so much? And now who knows But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much ashamed 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.

LORENZO Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA 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.

LORENZO 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.

JESSICA I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

Exit above

GRATIANO Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZO 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 proved herself, And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter JESSICA, below

What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away! Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

Exit with Jessica and Salarino

Enter ANTONIO

ANTONIO Who’s there?

GRATIANO Signior Antonio!

ANTONIO Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? ‘Tis nine o’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.

GRATIANO I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

Exeunt

SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains PORTIA Go draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.

MOROCCO 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 all he hath.’ How shall I know if I do choose the right?

PORTIA The one of them contains my picture, prince: If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; I will survey the 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? ‘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 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 graved 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 thoroughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia: The watery 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 immured, 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!

PORTIA There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, Then I am yours.

He unlocks the golden casket

MOROCCO O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing.

Reads

All that glitters 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 enfold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscroll’d: Fare you well; your suit is cold. Cold, indeed; and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets

PORTIA A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so.

Exeunt

SCENE VIII. Venice. A street.

Enter SALARINO and SALANIO SALARINO Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail: With him is Gratiano gone along; And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke, Who went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.

SALARINO 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 certified the duke They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIO I never heard a passion so confused, So strange, outrageous, and so variable, As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: ‘My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter! And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl; She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.’

SALARINO Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINO 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.

SALANIO You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINO 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: Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there:’ And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible He wrung Bassanio’s hand; and so they parted.

SALANIO I think he only loves the world for him. I pray thee, let us go and find him out And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other.

SALARINO Do we so.

Exeunt

SCENE IX. Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

Enter NERISSA with a Servitor NERISSA 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

PORTIA Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince: If you choose that wherein I am contain’d, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized: But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON 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.

PORTIA To these injunctions every one doth swear That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON 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 gain what 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 chooseth me 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 derived corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchased 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 true 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 a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

He opens the silver casket

PORTIA Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON 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! ‘Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.’ Did I deserve no more than a fool’s head? Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA To offend, and judge, are distinct offices And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON What is here?

Reads

The fire seven times tried this: Seven times tried that judgment is, That did never choose amiss. Some there be that shadows kiss; Such have but a shadow’s bliss: There be fools alive, I wis, Silver’d o’er; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head: So be gone: you are sped. Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here With one fool’s head I came to woo, But I go away with two. Sweet, adieu. I’ll keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth.

Exeunt Arragon and train

PORTIA Thus hath the candle singed the moth. O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA The ancient saying is no heresy, Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Enter a Servant

Servant Where is my lady?

PORTIA Here: what would my lord?

Servant Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord; From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love: A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, Thou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him. Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see Quick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

Exeunt