The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare [the false prince TXT] 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online «The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare [the false prince TXT] 📗». Author William Shakespeare
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.
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.
Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. Exit.
The same.
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. GratianoThis is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.
And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly
To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
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!
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?
Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
For who love I so much? And now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
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.
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.
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.
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. Exit above.
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.
What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. Exit with Jessica and Salarino.
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.
I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail and gone to-night. Exeunt.
Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.
Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince of Morocco, and their trains. PortiaGo draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.
Now make your choice.
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?
The one of them contains my picture, prince:
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
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
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