« AnteriorContinuar »
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in ;
[Exit, Jef. Farewel ; and if my fortune be not croft, I have a father, you a daughter, loft.
SCENE, the STREET.
Enter Gratiano and Salanio in masquerade. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo defired us to make a stand.
Sal. His hour is almoft past.
Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.
Sal. O, ten times faster Venus' pidgeons fly (7)
Gra. That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast,
(7) O, ten times fafter Venus' Pidgeons fly.) This is a very odd Image, of Venus's Pidgeons flying to seal the Bonds of Love. The Sense is obvious, and we know the Dignity due to Venus's Pidgeons. There was certainly a Joke intended. here, which the Ignorance, or Boldness, of the firft Transcri. bers have murder'd: I doubt not, but Shakespeare wrote the Line thus :
0, ten times faster Venus' Widgeons fly
To seal &c. For Widgeon is not only the filly Bird so call'd, but fignifies likewise, metaphorically, a fully Fellow, as Goose, or Gudgeon.. does now.
Hugg'd ånd embraced by the strumpet wind !
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ; Not I, but my affairs, have made you
Jessica above, in boy's cleaths.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes. Lorenzo certain, and my love, indeed ; For who love I so much ? and now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ?
Lor. Heav'n and thy thoughts are witness, that thou
Yes. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.
Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Lor. So are you, sweet,
With some more ducats, and be with
[Exit from above, Gra. Now by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew,
Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily ;
Enter Jeffica, to them.
Anth. Fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest ?
Gra. I'm glad on't; I desire no more delight Than to be under fail, and gone to night. Exeunt.
SCENE changes to Belmont. Enter Portia with Morochius, and both their trains.
O, draw aside the curtains, and discover
Now make your choice. [Three caskets are discover'd.
Mor. The first of gold, which this inscription bears, Who chuseth me, small gain what many men defre. The second filver, which this promise carries, Who chuseth mi, fall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. How shall I know, if I do chuse the right?
Por. The one of them contains my picture, Prince; If you chufe that, then I am yours withal.
Mor. Some God direct my judgment ! let me fee, I will survey th' inscriptions back again; What says this leaden casket ? Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all be hath. Must give, for what? for lead ? hazard for lead ? This casket threatens. Men, that hazard all, Do it in hope of fair advantages : A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; I'll then not give, nor hazard, aught for fead. What says the filver, with her virgin hue? Who chuseth me, fall get as much as he deserves. As much as he deserves ? pause there, Morochius ; And weigh thy value with an even hand. If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Thou doft deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady ; And yet to be afraid of my deserving, Were but a weak disabling of my felf. As much as I deserve why, that's the lady : I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding : But
more than thefe, in love I do deserve. What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here? Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold. Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men defire. Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her ; From the four corners of the earth they come To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing faint. Th' Hyrcanian deserts, and the vastie wilds Of wide Arabia, are as thorough-fares now, For Princes to come view fair Portia. The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come, As o'er. a brook, to fee fair Portia, One of these three contains her heav'nly picture. Is't like, that lead contains her ? 'twere damnation, To think so base a thought : it were too gross To rib her searcloth in the obscure grave. Or thall I think, in filver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalu'd to try'd gold ?
there, Then I am yours.
(Unlocking the gold casket.
All that glifers is not gold,
Fare you well, your fuit is cold.
Por. A gentle riddance : draw the curtains ; go Let all of his complexion chuse me fo. [Exeunt.
SCENE changes to Venice.
Enter Solarino and Salanio.
With him is Gratiano gone along ;
Sola. The villain Jew with outcries rais’d the Duke, Who went with him to search Balanio's ship.