Abbildungen der Seite

Bas. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.

Anth. Come on, in this there can be no dismay; My ships come home a month before the day. [Éxe.




B E L M O N T.

Enter Morochius, a Tawny-Moor, all in white; and three

or four Followers accordingly; with Portia, Nerissa, and her train. Flourish Cornets.

ISLIKE me not for

ту. complexion,

To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phæbus' fire scarce thaws the isicles,
And let us make incision for

your love,
To prove whose blood is reddeft, his or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I swear,
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle Queen.

Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice dire&ion of a maiden's eyes:
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary chusing.
But if


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 stood as fair, As any

comer I have look'd on yet, For my

affection. Mor. Ey’n for that I thank

you ;


[ocr errors]

greater throw

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,
That slew the Sophy and a Persan Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solymon,
I would out-ftare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart moft daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock'the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while !
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man,

May turn by fortane from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that, which one unworthier
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to chuse at all,
Or swear, before you chufe, if you chuse wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage; therefore be advis d.
Mor. Nor will not; therefore, bring me to my

Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Mor. Good fortune then,

(Cornets. To make me blest, or cursed'st among men! (Exeunt.

may attain;

[blocks in formation]

C Em

Enter Launcelot alone. Laun. ERTAINLY, my conscience will serve

me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start,

K 3


run away. My conscience says, no; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels. 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 heart, says very wisely to me, my honest friend Launcelot, being an honeft man's fon, or rather an honest woman's fon (for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to : he had a kind of tafte.) -well, my confcience says, budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience; conscience, say I, you counsel ill; fiend, fay I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd by my conscience, I fhould 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 ruld by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly, the few is the very 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 counsel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Mafter 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 land-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confusions with him.

Gob. Master 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 indire&ly to the Jew's house.

Gob. of

you, talk

you of

Gob. 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 master 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.

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

young master 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 sisters 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 staff or a prop? do

you know me, father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen, tleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead ?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?
Gob. Alack, Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

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 fon; give me your blessing, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but in the end, truth will




my mother.

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

fon. 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

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

Laun. It should seem 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 doft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a prefent ; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but for mine own part, as have set

up my rest to run away, so I will not reft 'till I have run fome ground. My master's a very Few: 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 Basanio, 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 the 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



Bas. You may do so; but let it be so hafted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock:


« ZurückWeiter »