Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this. Salar. Marry, well remember'd: I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday; Who told me,-in the narrow seas, that part The French and English, there miscarried A vessel of our country, richly fraught: I thought upon Antonio, when he told me ; And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:

Bassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return; he answer'd-Do not so,
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time:

And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love:
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there:
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wondrous sensible

He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee let us go, and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.

Salar.

Do we so.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Nerissa, with a Servant.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain The prince of Arragon has ta'en his oath, (straight; And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their Trains.

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince: If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd; But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately.

Arra. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things: First, never to unfold to any one

Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear, That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Arra. And so have I address'd me: Fortune now To my heart's hope !-Gold, silver, and base lead. Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. What says the golden chest? ha! let me see :Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. What many men desire. That many may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty. I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits, And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves; And well said too: For who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honourable Without the stamp of merit! Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity.

O, that estates, degrees, and offices,

Were not deiv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
From the true seed of honour? and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd? Well, but to my choice:
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves;
I will assume desert; Give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there, Arra. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Presenting me a schedule? I will read it.

1 How much unlike art thou to Portia ?
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize! are my deserts no better?
Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.

Arra.

What is here?
The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgment is,

That did never choose amiss:

Some there be, that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head:
So begone, sir, you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here:

With one fool's head I came to woo,

But I go away with two.

Sweet, adien! I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.

[Exeunt Arragon, and Train.
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy;
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Where is my lady?

Por.

Here; what would my lord? Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord: From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love: A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

Por. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard, Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee. Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be! [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street.

Enter Salanio and Salarino.

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto?

Salar. Why, yet he lives there ancheck'd, that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word,

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband: But it is true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain highway of talk,-that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough keep his name company!

Salar. Come, the full stop.

Salan. Ha, what say'st thou? Why the end is, he hath lost a ship.

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses! Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness. of a Jew.

Enter Shylock. How now,Shylock? what news among the merchants? Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight.

Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal.

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam.

Shy. She is damn'd for it.

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel! Salan. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars;
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk?
And these assume but valour's excrement,
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty,
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight
Which therein works a miracle in nature.
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped, snaky, golden locks,

Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known

To be the dowry of a second head,

The skull that bred them, in the sepulchre.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore

To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling Indian beauty; in a word,

The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee:
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
"Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught,
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence!
And here choose I: Joy be the consequence!

Por. How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy.
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!
Bass.

What find I here?

[Opening the leaden Casket. Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion! Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her eyes,How could he see to do them? having made one, Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow

Doth limp behind the substance.-Here's the scroll,
The continent and summary of my fortune.

You that choose not by the view,
Chance as fair, and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,

Be content and seek no new.

If you be well pleas'd with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,,

And claim her with a loving kiss.
A gentle scroll;-Fair lady, by your leave;

[Kissing her.

I come by note, to give, and to receive.
Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause, and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no;
So thrice, fair lady, stand I, even so;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich;

That only to stand high on your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sam of something; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd:
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; and happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit

Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours
Is now converted; but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,

And be my 'vantage to exclaim on you.

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins :
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke

By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express'd, and not express'd: But when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead.

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time,
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper,
To cry, good joy; Good joy, my lord and lady!
Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me :
And, when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech yon,
Even at that time I may be married too.

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
Gra. I thank your lordship; you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing here, until I sweat again;
And swearing, till my very roof was dry
With oaths of love; at last,-if promise last,-
I got a promise of this fair one here,
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Achiev'd her mistress.

Por.

Is this true, Nerissa? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? Gra. Yes, faith, my lord, [marriage. Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a thousand ducats.

[down.

Ner. What, and stake down?Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel? What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio!

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither; If that the youth of my new interest here. Have power to bid you welcome :-By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome.

Por.

So do I, my lord;

They are entirely welcome.

Lor. I thank your honour :-For my part, my lord, My purpose was not to have seen you here; But meeting with Salerio by the way, He did entreat me, past all saying nay, To come with him along.

Sale.

And I have reason for it. Commends him to you.

Bass.

I did, my lord,
Signior Antonio

[Gives Bassanio a Letter.
Ere I ope this letter,

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.
Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will show you his estate.

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salerio; What's the news from Venice ?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio !
I know, he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

Sale. Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost!

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon' same That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek. [paper, Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution

Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself,

M

And I must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.

Bass.
O sweet Portia,
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words,
That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love you,
I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
And then I told you true and yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see

How much I was a braggart: When I told you
My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,

I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy,
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
The paper as the body of my friend,
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing life-blood.-But is it true, Salerio?

Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?

And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?

Sale.

Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew
He would not take it: Never did I know
A creature that did bear the shape of man,
So keen and greedy to confound a man:
He plies the duke at morning, and at night:
And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
The duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.

Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him swear,

To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen,

That he would rather have Antonio's flesh,

Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him and I know, my lord,
If law, authority, and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.

What, no more?

Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble?
Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
Por. What sum owes he the Jew?
Bass. For me, three thousand ducats.
Por.
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
First, go with me to church, and call me wife:
And then away to Venice to your friend;
For never shall you lie by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over;
When it is paid, bring your true friend along :
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time,
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.-
But let me hear the letter of your friend.
Bass. [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is
very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since,
in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debt's
are cleared between you and I, if I might but see
you at my death: notwithstanding, use your plea-
sure if your love do not persuade you to come, let
not my letter.

Por. O love, despatch all business, and be gone.
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away,
I will make haste: but, till I come again,
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,

No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Venice. A Street.

I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond:
Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause:
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs :
The duke shall grant me justice.-I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request.

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak.

Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more. I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'à fool,

To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not:

I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.

Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, That ever kept with men.

Ant.

Let him alone, I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. He seeks my life; his reason well I know;

I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures

Many that have at times made moan to me; Therefore he hates me.

Salan.

[Exit

I am sure, the duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law.
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of the state;
Since that the trade and profit of the city
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me,
That I shall hardly spare a ponnd of flesh
To-morrow to my bloody creditor.

Well, gaoler, on :-Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay this debt, and then I care not! [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.
Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and
Balthazar.

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly
In bearing thas the absence of your lord.
But, if you knew to whom you show this honour,
How true a gentleman you send relief,
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know, you would be prouder of the work,
Than customary bounty can enforce you.

Por. I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me think, that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord: If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow'd,
In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish cruelty?
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore no more of it: hear other things.-
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
The husbandry and manage of my house,
Until my lord's return: for mine own part,
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow,
To live in prayer and contemplation,
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband and my lord's return:
There is a monastery two miles off,
And there we will abide. I do desire you
Not to deny this imposition;
The which my love, and some necessity,
Now lays upon you.

Lor.

Madam, with all my heart;
I shall obey you in all fair commands.
Por. My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
In place of lord Bassanio and myself.
So fare you well, till we shall meet again.

Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you.
Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content.
Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.--
[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo.

Ant.

Hear me yet, good Shylock. Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond;

As I have ever found thee honest, true,
So let me find thee still: Take this same letter,
And use thou all the endeavour of a man,
In speed to Padua; see thou render this

Por. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit, That they shall think we are accomplished With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, When we are both accouter'd like young men, I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, And wear my dagger with the braver grace: And speak, between the change of man and boy, With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps Into a manly stride; and speak of frays, Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies, How honourable ladies songht my love, Which I denying, they fell sick and died; I could not do with all;-then I'll repent, And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, That men shall swear I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth :-I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, Which I will practise.

Ner.

Why, shall we turn to men? Por. Fie! what a question's that, If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ! But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device When I am in my coach, which stays for us At the park-gate; and therefore haste away, For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The same. A Garden.

Enter Launcelot and Jessica. Laun. Yes, truly-for, look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: Therefore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think, you are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard hope

neither.

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee?

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed; so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone both ways.

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a Christian.

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians enough before; e'en as many as could well live, one by another: This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

Enter Lorenzo.

Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say; here he comes.

Lor. I shall grow jealons of you shortly, Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners.

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelot and I are out: he tells me flatly, there is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and he says, you are no good member of the commonwealth; for, in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price of pork.

Lor. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.

Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more than reason but if she be less than an honest woman, she is, indeed, more than I took her for.

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence; and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.-Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

Laun That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid them prepare dinner.

Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the word. Lor. Will you cover then, sir?

Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. [Exit.

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! The fool hath planted in his memory

An army of good words; And I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica ? .
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife?
Jes. Past all expressing: it is very meet,
The lord Bassanio live an upright life;
For, having such a blessing in his lady,
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
And, if on earth he do not mean it, it

Is reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match,
And on the wager lay two earthly women,
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.

SCENE 1. Venice. A Court of Justice.

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes; Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others.

Duke. What, is Antonio here? Ant. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch Uncapable of pity, void and empty. From any dram of mercy.

Ant.

I have heard, Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury; and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. Enter Shylock.

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face.

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice.
To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty:
And, where thou now exact'st the penalty
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh),
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture,
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
That have of late so huddled on his back;
Enough to press a royal merchant down,
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn,
To have the due and forfeit of my bond: