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Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.
Gob. Your Worship’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 destinies, and such odd sayings, the fifters three, and such branches of learning) is indeed deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heav'n. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very
staff of my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a ftaff or a prop? Do you
father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God reft his Soul, alive or dead?
Laun. Do you not know me, father?
Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son; give me your blefling, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but in the end, truth will out.
Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot my boy.
Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
Gob. I cannot think you are my son.
Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery your wife is my
mother. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard halt thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.
Laun. It should feem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am sure, 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 do it thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?
Laun. Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have set
up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run fome ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am familh'd in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I serve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes tlie man; to him, father, for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two more.
Bal. You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: see these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Luun. To him, father.
Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father shall specify,
Gob. He hath a great infection, Sir, as say, to serve.
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, .I ferve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify,
Gob. His master and he, saving your Worship’s reve. rence, are scarce catercousins.
Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you,
Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your Worship; and my suit is
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your Worship shall know by this honest old man?
and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man
Baf. One speak for both, what would you?
Baf. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy suit;
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, dir; you have the grace
of God, Sir, and he hath enough.
Ball. Thou speakill it well; go, father, with thy son: Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out; give him a livery, More guarded than his fellows: fee it done.
Laun. Father, in; I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table *, which doth ****** to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune; go to, here's a simple line of life; here's a small trifle of wives. Alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man! and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed, here are simple 'scapes ! well, if fortune be a woman, she'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. Ball. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought and orderly bestowed, Return in haite, for I do fealt to-night My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
SCENE NII. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Where is your
master? Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo.
Looking on his own hand. # The chasm may be thus supplied, doth [promife good luck I am philaten. I curit alo:ok] offer, &c.
Gra. Signior Bassanio,
Gra. You must not deny me; I must go with you to Belmont,
Ba]. Why, then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano,
Bas. Well, we shall see your bearing.
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night, you shall not gage me By what we do to-night.
Baj. No, that were pity,
Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the reft:
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to Shylock's house.
Enter Jefica and Launcelot.
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee.
Laun. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue ; most beautiful Pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian do not play. the knave and get thee, I am much deceiv'd. But, adieu! these foolish drops do fomewhat drown my manly spirit : adieu !
ref. Farewell, good Launcelot. Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asam’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 promiss, I shall end this strife, Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit.
SCENE V. The streef.
Gra. We have not made good preparation.
Sala. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered,
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock, we have two hours To furnish us. Friend Launcelot, what's the news?
Enter Launcel, with a letier. Laun. An it shall pleafe you to break up this, it shall seem to fignify.
Lor. I know the hand; in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
Gra. Love-news, in faith.
Laui. Mairy, Sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new matter the Christian.