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

SHYLOCK. I had forgot-three months; you told me so.

Well then, your bond; and, let me see-but hear you, Methoughts you said you neither lend nor borrow Upon advantage.

ANTONIO. I do never use it.

SHYLOCK. When Jacob graz’d his uncle Laban’s sheep-This Jacob from our holy Abram was,

As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, The third possessor; ay, he was the third-ANTONIO. And what of him? Did he take interest?

SHYLOCK. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, Directly int’rest; mark what Jacob did: When Laban and himself were compromis’d That all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied Should fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes, being rank, In end of autumn turned to the rams;

And when the work of generation was

Between these woolly breeders in the act, The skilful shepherd pill’d me certain wands, And, in the doing of the deed of kind, He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 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.

ANTONIO. 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?

SHYLOCK. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.

But note me, signior.

ANTONIO. [Aside] 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!

SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats- ‘tis a good round sum.

Three months from twelve; then let me see, the rate-ANTONIO. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK. 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 suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe; You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit 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 whisp’ring 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’?

ANTONIO. 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.

SHYLOCK. 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.

BASSANIO. This were kindness.

SHYLOCK. 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.

ANTONIO. Content, in faith; I’ll seal to such a bond, And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO. You shall not seal to such a bond for me; I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO. 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.

SHYLOCK. O father Abram, 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.

ANTONIO. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK. 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’ll be with you.

ANTONIO. Hie thee, gentle Jew. Exit SHYLOCK

The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO. I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.

ANTONIO. Come on; in this there can be no dismay; My ships come home a month before the day. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE I.

Belmont. PORTIA’S house

Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, a tawny Moor all in white, and three or four FOLLOWERS accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA, and train PRINCE OF Morocco. Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed 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 lov’d 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 lott’ry 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, renowned Prince, then stood as fair As any comer I have look’d on yet

For my affection.

PRINCE OF 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 o’erstare 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 ‘a 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 band.

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 advis’d.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.

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

PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Good fortune then,

To make me blest or cursed’st among men!

[Cornets, and exeunt]

SCENE II.

Venice. A street

Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO

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 rul’d 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 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. Be 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’t, 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