William Shakespeare
-
Tragedies
- Antony and Cleopatra
- Coriolanus
- Hamlet
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- Macbeth
- Othello
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- Timon of Athens
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Histories
- King Henry IV Part 1
- King Henry IV Part 2
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Comedies
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- Measure for Measure
- Much Ado About Nothing
- Pericles, Prince of Tyre
- The Comedy of Errors
- The Merchant of Venice
- The Merry Wives of Windsor
- The Taming of the Shrew
- The Tempest
- The Two Gentlemen of Verona
- The Winter's Tale
- Troilus and Cressida
- Twelfth Night
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Poetry
- A Lover's Complaint
- Sonnets 1 to 50
- Sonnets 50 to 100
- Sonnets 100 to 154
- The Passionate Pilgrim
- The Phoenix and the Turtle
- The Rape of Lucrece
- Venus and Adonis
The Merchant of Venice (c. 1597)
Maurycy Gottlieb, Shylock and Jessica, 1876" style="width: 131px; height: 230px; float: right;" class="PopBoxImageSmall" title="Click to magnify/shrink" onclick="Pop(this,50,'/');"/>ACT ONE
SCENE 1. Venice. A street
[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]
ANTONIO.
- In sooth, I know not why I am so sad;
- It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
- But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
- What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,
- I am to learn;
- And such a want-wit sadness makes of me
- That I have much ado to know myself.
SALARINO.
- Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
- There where your argosies, with portly sail—
- Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
- Or as it were the pageants of the sea—
- Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
- That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
- As they fly by them with their woven wings.
SALANIO.
- Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
- The better part of my affections would
- Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
- Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
- Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
- And every object that might make me fear
- Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
- Would make me sad.
SALARINO.
- My wind, cooling my broth
- Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
- What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
- I should not see the sandy hour-glass run
- But I should think of shallows and of flats,
- And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,
- Vailing her high top lower than her ribs
- To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
- And see the holy edifice of stone,
- And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
- Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
- Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
- Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
- And, in a word, but even now worth this,
- And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
- To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
- That such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad?
- But tell not me; I know Antonio
- Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
ANTONIO.
- Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it,
- My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
- Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
- Upon the fortune of this present year;
- Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
SALARINO.
- Why, then you are in love.
ANTONIO.
- Fie, fie!
SALARINO.
- Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad
- Because you are not merry; and ’twere as easy
- For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
- Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
- Nature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time:
- Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
- And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;
- And other of such vinegar aspect
- That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile
- Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.]
SALANIO.
- Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
- Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;
- We leave you now with better company.
SALARINO.
- I would have stay’d till I had made you merry,
- If worthier friends had not prevented me.
ANTONIO.
- Your worth is very dear in my regard.
- I take it your own business calls on you,
- And you embrace th’ occasion to depart.
SALARINO.
- Good morrow, my good lords.
BASSANIO.
- Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when.
- You grow exceeding strange; must it be so?
SALARINO.
- We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO.]
LORENZO.
- My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
- We two will leave you; but at dinner-time,
- I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
BASSANIO.
- I will not fail you.
GRATIANO.
- You look not well, Signior Antonio;
- You have too much respect upon the world;
- They lose it that do buy it with much care.
- Believe me, you are marvellously chang’d.
ANTONIO.
- I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
- A stage, where every man must play a part,
- And mine a sad one.
GRATIANO.
- Let me play the fool;
- With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
- And let my liver rather heat with wine
- Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
- Why should a man whose blood is warm within
- Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster,
- Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
- By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—
- I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks—
- There are a sort of men whose visages
- Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
- And do a wilful stillness entertain,
- With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion
- Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
- As who should say ‘I am Sir Oracle,
- And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.’
- O my Antonio, I do know of these
- That therefore only are reputed wise
- For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
- If they should speak, would almost damn those ears
- Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
- I’ll tell thee more of this another time.
- But fish not with this melancholy bait,
- For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
- Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile;
- I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.
LORENZO.
- Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time.
- I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
- For Gratiano never lets me speak.
GRATIANO.
- Well, keep me company but two years moe,
- Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
ANTONIO.
- Fare you well; I’ll grow a talker for this gear.
GRATIANO.
- Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable
- In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO.]
ANTONIO.
- Is that anything now?
BASSANIO.
- Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than
- any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid
- in, two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find
- them, and when you have them they are not worth the search.
ANTONIO.
- Well; tell me now what lady is the same
- To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
- That you to-day promis’d to tell me of?
BASSANIO.
- ’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
- How much I have disabled mine estate
- By something showing a more swelling port
- Than my faint means would grant continuance;
- Nor do I now make moan to be abridg’d
- From such a noble rate; but my chief care
- Is to come fairly off from the great debts
- Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
- Hath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio,
- I owe the most, in money and in love;
- And from your love I have a warranty
- To unburden all my plots and purposes
- How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
ANTONIO.
- I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
- And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
- Within the eye of honour, be assur’d
- My purse, my person, my extremest means,
- Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.
BASSANIO.
- In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
- I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
- The self-same way, with more advised watch,
- To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
- I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
- Because what follows is pure innocence.
- I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
- That which I owe is lost; but if you please
- To shoot another arrow that self way
- Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
- As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
- Or bring your latter hazard back again
- And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
ANTONIO.
- You know me well, and herein spend but time
- To wind about my love with circumstance;
- And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
- In making question of my uttermost
- Than if you had made waste of all I have.
- Then do but say to me what I should do
- That in your knowledge may by me be done,
- And I am prest unto it; therefore, speak.
BASSANIO.
- In Belmont is a lady richly left,
- And she is fair and, fairer than that word,
- Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
- I did receive fair speechless messages:
- Her name is Portia—nothing undervalu’d
- To Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia:
- Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
- For the four winds blow in from every coast
- Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
- Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
- Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,
- And many Jasons come in quest of her.
- O my Antonio! had I but the means
- To hold a rival place with one of them,
- I have a mind presages me such thrift
- That I should questionless be fortunate.
ANTONIO.
- Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;
- Neither have I money nor commodity
- To raise a present sum; therefore go forth,
- Try what my credit can in Venice do;
- That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermost,
- To furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.
- Go presently inquire, and so will I,
- Where money is; and I no question make
- To have it of my trust or for my sake.
[Exeunt]
SCENE 2. Belmont. A room in PORTIA's house.
[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.]
PORTIA.
- By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this
- great world.
NERISSA.
- You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the
- same abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet, for aught I
- see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that
- starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be
- seated in the mean: superfluity come sooner by white hairs, but
- competency lives longer.
PORTIA.
- Good sentences, and well pronounced.
NERISSA.
- They would be better, if well followed.
PORTIA.
- If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do,
- chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’
- palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions; I
- can easier teach twenty what were good to be done than to be one
- of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise
- laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o’er a cold decree;
- such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good
- counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
- choose me a husband. O me, the word ‘choose’! I may neither
- choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a
- living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not
- hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?
NERISSA.
- Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death
- have good inspirations; therefore the lott’ry that he hath
- devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, whereof
- who chooses his meaning chooses you, will no doubt never be
- chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. But
- what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these
- princely suitors that are already come?
PORTIA.
- I pray thee over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will
- describe them; and according to my description, level at my
- affection.
NERISSA.
- First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
PORTIA.
- Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of
- his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good
- parts that he can shoe him himself; I am much afeard my lady his
- mother play’d false with a smith.
NERISSA.
- Then is there the County Palatine.
PORTIA.
- He doth nothing but frown, as who should say ‘An you will
- not have me, choose.’ He hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear
- he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so
- full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married
- to a death’s-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of
- these. God defend me from these two!
NERISSA.
- How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?
PORTIA.
- God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In
- truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a
- horse better than the Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of
- frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man. If a
- throstle sing he falls straight a-capering; he will fence with
- his own shadow; if I should marry him, I should marry twenty
- husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he
- love me to madness, I shall never requite him.
NERISSA.
- What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron of
- England?
PORTIA.
- You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me,
- nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you
- will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth
- in the English. He is a proper man’s picture; but alas, who can
- converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he
- bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet
- in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.
NERISSA.
- What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?
PORTIA.
- That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed
- a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him
- again when he was able; I think the Frenchman became his surety,
- and sealed under for another.
NERISSA.
- How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?
PORTIA.
- Very vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most
- vilely in the afternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is
- a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little
- better than a beast. An the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I
- shall make shift to go without him.
NERISSA.
- If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket,
- you should refuse to perform your father’s will, if you should
- refuse to accept him.
PORTIA.
- Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep
- glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for if the devil be
- within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I
- will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.
NERISSA.
- You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords;
- they have acquainted me with their determinations, which is
- indeed to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more
- suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father’s
- imposition, depending on the caskets.
PORTIA.
- If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as
- Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I
- am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not
- one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God
- grant them a fair departure.
NERISSA.
- Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a
- scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis
- of Montferrat?
PORTIA.
- Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he called.
NERISSA.
- True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes
- looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.
PORTIA.
- I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.
[Enter a SERVANT.]
- How now! what news?
SERVANT.
- The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their
- leave; and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of
- Morocco, who brings word the Prince his master will be here
- to-night.
PORTIA.
- If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I
- can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his
- approach; if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion
- of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.
- Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
- Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the
- door.
[Exeunt]
SCENE 3. Venice. A public place.
[Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK.]
SHYLOCK.
- Three thousand ducats; well?
BASSANIO.
- Ay, sir, for three months.
SHYLOCK.
- For three months; well?
BASSANIO.
- For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.
SHYLOCK.
- Antonio shall become bound; well?
BASSANIO.
- May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your
- answer?
SHYLOCK.
- Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound.
BASSANIO.
- Your answer to that.
SHYLOCK.
- Antonio is a good man.
BASSANIO.
- Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
SHYLOCK.
- Ho, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man
- is to have you understand me that he is sufficient; yet his means
- are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another
- to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a
- third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he
- hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but
- men; there be land-rats and water-rats, land-thieves and
- water-thieves,—I mean pirates,—and then there is the peril of
- waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
- sufficient. Three thousand ducats- I think I may take his bond.
BASSANIO.
- Be assured you may.
SHYLOCK.
- I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I
- will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?
BASSANIO.
- If it please you to dine with us.
SHYLOCK.
- Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your
- prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with
- you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so
- following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray
- with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here?
[Enter ANTONIO]
BASSANIO.
- This is Signior Antonio.
SHYLOCK.
- [Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks!
- I hate him for he is a Christian;
- But more for that in low simplicity
- He lends out money gratis, and brings down
- The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
- If I can catch him once upon the hip,
- I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
- He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
- Even there where merchants most do congregate,
- On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
- Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe
- If I forgive him!
BASSANIO.
- Shylock, do you hear?
SHYLOCK.
- I am debating of my present store,
- And, by the near guess of my memory,
- I cannot instantly raise up the gross
- Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
- Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
- Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
- Do you desire? [To ANTONIO] Rest you fair, good signior;
- Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
ANTONIO.
- Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow
- By taking nor by giving of excess,
- Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
- I’ll break a custom. [To BASSANIO] Is he yet possess’d
- How much ye would?
SHYLOCK.
- Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
ANTONIO.
- And for three months.
SHYLOCK.
- I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
- Well then, your bond; and, let me see. But hear you,
- Methought 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 interest; 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 peel’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.
- 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 spet 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 spet 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]
- This 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]