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Anth. 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 heav'n. Was this inferted to make int'rest good? Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams?
Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as faft;
- Anth. Mark you this, Bassanio?
Shy. Three thoufand ducats! 'tis a good round fum. Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.
Anth. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you?
Sby. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft
usances. Still have I born it with a patient shrug ; (For sufferance 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 my own. Well then, it now appears, you
upon my beard,
money is your suit;
Anth. I am as like to call thee so again,
As to thy friend, (for when did friendship take
ftorm? I would be friends with
and have your love;
Anth. This were kindness.
Shy. This kindness will I show;
Anth. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond,
Bal. You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
Anth. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it;
Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are!
And • Breed of metal, meaning money at usury, money that breeds
-The old editions (two of them) have it, A bribe of barren metal
And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Anth. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's.
Bull: I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Anth. Come on, in this there can be no dismay;
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter Morochius, a Tawny-Moor, all in white; and three
or four followers accordingly; with Portia, Nerisa, and ber train. Flourish cornets.
Mislike me not for my complexion,
prove whofe blood is reddeft, his or mine.
Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led
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 stocd as fair, Vol. II.
As any comer I have look'd on yet,
Por. You must take your chance,
chuse wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward In way of marriage; therefore be advis'd.
Nor. Nor will not; therefore bring me to my chance.
Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner
[Cornets. To make me bless'd, or cursed'st
among men! (Exeunt,
SCENE II. Changes to Venice.
Enter Launcelot alone, Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elow, and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbe, 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, honeft Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy huels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack;
Via! says the fiend; Away! says the fiend; for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my beart, says very wisely to me, My honest friend Lauricelot, being an honest man's son, or rather an honeftwoman's fond
father did some thing smack, something grow to; he had a kind of tafte;) --well, my conscience says, Budge not; Budge, lays the fiend; Budge not, says my conscience; Conscience, say 1, you counfel ill; Fiend, fay I, you counsel ill. To be ruld 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 rul'd by the fiend, wio, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the
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 counfel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run
Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew's?
Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confusions with him.
Gob. Mafter young Gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew's?
Laun. 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.
Gub. 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?
Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters;) talk you
young Maiter Launcelot?
Gob. 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.