The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

Thou’rt condemn’d; But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, And pray thee take this mercy to provide For better times to come. Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand. What muffl’d fellow’s that?

PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav’d, Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]

DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake Is he pardon’d; and for your lovely sake, Give me your hand and say you will be mine, He is my brother too. But fitter time for that.

By this Lord Angelo perceives he’s safe; Methinks I see a quick’ning in his eye.

Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well.

Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.

I find an apt remission in myself;

And yet here’s one in place I cannot pardon.

To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward, One all of luxury, an ass, a madman!

Wherein have I so deserv’d of you

That you extol me thus?

LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick.

If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would please you I might be whipt.

DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang’d after.

Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city, If any woman wrong’d by this lewd fellow-As I have heard him swear himself there’s one Whom he begot with child, let her appear, And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish’d, Let him be whipt and hang’d.

LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.

Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; And see our pleasure herein executed.

LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging.

DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it.

Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO

She, Claudio, that you wrong’d, look you restore.

Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo; I have confess’d her, and I know her virtue.

Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness; There’s more behind that is more gratulate.

Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy; We shall employ thee in a worthier place.

Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio’s:

Th’ offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good; Whereto if you’ll a willing ear incline, What’s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.

So, bring us to our palace, where we’ll show What’s yet behind that’s meet you all should know.

Exeunt THE END

 

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1597

 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

 

by William Shakespeare

 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 

THE DUKE OF VENICE

THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia THE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, ” ” “

ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice

BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia

SOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio SALERIO, ” ” ” ” “

GRATIANO, ” ” ” ” “

LORENZO, in love with Jessica

SHYLOCK, a rich Jew

TUBAL, a Jew, his friend

LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelot

LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio

BALTHASAR, servant to Portia

STEPHANO, ” ” “

 

PORTIA, a rich heiress

NERISSA, her waiting-maid

JESSICA, daughter to Shylock

 

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants

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PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

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SCENE:

Venice, and PORTIA’S house at Belmont

 

ACT I. SCENE I.

Venice. A street

 

Enter ANTONIO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO

 

ANTONIO. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.

It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff ‘tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me That I have much ado to know myself.

SALERIO. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There where your argosies, with portly sail-Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Or as it were the pageants of the sea-Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SOLANIO. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Would make me sad.

SALERIO. My wind, cooling my broth,

Would blow me to an ague when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

I should not see the sandy hour-glass run But I should think of shallows and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand, Vailing her high top lower than her ribs To kiss her burial. Should I go to church And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream, Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought To think on this, and shall I lack the thought That such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad?

But tell not me; I know Antonio

Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO. Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year; Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SOLANIO. Why then you are in love.

ANTONIO. Fie, fie!

SOLANIO. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad Because you are not merry; and ‘twere as easy For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper; And other of such vinegar aspect

That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

 

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO

 

Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;

We leave you now with better company.

SALERIO. I would have stay’d till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO. Your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it your own business calls on you, And you embrace th’ occasion to depart.

SALERIO. Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when.

You grow exceeding strange; must it be so?

SALERIO. We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.

Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO

LORENZO. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you; but at dinnertime, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO. I will not fail you.

GRATIANO. You look not well, Signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care.

Believe me, you are marvellously chang’d.

ANTONIO. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano-A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO. Let me play the fool.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; And let my liver rather heat with wine Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man whose blood is warm within Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster, Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio-I love thee, and ‘tis my love that speaks-There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilful stillness entertain,

With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say ‘I am Sir Oracle,

And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.’

O my Antonio, I do know of these

That therefore only are reputed wise

For saying nothing; when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.

I’ll tell thee more of this another time.

But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile; I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO. Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime.

I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO. Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO. Fare you well; I’ll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO. Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.

Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO

ANTONIO. Is that anything now?

BASSANIO. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in, two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO. Well; tell me now what lady is the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis’d to tell me of?

BASSANIO. ‘Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate

By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance; Nor do I now make moan to be abridg’d From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts Wherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio,

I owe the most, in money and in love; And from your love I have a warranty

To unburden all my plots and purposes How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur’d

My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.

BASSANIO. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight The selfsame way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth; and by adventuring both I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence.

I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, That which I owe is lost; but if you please To shoot another arrow