of

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk young Mafter Launcelot.

Gob. Your Worfhip's friend and Launcelot, Sir.

Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I befeech you, talk you of young Mafter Launcelot?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your Mastership.

Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot; talk not of Master Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and deftinies, and fuch odd fayings, the fifters three, and fuch branches of learning) is indeed deceafed; or, as you would fay, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.

of

Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the

my age, my very prop.

very staff Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-poft, a ftaff or a prop? Do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God reft his foul, alive or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, Sir, I am fand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wife father that knows his own child. Well, old man, 1 will tell you news of your fon; give me your blefling, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, Sir, ftand up; I,am fure you are not Launcelot my boy.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your bleffing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your fon that is, your child that shall

be.

Laun. I know not what I fhall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be fworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.

Laun

Laun. It fhould feem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how dot thou and thy mafter agree? I have brought him a prefent ; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, fo I will not reft till I have run fome ground. My mafter's a very Jew: give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am famifh'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one Master Baffanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I ferve him not, 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 ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Bafanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two more.

Ball. You may do fo; but let it be fo hafted, that fupper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock: fee thefe letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Laun. To him, father.

Gob. God bless your Worship!

Baff. Gramercy, wouldft thou aught with me?
Gob. Here's my fon, Sir, a poor boy,-

Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father fhall specify,Gob. He hath a great infection, Sir, as fay, to ferve.

one would

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I ferve the Jew, and have a defire, as my father shall specify,

Gob. His mafter and he, faving your Worship's reverence, are scarce catercoufins.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth caufe me, as my father, being I hope an old man, fhall frutify unto you,

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your Worship; and my fuit is

Laun. In very brief, the fuit is impertinent to myself, as your Worship fhall know by this honeft old man?

H 3

and

and, though I fay it, though old man, yet poor man my father.

Baff. One fpeak for both, what would you?
Laun. Serve you, Sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, Sir.
Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy fuit;
Shylock, thy mafter, spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's fervice to become
The follower of fo poor a gentleman.

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, ir; you have the grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough.

Ball. Thou fpeak'ft it well; go, father, with thy fon: Take leave of thy old mafter, and inquire

My lodging out; give him a livery,

More guarded than his fellows: fee it done.

Laun. Father, in; I cannot get a fervice, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table*, which doth ****** + offer to fwear upon a book, I fhall have good fortune; go to, here's a fimple line of life; here's a fmall trifle of wives. Alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a fimple coming-in for one man! and then to 'fcape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed, here are fimple 'fcapes! well, if fortune be a woman, fhe's a good wench for this geer. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

[Exeunt Laun. and Gob.
Baff. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
These things being bought and orderly bestowed,
Return in hafte, for I do feaft to-night

My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
Leon. My beft endeavours fhall be done herein,

SCENE III. Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Where is your mafter?

Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks.

* Looking on his own hand.

[Exit Leonardo.

✦ The chafm may be thus supplied, doth [promise good luck I am mikaken. I curit almoft] offer, &c.

Bal. 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 fuch eyes as ours appear not faults:

But where thou art not known, why, there they fhew
Something too liberal: pray thee, take pain
T'allay with fome cold drops of modefty

Thy fkipping fpirit; left, through thy wild behaviour,
I be mifconftru'd in the place I go to,

And lofe my hopes.

me,

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear
If I do not put on a sober habit,

Talk with refpect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ;
Nay more, while grace is faying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat. and figh, and fay, Amen;
Use all th' obfervance of civility,

Like one well ftudied in a fad oftent

To please his grandam; never trust me more.
Baff. Well, we fhall see your bearing.

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night, you shall not gage me By what we do to-night.

Baff. No, that were pity,

I would intreat you rather to put on

Your boldest fuit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment: but fare you well,
I have fome business.

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

SCENE IV. Changes to Shylock's house.

Enter Fefica and Launcelot.

Jef. I'm forry thou wilt leave my father fo; Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didst rob it of some taste of tedioufnefs;

[Exeunt.

But

But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee.

And, Launcelot, foon at fupper fhalt thou fee
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest,
Give him this letter; do it fecretly,
And fo farewell: I would not have
See me talk with thee.

my father

Laun. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue; moft beautiful Pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceiv'd. But, adieu! thefe foolish drops do fomewhat drown my manly spirit : adieu!

Jef. Farewell, good Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous fin is it in me,
To be afnam'd 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 promif:, I fhall end this ftrife,
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

SCENE V. The fireet.

[Exit.

[Exit.

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will flink away in fupper-time, difguife us at my lodging, and return all in an hour.

Gra. We have not made good preparation.

Sal. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. Sala. 'Tis vile, unlefs it may be quaintly ordered, And better in my

mind not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock, we have two hours To furnish us. Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

Enter Launcelot, with a letter.

Laun. An it fhall pleafe you to break up this, it fhall feem to fignify.

Lor. I know the hand; in faith, 'tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on,

Is the fair hand that writ.

Gra. Love-news, in faith.

Laun. By your leave, Sir.

Lor. Whither goest thou?

Laun. Marry, Sir, to bid my old mafter the Jew to fup to-night with my new mafter the Chriftian.

Lor.