lot Gobbo, do not run ; fcorn running with thy heels. Well. the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! fays the fiend; away! fays the fiend; for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, fays the fiend, and run. Well, my confcience, hanging about the neck of my heart, fays very wifely to me, my honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's fon, or rather an honeft woman's fon (for, indeed, my father did fomething fmack, fomething grow to; he had a kind of tafte.) well, my confcience fays, budge not; budge, fays the fiend; budge not, fays my confcience; confcience, fay I, y a counfel ill; fiend, fay I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd by my confcience, I fhould stay with the Jew my maiter, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew, I fhould be ruled by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil hinfelf. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my confcience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counfel me to ftay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counfel; I will ran, fiend, my heels are at your cominandment, I will run. Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Mafter young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to mailer's Jew's? Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confufions with him. Gob. Mafter young Gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to mafter Jew's? Laun. Turn up, on your right-hand (9) at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; (9) Turn up, on your right hand-] This arch and perplex'd direction, on purpose to puzzle the enquirer, feems to be copied from Syrus to Demea, in the Brothers of Terence: Act. 4. Sc. 2. -ubi eas præterieris, Ad finiftram bac rectâ platea: ubi ad Dianæ veneris, The reader, upon a collation of the whole paffage, will find, how infinitely more concife and humourous the jeft is couch'd in our poet. marry, marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. Gob. By God's fonties, '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 raife the waters ;) talk you of young mafter Launcelot ? Gob. No mafter, Sir, but a poor man's fon. His father, though I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young mafter Launcelot. Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But, I pray you ergo, old man; ergo I beseech you, talk you of young mafter Launcelot ? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't pleafe your maftership. Laun. Ergo, mafter Launcelot; talk not of mafter 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. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very ftaff of my age, my very prop. 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, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your bleffing, 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. 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 fhall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my fon. Laun. I know not, what I fhall think of that: but I ain 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 worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horfe has on his tail (10). 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 laft faw him. Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft 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 matter's a very few give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am famith'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 mafter 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 few, if I ferve the Jew any longer. Enter Baffanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two more. Baff. You may do fo; but let it be fo hafted, that fupper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock: see thefe letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Laun. To him, father. (10) than Dobbin my Thill-borfe] Some of the editions have it Phill, others Fill-horfe; both, erroneously. It must be thill-borje; i. e. the horse, which draws in the Shafts, or Thill, of the carriage. Gob. God bless your worship! Baff. Gramercy, would'ft thou ought with me? 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 one would fay, to serve. Laun. Indeed, the fhort 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 cater-coufins. 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; 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 suit; Shylock, thy mafter spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment my Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between mafter Shylock and you, Sir; you God, Sir, and he hath enough. have the grace of Baff. Thou fpeak'ft it well; go, father, with thy fon: Take leave of thy old mafter, and enquire 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 (11) a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a (11) Well, if any man in Italy have &c.] This stubborn piece of nonfenfe feems to have taken its rife from this accident. In tranfcrib a book, I shall have good fortune; go to, here's a fimple My beft efteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go. Gra. Where is your master? Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks; Baff. Gratiano! Gra. I have a fuit to you. Baff. You have obtain’d it. [Ex. Leonardo. Gra. You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont. Ba. Why, then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano, And in fuch eyes as ours appear not faults; Thy fkipping fpirit; left, through thy wild behaviour, ing the play for the prefs, there was certainly a line loft ; fo that the paffage for the future fhould be printed thus; Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which * * * * offer to fwear upon a book, I shall have good fortune. 'Tis impoffible to find out the loft line, but the loft fente is easy enough; as thus, Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth [promife good luck, I am miftaken, I durft almoft] offer to fwear upon a bosk, I fball bave good fortu se. Mr. Warburton. |
