Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let


Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and in the


afternoon Barnardine: for my better satisfaction,


let me have Claudios head sent me by five. Let


this be duly performed; with a thought that more


depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail


not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.


What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the


A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one


How came it that the absent duke had not either


delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I


have heard it was ever his manner to do so.


His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and,


indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord


Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.


Most manifest, and not denied by himself.


Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how


A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but


as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless


of whats past, present, or to come; insensible of


He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty


of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he


would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days


entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if


to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming


warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all.


More of him anon. There is written in your brow,


provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not


truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the


boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard.


Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is


no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath


sentenced him. To make you understand this in a


manifested effect, I crave but four days respite;


for the which you are to do me both a present and a


A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited,


and an express command, under penalty, to deliver


his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case


as Claudios, to cross this in the smallest.


By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my


instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine


be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo.


Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.


O, deaths a great disguiser; and you may add to it.


Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was


the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his


death: you know the course is common. If any thing


fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good


fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead


Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.


Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?


You will think you have made no offence, if the duke


Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see


you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor


persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go


further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you.


Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the


duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the


The contents of this is the return of the duke: you


shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you


shall find, within these two days he will be here.


This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this


very day receives letters of strange tenor;


perchance of the dukes death; perchance entering


into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what


is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the


shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these


things should be: all difficulties are but easy


when they are known. Call your executioner, and off


with Barnardines head: I will give him a present


shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you


are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you.


I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house


of profession: one would think it were Mistress


Overdones own house, for here be many of her old


customers. First, heres young Master Rash; hes in


for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,


ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made


five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not


much in request, for the old women were all dead.


Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of


Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of


peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a


beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young


Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master


Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young


Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master


Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the


great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed


Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in


our trade, and are now for the Lords sake.


Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged.


[Within]  A pox o your throats! Who makes that


Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so


[Within]  Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.


Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.


Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are


He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.


How now, Abhorson? whats the news with you?


Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your


prayers; for, look you, the warrants come.


You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not


O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night,


and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the


Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do


Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before


Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily


you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort


Friar, not II have been drinking hard all night,


and I will have more time to prepare me, or they


shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not


O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you


Look forward on the journey you shall go.


I swear I will not die to-day for any mans


Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me,


come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day.


After him, fellows; bring him to the block.


A creature unprepared, unmeet for death;


There died this morning of a cruel fever


A man of Claudios years; his beard and head


This reprobate till he were well inclined;


O, tis an accident that heaven provides!


Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on


Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.


This shall be done, good father, presently.


To save me from the danger that might come


Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:


Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting


Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.


The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents


And that, by great injunctions, I am bound


A league below the city; and from thence,


By cold gradation and well-balanced form,


For I would commune with you of such things


If yet her brothers pardon be come hither:


But I will keep her ignorant of her good,


To make her heavenly comforts of despair,


Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.


Hath yet the deputy sent my brothers pardon?


He hath released him, Isabel, from the world:


It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,


O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!


This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;


Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.


The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes;


Gives me this instance: already he hath carried


Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,


There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom


In that good path that I would wish it go,


And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,


Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart,


Tis that he sent me of the dukes return:


Say, by this token, I desire his company


At Marianas house to-night. Her cause and yours


Ill perfect him withal, and he shall bring you


Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo


Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,


And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter:


Command these fretting waters from your eyes


With a light heart; trust not my holy order,


O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see


thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain


to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for


my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set


me to t. But they say the duke will be here


to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother:


if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been


Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your


reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.


Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do:


hes a better woodman than thou takest him for.


Well, youll answer this one day. Fare ye well.


I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.


You have told me too many of him already, sir, if


they be true; if not true, none were enough.


I was once before him for getting a wench with child.


Yes, marry, did Ibut I was fain to forswear it;


they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.


Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.


By my troth, Ill go with thee to the lanes end:


if bawdy talk offend you, well have very little of


it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.


Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.


In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions


show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be


not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and


And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his


entering, that if any crave redress of injustice,


they should exhibit their petitions in the street?


He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of


complaints, and to deliver us from devices


hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand


Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes


i the morn; Ill call you at your house: give


notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet


This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant


And dull to all proceedings. A deflowerd maid!


The law against it! But that her tender shame


Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,


How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;


For my authority bears of a credent bulk,


That no particular scandal once can touch


But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,


Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense,


Might in the times to come have taen revenge,


With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!


A lack, when once our grace we have forgot,


Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.


Enter DUKE VINCENTIO in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER


The provost knows our purpose and our plot.


The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,


Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,


As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius house,


And tell him where I stay: give the like notice


And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;


I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste:


Come, we will walk. Theres other of our friends


Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.


I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,


That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;


Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure


He speak against me on the adverse side,


I should not think it strange; for tis a physic


Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,


Where you may have such vantage on the duke,


He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;


The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away!


MARIANA veiled, ISABELLA, and FRIAR PETER, at their  stand. Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, VARRIUS, Lords,  ANGELO, ESCALUS, LUCIO, Provost, Officers, and Citizens, at several doors


Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.


We have made inquiry of you; and we hear


Such goodness of your justice, that our soul


Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,


O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,


To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,


When it deserves, with characters of brass,


A forted residence gainst the tooth of time


And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,


And let the subject see, to make them know


That outward courtesies would fain proclaim


Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,


Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him.


Upon a wrongd, I would fain have said, a maid!


Till you have heard me in my true complaint


And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!


Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief.


Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice:


You bid me seek redemption of the devil:


Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak


Must either punish me, not being believed,


Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here!


My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:


She hath been a suitor to me for her brother


And she will speak most bitterly and strange.


Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak:


That Angelos forsworn; is it not strange?


That Angelos a murderer; is t not strange?


Than this is all as true as it is strange:


Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth


She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.


O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest


There is another comfort than this world,


That thou neglect me not, with that opinion


That I am touchd with madness! Make not impossible


That which but seems unlike: tis not impossible


But one, the wickedst caitiff on the ground,


May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute


In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,


Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince:


If he be less, hes nothing; but hes more,


If she be mad,--as I believe no other,--


Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,


Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason


For inequality; but let your reason serve


To make the truth appear where it seems hid,


Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?


I came to her from Claudio, and desired her


To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo


Pray you, take note of it: and when you have


A business for yourself, pray heaven you then


The warrants for yourself; take heed tot.


This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,--


It may be right; but you are i the wrong


In brief, to set the needless process by,


How I persuaded, how I prayd, and kneeld,


For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion


I now begin with grief and shame to utter:


He would not, but by gift of my chaste body


Release my brother; and, after much debatement,


My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,


And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes,


His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant


By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speakst,


Or else thou art subornd against his honour


In hateful practise. First, his integrity


Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason


That with such vehemency he should pursue


Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,


He would have weighd thy brother by himself


And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on:


Confess the truth, and say by whose advice


Keep me in patience, and with ripend time


In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe,


To prison with her! Shall we thus permit


A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall


On him so near us? This needs must be a practise.


Who knew of Your intent and coming hither?


One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.


A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?


My lord, I know him; tis a meddling friar;


I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord


For certain words he spake against your grace


In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly.


Words against me? this is a good friar, belike!


Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.


But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,


I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,


I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard


Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman


Most wrongfully accused your substitute,


Who is as free from touch or soil with her


Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?


Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.


Well, he in time may come to clear himself;


Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,


Being come to knowledge that there was complaint


Intended gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither,


To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know


Is true and false; and what he with his oath


And all probation will make up full clear,


Whensoever hes convented. First, for this woman.


Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,


ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and MARIANA comes forward


Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;


Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar?


First, let her show her face, and after speak.


Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face


Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife?


My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are


Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause


My lord; I do confess I neer was married;


He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better.


For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!


In self-same manner doth accuse my husband,


And charges him my lord, with such a time


Who thinks he knows that he neer knew my body,


But knows he thinks that he knows Isabels.


This is a strange abuse. Lets see thy face.


Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on;


This is the hand which, with a vowd contract,


Was fast belockd in thine; this is the body


My lord, I must confess I know this woman:


And five years since there was some speech of marriage


Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,


Partly for that her promised proportions


In levity: since which time of five years


I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,


As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,


As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,


I am affianced this mans wife as strongly


As words could make up vows: and, my good lord,


But Tuesday night last gone ins garden-house


Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice


My patience here is touchd. I do perceive


But instruments of some more mightier member


That sets them on: let me have way, my lord,


And punish them to your height of pleasure.


Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,


Compact with her thats gone, thinkst thou thy oaths,


Though they would swear down each particular saint,


Were testimonies against his worth and credit


Thats seald in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,


Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains


To find out this abuse, whence tis derived.


There is another friar that set them on;


Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed


Hath set the women on to this complaint:


Your provost knows the place where he abides


And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,


Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,


Do with your injuries as seems you best,


In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you;


But stir not you till you have well determined


Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that


Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person?


Cucullus non facit monachum: honest in nothing


but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most


We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and


enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a


Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her.


Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you


Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately,


she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly,


Thats the way; for women are light at midnight.


Re-enter Officers with ISABELLA; and Provost with the DUKE VINCENTIO in his friars habit


Come on, mistress: heres a gentlewoman denies all


My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with


In very good time: speak not you to him till we


Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander


Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did.


Respect to your great place! and let the devil


Be sometime honourd for his burning throne!


Where is the duke? tis he should hear me speak.


The dukes in us; and we will hear you speak:


Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox?


Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone?


Then is your cause gone too. The dukes unjust,


And put your trial in the villains mouth


This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.


Why, thou unreverend and unhallowd friar,


Ist not enough thou hast subornd these women


To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth


To call him villain? and then to glance from him


To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?


Take him hence; to the rack with him! Well touse you


Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.


Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he


Dare rack his own: his subject am I not,


Nor here provincial. My business in this state


Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble


Till it oer-run the stew; laws for all faults,


But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes


Stand like the forfeits in a barbers shop,


Slander to the state! Away with him to prison!


What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?


Is this the man that you did tell us of?


Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate:


I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I


met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke.


O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke?


Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a


fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?


You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make


that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and


O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the


I protest I love the duke as I love myself.


Hark, how the villain would close now, after his


Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with


him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him


to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him


speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and


Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you


bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must


you? Show your knaves visage, with a pox to you!


show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour!


Pulls off the friars hood, and discovers DUKE VINCENTIO


Thou art the first knave that eer madest a duke.


First, provost, let me bail these gentle three.


Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you


[To ESCALUS]  What you have spoke I pardon: sit you down:


Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,


That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,


I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,


When I perceive your grace, like power divine,


Hath lookd upon my passes. Then, good prince,


But let my trial be mine own confession:


Immediate sentence then and sequent death


Say, wast thou eer contracted to this woman?


Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.


Do you the office, friar; which consummate,


Return him here again. Go with him, provost.


Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER and Provost


My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour


Your friar is now your prince: as I was then


Not changing heart with habit, I am still


That I, your vassal, have employd and paind


And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.


Your brothers death, I know, sits at your heart;


And you may marvel why I obscured myself,


Labouring to save his life, and would not rather


Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power


Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,


Which I did think with slower foot came on,


That braind my purpose. But, peace be with him!


That life is better life, past fearing death,


Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort,


Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and Provost


For this new-married man approaching here,


Your well defended honour, you must pardon


For Marianas sake: but as he adjudged your brother,--


Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach


Thereon dependent, for your brothers life,--


Most audible, even from his proper tongue,


Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;


Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE.


Then, Angelo, thy faults thus manifested;


Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.


Where Claudio stoopd to death, and with like haste.


I hope you will not mock me with a husband.


It is your husband mockd you with a husband.


Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,


I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,


For that he knew you, might reproach your life


And choke your good to come; for his possessions,


O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;


Lend me your knees, and all my life to come


Ill lend you all my life to do you service.


Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,


Her brothers ghost his paved bed would break,


Hold up your hands, say nothing; Ill speak all.


They say, best men are moulded out of faults;


And, for the most, become much more the better


For being a little bad: so may my husband.


Look, if it please you, on this man condemnd,


Let him not die. My brother had but justice,


In that he did the thing for which he died:


That perishd by the way: thoughts are no subjects;


Your suits unprofitable; stand up, I say.


Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded


No, my good lord; it was by private message.


For which I do discharge you of your office:


I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;


For testimony whereof, one in the prison,


That should by private order else have died,


Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.


As you, Lord Angelo, have still appeard,


Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood.


And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart


That I crave death more willingly than mercy;


Re-enter Provost, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO muffled, and JULIET


Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.


That apprehends no further than this world,


And squarest thy life according. Thourt condemnd:


But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;


And pray thee take this mercy to provide


For better times to come. Friar, advise him;


I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellows that?


Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;


[To ISABELLA]  If he be like your brother, for his sake


Is he pardond; and, for your lovely sake,


Give me your hand and say you will be mine.


He is my brother too: but fitter time for that.


Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.


And yet heres one in place I cannot pardon.


You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,


Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the


trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I


had rather it would please you I might be whipt.


Proclaim it, provost, round about the city.


Is any woman wrongd by this lewd fellow,


As I have heard him swear himself theres one


Whom he begot with child, let her appear,


And he shall marry her: the nuptial finishd,


I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore.


Your highness said even now, I made you a duke:


good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.


Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;


Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death,


She, Claudio, that you wrongd, look you restore.


I have confessd her and I know her virtue.


Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness:


Theres more behind that is more gratulate.


Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy:


We shill employ thee in a worthier place.


Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home


The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,


Whats mine is yours and what is yours is mine.


So, bring us to our palace; where well show


Whats yet behind, thats meet you all should know.


But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,


What stuff tis made of, whereof it is born,


And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,


There, where your argosies with portly sail,


Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,


Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,


As they fly by them with their woven wings.


Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,


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


Would blow me to an ague, when I thought


What harm a wind too great at sea might do.


I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,


But I should think of shallows and of flats,


And see my wealthy Andrew dockd in sand,


Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs


To kiss her burial. Should I go to church


And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,


Which touching but my gentle vessels 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 bechanced would make me sad?


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


Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.


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 framed strange fellows in her time:


Some that will evermore peep through their eyes


That theyll not show their teeth in way of smile,


Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.


Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,


I would have stayd till I had made you merry,


If worthier friends had not prevented me.


I take it, your own business calls on you


Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?


You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?


Well make our leisures to attend on yours.


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.


You have too much respect upon the world:


They lose it that do buy it with much care:


Believe me, you are marvellously changed.


I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;


A stage where every man must play a part,


With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,


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 it is my love that speaks--


Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,


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.


Ill tell thee more of this another time:


But fish not, with this melancholy bait,


Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:


Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:


I must be one of these same dumb wise men,


Well, keep me company but two years moe,


Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.


Farewell: Ill grow a talker for this gear.


Thanks, i faith, for silence is only commendable


In a neats tongue dried and a maid not vendible.


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.


By something showing a more swelling port


Than my faint means would grant continuance:


From such a noble rate; but my chief care


Is to come fairly off from the great debts


How to get clear of all the debts I owe.


I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;


And if it stand, as you yourself still do,


My purse, my person, my extremest means,


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,


I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,


That which I owe is lost; but if you please


Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,


As I will watch the aim, or to find both


And thankfully rest debtor for the first.


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


Than if you had made waste of all I have:


That in your knowledge may by me be done,


And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.


And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,


Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes


Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,


For the four winds blow in from every coast


Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;


Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos strand,


That I should questionless be fortunate!


Thou knowst that all my fortunes are at sea;


To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;


That shall be rackd, even to the uttermost,


To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.


SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of


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 comes sooner by white hairs, but


If to do were as easy as to know what were good to


do, chapels had been churches and poor mens


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 be one of the


twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may


devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps


oer a cold decree: such a hare is madness the


youth, to skip oer 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 whom I would nor refuse whom I


dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed


by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,


Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?


Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their


death have good inspirations: therefore the lottery,


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 shall rightly love. But what


warmth is there in your affection towards any of


these princely suitors that are already come?


I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest


them, I will describe them; and, according to my


Ay, thats 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


He doth nothing but frown, as who should say If 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 deaths-head with a bone in his mouth


than to either of these. God defend me from these


How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?


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


Neapolitans, 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


What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron


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 mans 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


What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?


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


How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxonys nephew?


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:


and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall


If he should offer to choose, and choose the right


casket, you should refuse to perform your fathers


will, if you should refuse to accept him.


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 any


thing, Nerissa, ere Ill be married to a sponge.


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 fathers


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 fathers 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


Do you not remember, lady, in your fathers time, a


Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither


in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?


Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.


True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish


eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.


I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of


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.


If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a


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,


upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.


For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.


May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I


Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.


Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?


Oh, 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, water-thieves and land-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


I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,


I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?


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?


[Aside]  How like a fawning publican he looks!


He lends out money gratis and brings down


The rate of usance here with us in Venice.


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,


Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?


Will furnish me. But soft! how many months


Your worship was the last man in our mouths.


Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow


Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,


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


When Jacob grazed his uncle Labans sheep--


As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,


The third possessor; ay, he was the third--


No, not take interest, not, as you would say,


That all the eanlings which were streakd and pied


Should fall as Jacobs hire, the ewes, being rank,


In the end of autumn turned to the rams,


Between these woolly breeders in the act,


The skilful shepherd peeld me certain wands,


He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,


Fall parti-colourd lambs, and those were Jacobs.


This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:


And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.


This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;


A thing not in his power to bring to pass,


But swayd and fashiond by the hand of heaven.


Was this inserted to make interest good?


Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?


The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.


O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!


Three thousand ducats; tis a good round sum.


Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate--


Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?


Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,


For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.


You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,


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


Over your threshold: moneys is your suit


What should I say to you? Should I not say


A cur can lend three thousand ducats? Or


With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;


Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;


You calld me dog; and for these courtesies


To spit 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


Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face


I would be friends with you and have your love,


Forget the shames that you have staind me with,


Supply your present wants and take no doit


Of usance for my moneys, and youll not hear me:


Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,


In such a place, such sum or sums as are


Expressd in the condition, let the forfeit


Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken


Content, i faith: Ill seal to such a bond


And say there is much kindness in the Jew.


You shall not seal to such a bond for me:


Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:


Within these two months, thats a month before


Of thrice three times the value of this bond.


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


Is not so estimable, profitable neither,


As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,


To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:


And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.


Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.


And I will go and purse the ducats straight,


See to my house, left in the fearful guard


The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.


I like not fair terms and a villains mind.


Come on: in this there can be no dismay;


My ships come home a month before the day.


SCENE I. Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO  and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others attending


Bring me the fairest creature northward born,


Where Phoebus fire scarce thaws the icicles,


To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.


Hath feard the valiant: by my love I swear


Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,


Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.


Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:


And hedged 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


Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets


That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince


That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,


I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,


Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,


Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,


Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,


Which is the better man, the greater throw


May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:


Miss that which one unworthier may attain,


Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong


In way of marriage: therefore be advised.


Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.


First, forward to the temple: after dinner


Certainly 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, 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 heavens, 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 honest


mans son, or rather an honest womans son; for,


indeed, my father did something smack, something


grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience


says Launcelot, budge not. Budge, says the


Conscience, say I, you counsel well;  Fiend,


say I, you counsel well: to be ruled by my


conscience, I should 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 ruled by the


fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil


himself. Certainly the Jew 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


Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way


[Aside]  O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!


who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,


knows me not: I will try confusions with him.


Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way


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


By Gods sonties, twill be a hard way to hit. Can


that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?


Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you


No master, sir, but a poor mans son: his father,


though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man


Well, let his father be what a will, we talk of


Your worships friend and Launcelot, sir.


But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,


Of Launcelot, ant please your mastership.


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


Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my


Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or


Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:


but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his


Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.


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 son: give me your blessing: truth will come


to light; murder cannot be hid long; a mans son


Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not


Pray you, lets 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


I know not what I shall think of that: but I am


Launcelot, the Jews man, and I am sure Margery your


Her name is Margery, indeed: Ill be sworn, if thou


be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.


Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou


got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than


It should seem, then, that Dobbins tail grows


backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail


than I have of my face when I last saw him.


Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy


master agree? I have brought him a present. How


Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set


up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I


have run some ground. My masters a very Jew: give


him a present! give him a halter: I am famished 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 Bassanio, who, indeed,


gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, 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 other followers


You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper


be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See


these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,


and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.


Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jews man; that


would, sir, as my father shall specify--


He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve--


Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,


and have a desire, as my father shall specify--


His master and he, saving your worships reverence,


To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having


done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I


hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you--


I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon


In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as


your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,


though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.


That is the very defect of the matter, sir.


I know thee well; thou hast obtaind thy suit:


Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,


And hath preferrd thee, if it be preferment


The old proverb is very well parted between my


master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of


Thou speakst it well. Go, father, with thy son.


Take leave of thy old master and inquire


More guarded than his fellows: see it done.


Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have


neer a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in


Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear


upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to,


heres a simple line of life: heres a small trifle


of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven


widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one


man: and then to scape drowning thrice, and to be


in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;


here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a


woman, shes a good wench for this gear. Father,


come; Ill take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.


I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:


These things being bought and orderly bestowd,


Return in haste, for I do feast to-night


My best-esteemd acquaintance: hie thee, go.


My best endeavours shall be done herein.


You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.


Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano;


Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;


And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;


But where thou art not known, why, there they show


Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain


To allay with some cold drops of modesty


Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior


Talk with respect and swear but now and then,


Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,


Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes


Thus with my hat, and sigh and say amen,


To please his grandam, never trust me more.


Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me


Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends


That purpose merriment. But fare you well:


SCENE III. The same. A room in SHYLOCKS house.


I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:


Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,


Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.


But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:


And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see


And so farewell: I would not have my father


Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful


pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play


the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,


adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my


But though I am a daughter to his blood,


If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,


Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO


We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.


Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly orderd,


Tis now but four oclock: we have two hours


I know the hand: in faith, tis a fair hand;


Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.


Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica


I will not fail her; speak it privately.


Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?


Ay, marry, Ill be gone about it straight.


I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed


How I shall take her from her fathers house,


What gold and jewels she is furnishd with,


If eer the Jew her father come to heaven,


It will be for his gentle daughters sake:


And never dare misfortune cross her foot,


Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:


SCENE V. The same. Before SHYLOCKS house.


Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,


The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:--


What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise,


As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!--


And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;--


Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.


There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?


The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,


Look to my house. I am right loath to go:


There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,


I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect


An they have conspired together, I will not say you


shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not


for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on


Black-Monday last at six oclock i the morning,


falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four


What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:


Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum


And the vile squealing of the wry-neckd fife,


Clamber not you up to the casements then,


Nor thrust your head into the public street


To gaze on Christian fools with varnishd faces,


But stop my houses ears, I mean my casements:


Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter


My sober house. By Jacobs staff, I swear,


I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:


But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;


I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at


window, for all this, There will come a Christian


What says that fool of Hagars offspring, ha?


His words were Farewell mistress; nothing else.


The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;


Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day


More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;


Therefore I part with him, and part with him


To one that would have him help to waste


His borrowd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;


Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,


This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo


And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,


To seal loves bonds new-made, than they are wont


That ever holds: who riseth from a feast


With that keen appetite that he sits down?


Where is the horse that doth untread again


His tedious measures with the unbated fire


That he did pace them first? All things that are,


Are with more spirit chased than enjoyd.


The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,


Huggd and embraced by the strumpet wind!


With over-weatherd ribs and ragged sails,


Lean, rent and beggard by the strumpet wind!


Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.


Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;


Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:


When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,


Ill watch as long for you then. Approach;


Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! whos within?


Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,


Albeit Ill swear that I do know your tongue.


For who love I so much? And now who knows


Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.


Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.


I am glad tis night, you do not look on me,


The pretty follies that themselves commit;


For if they could, Cupid himself would blush


Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.


What, must I hold a candle to my shames?


They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.


For the close night doth play the runaway,


And we are stayd for at Bassanios feast.


I will make fast the doors, and gild myself


With some more ducats, and be with you straight.


And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,


And true she is, as she hath proved herself,


And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,


Shall she be placed in my constant soul.


What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!


Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.


Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?


Tis nine oclock: our friends all stay for you.


No masque to-night: the wind is come about;


Than to be under sail and gone to-night.


SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains


The several caskets to this noble prince.


The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,


Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;


The second, silver, which this promise carries,


Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;


This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,


Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.


How shall I know if I do choose the right?


The one of them contains my picture, prince:


If you choose that, then I am yours withal.


Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;


I will survey the inscriptions back again.


Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead?


This casket threatens. Men that hazard all


A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;


Ill then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.


What says the silver with her virgin hue?


Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.


As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,


Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough


As much as I deserve! Why, thats the lady:


I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,


But more than these, in love I do deserve.


What if I strayd no further, but chose here?


Lets see once more this saying graved in gold


Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.


Why, thats the lady; all the world desires her;


From the four corners of the earth they come,


To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:


The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds


The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head


To stop the foreign spirits, but they come,


One of these three contains her heavenly picture.


Ist like that lead contains her? Twere damnation


To think so base a thought: it were too gross


To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.


Or shall I think in silver shes immured,


Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?


Was set in worse than gold. They have in England


A coin that bears the figure of an angel


Stamped in gold, but thats insculpd upon;


Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!


There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,


There is a written scroll! Ill read the writing.


Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!


Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart


To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.


Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets


A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.


And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.


The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,


Who went with him to search Bassanios ship.


He came too late, the ship was under sail:


But there the duke was given to understand


They were not with Bassanio in his ship.


So strange, outrageous, and so variable,


As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:


My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!


Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!


Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!


A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,


Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter!


And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,


Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;


She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.


Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.


Who told me, in the narrow seas that part


The French and English, there miscarried


And wishd in silence that it were not his.


You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;


Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.


A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.


Bassanio told him he would make some speed


Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio


And for the Jews bond which he hath of me,


Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts


To courtship and such fair ostents of love


And even there, his eye being big with tears,


Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,


He wrung Bassanios hand; and so they parted.


I think he only loves the world for him.


SCENE IX. Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:


The Prince of Arragon hath taen his oath,


Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their trains


Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:


If you choose that wherein I am containd,


Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:


But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,


You must be gone from hence immediately.


I am enjoind by oath to observe three things:


Which casket twas I chose; next, if I fail


To woo a maid in way of marriage: Lastly,


To these injunctions every one doth swear


That comes to hazard for my worthless self.


To my hearts 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,


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


Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume


Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour


Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!


How many then should cover that stand bare!


How much low peasantry would then be gleand


From the true seed of honour! and how much honour


Pickd from the chaff and ruin of the times


To be new-varnishd! 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,


Too long a pause for that which you find there.


Whats here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,


Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.


How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!


Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.


Did I deserve no more than a fools head?


Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?


To offend, and judge, are distinct offices


O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,


They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.


From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,


To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,


Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen


As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.


Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,


Thou spendst such high-day wit in praising him.


Quick Cupids post that comes so mannerly.


Why, yet it lives there uncheckd that Antonio hath


a ship of rich lading wrecked 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


I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever


knapped 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


Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath


I would it might prove the end of his losses.


Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my


prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.


How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?


You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my


Thats certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor


And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was


fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all


Thats certain, if the devil may be her judge.


Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?


I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.


There is more difference between thy flesh and hers


than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods


than there is between red wine and rhenish. But


tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any


There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a


prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the


Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon


the mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont to


call me usurer; let him look to his bond: he was


wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him


Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take


To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,


it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and


hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,


mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my


bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine


enemies; and whats his reason? I am a Jew. Hath


not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,


dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with


the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject


to the same diseases, healed by the same means,


warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as


a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?


if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison


us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not


revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will


resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,


what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian


wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by


Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you


teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I


Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and


Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be


matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.


How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou


I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.


Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,


cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse


never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it


till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other


precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter


were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!


would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in


her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I know


not whats spent in the search: why, thou loss upon


loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to


find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:


nor no in luck stirring but what lights on my


shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears


Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I


Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.


I thank God, I thank God. Ist true, ist true?


I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.


I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!


Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one


Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my


gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!


There came divers of Antonios creditors in my


company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.


I am very glad of it: Ill plague him; Ill torture


One of them showed me a ring that he had of your


Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my


turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:


I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.


Nay, thats true, thats very true. Go, Tubal, fee


me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I


will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were


he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I


will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;


go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.


SCENE II. Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and Attendants


Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,


I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.


Theres something tells me, but it is not love,


I would not lose you; and you know yourself,


But lest you should not understand me well,--


And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,--


I would detain you here some month or two


Before you venture for me. I could teach you


How to choose right, but I am then forsworn;


But if you do, youll make me wish a sin,


That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,


One half of me is yours, the other half yours,


Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,


And so all yours. O, these naughty times


Put bars between the owners and their rights!


And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,


I speak too long; but tis to peize the time,


What treason there is mingled with your love.


Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:


Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.


Promise me life, and Ill confess the truth.


But let me to my fortune and the caskets.


If you do love me, you will find me out.


Let music sound while he doth make his choice;


Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,


May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream


And watery death-bed for him. He may win;


Even as the flourish when true subjects bow


As are those dulcet sounds in break of day


That creep into the dreaming bridegrooms ear,


And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,


With no less presence, but with much more love,


To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice


With bleared visages, come forth to view


Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay


I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.


Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself


So may the outward shows be least themselves:


The world is still deceived with ornament.


In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,


But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,


Will bless it and approve it with a text,


Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?


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 searchd, have livers white as milk;


To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,


And you shall see tis purchased by the weight;


Which therein works a miracle in nature,


Making them lightest that wear most of it:


Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,


The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.


To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf


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 threatenest than dost promise aught,


Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;


And here choose I; joy be the consequence!


[Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,


As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,


And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,


In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.


I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,


Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?


Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,


Seem they in motion? Here are severd 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 unfurnishd. Yet look, how far


The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow


Doth limp behind the substance. Heres the scroll,


The continent and summary of my fortune.


A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;


That thinks he hath done well in peoples eyes,


Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt


Whether these pearls of praise be his or no;


You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,


To wish myself much better; yet, for you


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


That only to stand high in your account,


I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,


Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,


Is an unlessond girl, unschoold, unpractised;


She is not bred so dull but she can learn;


Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit


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 oer 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,


Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;


And there is such confusion in my powers,


Where every something, being blent together,


Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,


Expressd and not expressd. But when this ring


Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:


That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,


To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!


I wish you all the joy that you can wish;


For I am sure you can wish none from me:


The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,


With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.


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;


No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.


Your fortune stood upon the casket there,


And so did mine too, as the matter falls;


With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,


To have her love, provided that your fortune


Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.


Our feast shall be much honourd in your marriage.


Well play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.


No; we shall neer win at that sport, and stake down.


But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What,


Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice


If that the youth of my new interest here


Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,


I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,


My purpose was not to have seen you here;


And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio


I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.


Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;


Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there


Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.


Your hand, Salerio: whats the news from Venice?


How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?


We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.


I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.


There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,


That steals the colour from Bassanios cheek:


Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world


Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!


With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,


And I must freely have the half of anything


Here are a few of the unpleasantst words


And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,


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,


To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;


Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?


Have all his ventures faild? What, not one hit?


And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch


Besides, it should appear, that if he had


A creature, that did bear the shape of 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,


Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;


But none can drive him from the envious plea


When I was with him I have heard him swear


That he would rather have Antonios flesh


That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,


Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?


The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,


The best-conditiond and unwearied spirit


Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;


Double six thousand, and then treble that,


Shall lose a hair through Bassanios fault.


First go with me to church and call me wife,


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.


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.


[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


debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but


see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your


pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,


O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!


Since I have your good leave to go away,


I will make haste: but, till I come again,


Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler


Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;


This is the fool that lent out money gratis:


Ill have my bond; speak not against my bond:


I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.


Thou calldst me dog before thou hadst a cause;


The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,


Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond


Ill have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:


Ill have my bond; and therefore speak no more.


Ill not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,


To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield


Ill have no speaking: I will have my bond.


Ill follow him no more with bootless prayers.


He seeks my life; his reason well I know:


Many that have at times made moan to me;


Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.


Will much impeach the justice of his 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 pound of flesh


Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come


To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!


SCENE IV. Belmont. A room in PORTIAS house.


Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR


Madam, although I speak it in your presence,


Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly


In bearing thus the absence of your lord.


But if you  knew to whom you show this honour,


How dear a lover of my lord your husband,


That do converse and waste the time together,


Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,


Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;


Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,


This comes too near the praising of myself;


Therefore no more of it: hear other things.


Until my lords return: for mine own part,


I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow


And there will we abide. I do desire you


And so farewell, till we shall meet again.


Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!


I wish your ladyship all hearts content.


I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased


To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.


So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,


And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,


Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed


Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,


But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.


That you yet know not of: well see our husbands


They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,


That they shall think we are accomplished


With that we lack. Ill hold thee any wager,


When we are both accoutred like young men,


Ill 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


Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies,


Which I denying, they fell sick and died;


And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;


That men shall swear I have discontinued school


Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind


A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,


But come, Ill 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.


Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father


are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I


promise ye, 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 damned. There is but one hope in it that can do


you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard


Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you


not, that you are not the Jews daughter.


That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the


sins of my mother should be visited upon me.


Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and


mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I


fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are


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


Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians


enow before; een as many as could well live, one by


another. This making 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.


Ill tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.


I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if


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 Jews daughter: and he


says, you are no good member of the commonwealth,


for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the


I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than


you can the getting up of the negros belly: the


It is much that the Moor should be more than reason:


but if she be less than an honest woman, she is


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.


That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.


Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid


That is done too, sir; only cover is the word.


Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show


the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray


tree, 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.


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


O dear discretion, how his words are suited!


A many fools, that stand in better place,


Garnishd like him, that for a tricksy word


Defy the matter. How cheerest thou, Jessica?


How dost thou like the Lord Bassanios wife?


For, having such a blessing in his lady,


He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;


In reason he should never come to heaven


Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match


And Portia one, there must be something else


Pawnd with the other, for the poor rude world


I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.


Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.


No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;


Then, howsoer thou speakst, mong other things


Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others


I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer


Your grace hath taen great pains to qualify


His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate


Go one, and call the Jew into the court.


He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.


Make room, and let him stand before our face.


Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,


That thou but leadst this fashion of thy malice


To the last hour of act; and then tis thought


Thoult show thy mercy and remorse more strange


Which is a pound of this poor merchants flesh,


Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,


But, touchd with human gentleness and love,


That have of late so huddled on his back,


From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,


From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never traind


I have possessd your grace of what I purpose;


Upon your charter and your citys freedom.


Youll ask me, why I rather choose to have


A weight of carrion flesh than to receive


Three thousand ducats: Ill not answer that:


But, say, it is my humour: is it answerd?


And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats


To have it baned? What, are you answerd yet?


Some men there are love not a gaping pig;


Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;


And others, when the bagpipe sings i the nose,


Cannot contain their urine: for affection,


Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood


Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:


As there is no firm reason to be renderd,


So can I give no reason, nor I will not,


More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing


A losing suit against him. Are you answerd?


I am not bound to please thee with my answers.


Do all men kill the things they do not love?


Hates any man the thing he would not kill?


What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?


I pray you, think you question with the Jew:


And bid the main flood bate his usual height;


You may as well use question with the wolf


Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;


You may as well forbid the mountain pines


To wag their high tops and to make no noise,


When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;


As seek to soften that--than which whats harder?--


His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,


Make no more offers, use no farther means,


But with all brief and plain conveniency


Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.


For thy three thousand ducats here is six.


Were in six parts and every part a ducat,


I would not draw them; I would have my bond.


How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?


What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?


You have among you many a purchased slave,


Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,


Because you bought them: shall I say to you,


Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?


Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds


Be made as soft as yours and let their palates


Be seasond with such viands? You will answer


The slaves are ours: so do I answer you:


The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,


Is dearly bought; tis mine and I will have it.


There is no force in the decrees of Venice.


I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?


A messenger with letters from the doctor,


Bring us the letter; call the messenger.


Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!


The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,


Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.


Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit


Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me


Than to live still and write mine epitaph.


Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyers clerk


From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.


Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?


To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.


Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,


Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,


No, not the hangmans axe, bear half the keenness


Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?


No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.


And for thy life let justice be accused.


Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit


Governd a wolf, who, hangd for human slaughter,


Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,


And, whilst thou layst in thy unhallowd dam,


Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.


Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,


Thou but offendst thy lungs to speak so loud:


Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall


A young and learned doctor to our court.


To know your answer, whether youll admit him.


With all my heart. Some three or four of you


Go give him courteous conduct to this place.


Meantime the court shall hear Bellarios letter.


Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of


your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that


your messenger came, in loving visitation was with


me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I


acquainted him with the cause in controversy between


the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned oer


many books together: he is furnished with my


opinion; which, bettered with his own learning, the


greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes


with him, at my importunity, to fill up your graces


request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of


years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend


estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so


old a head. I leave him to your gracious


acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his


You hear the learnd Bellario, what he writes:


And here, I take it, is the doctor come.


Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws


Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?


That holds this present question in the court?


Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?


Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.


Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;


You stand within his danger, do you not?


On what compulsion must I? tell me that.


It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven


Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;


It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:


Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes


The throned monarch better than his crown;


His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,


Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;


And earthly power doth then show likest Gods


When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,


Though justice be thy plea, consider this,


That, in the course of justice, none of us


Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;


And that same prayer doth teach us all to render


The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much


Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice


Must needs give sentence gainst the merchant there.


Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;


Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,


I will be bound to pay it ten times oer,


On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:


If this will not suffice, it must appear


That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,


It must not be; there is no power in Venice


A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!


O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!


Here tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.


Shylock, theres thrice thy money offerd thee.


An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:


Nearest the merchants heart. Be merciful:


Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.


Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,


Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,


You must prepare your bosom for his knife.


Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!


How much more elder art thou than thy looks!


So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?


Nearest his heart: those are the very words.


It is so. Are there balance here to weigh


Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,


To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.


It is not so expressd: but what of that?


You, merchant, have you any thing to say?


But little: I am armd and well prepared.


Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!


Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;


For herein Fortune shows herself more kind


To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,


To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow


An age of poverty; from which lingering penance


Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;


And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge


Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,


And he repents not that he pays your debt;


But life itself, my wife, and all the world,


I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all


Your wife would give you little thanks for that,


If she were by, to hear you make the offer.


I would she were in heaven, so she could


Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.


The wish would make else an unquiet house.


These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;


Had been her husband rather than a Christian!


We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.


A pound of that same merchants flesh is thine:


The court awards it, and the law doth give it.


And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:


The law allows it, and the court awards it.


Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!


Tarry a little; there is something else.


This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;


The words expressly are a pound of flesh:


Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;


But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed


One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods


O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!


Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.


O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!


I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice


The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:


O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!


Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.


Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more


But just a pound of flesh: if thou cutst more


Or less than a just pound, be it but so much


As makes it light or heavy in the substance,


Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn


Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.


Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.


He shall have merely justice and his bond.


I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.


Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,


Why, then the devil give him good of it!


The party gainst the which he doth contrive


Shall seize one half his goods; the other half


And the offenders life lies in the mercy


Of the duke only, gainst all other voice.


In which predicament, I say, thou standst;


Thou hast contrived against the very life


Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.


Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:


And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,


Therefore thou must be hangd at the states charge.


That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,


I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:


The other half comes to the general state,


Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:


You take my house when you do take the prop


That doth sustain my house; you take my life


When you do take the means whereby I live.


A halter gratis; nothing else, for Gods sake.


So please my lord the duke and all the court


To quit the fine for one half of his goods,


Two things provided more, that, for this favour,


Here in the court, of all he dies possessd,


Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?


I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;


In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:


Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,


To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.


Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.


I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:


I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.


For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.


Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted


Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,


We freely cope your courteous pains withal.


And therein do account myself well paid:


I wish you well, and so I take my leave.


Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further:


Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,


Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,


You press me far, and therefore I will yield.


Give me your gloves, Ill wear them for your sake;


And, for your love, Ill take this ring from you:


Do not draw back your hand; Ill take no more;


This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!


I will not shame myself to give you this.


Theres more depends on this than on the value.


The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,


You taught me first to beg; and now methinks


You teach me how a beggar should be answerd.


Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;


That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.


That scuse serves many men to save their gifts.


And know how well I have deserved the ring,


For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!


My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:


Be valued against your wifes commandment.


Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,


Inquire the Jews house out, give him this deed


This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.


Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat


And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,


I pray you, show my youth old Shylocks house.


Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.


[Aside to NERISSA]  Thou mayst, I warrant.


That they did give the rings away to men;


But well outface them, and outswear them too.


Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.


Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?


SCENE I. Belmont. Avenue to PORTIAS house.


The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,


When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees


And they did make no noise, in such a night


Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls


And sighd his soul toward the Grecian tents,


Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love


And with an unthrift love did run from Venice


Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,


Stealing her soul with many vows of faith


Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,


Slander her love, and he forgave it her.


I would out-night you, did no body come;


Who comes so fast in silence of the night?


A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?


My mistress will before the break of day


Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about


By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays


He is not, nor we have not heard from him.


Some welcome for the mistress of the house.


Tell him theres a post come from my master, with


his horn full of good news: my master will be here


Sweet soul, lets in, and there expect their coming.


My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,


Within the house, your mistress is at hand;


And bring your music forth into the air.


How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!


Here will we sit and let the sounds of music


Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night


Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven


Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:


Theres not the smallest orb which thou beholdst


Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;


Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.


With sweetest touches pierce your mistress ear,


I am never merry when I hear sweet music.


The reason is, your spirits are attentive:


Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,


Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,


Which is the hot condition of their blood;