BELL DINGS RHYTHMICALLY
ORCHESTRA PLAYS TENSE MUSIC
ANTONIO: In sooth...
..I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me.
You say it wearies you, but...
..how I caught it,
found it, or came by it...
..what stuff 'tis made of,
whereof it is born...
..I am to learn...
..and such a want-wit sadness makes
of me...
..that I have much
ado to know myself.
SALARINO:
Your mind is tossing on the ocean.
There, where your argosies with
portly sail, like signiors
and rich burghers on the flood,
do overpeer the petty traffickers,
which curtsy to them, do them
reverence, as they fly by them
with their woven wings.
SALANIO: Believe me, sir, had I such
venture forth,
the better part of my affections
would 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 Misfortune to my ventures,
out of doubt would make me sad.
My wind cooling my broth would
blow me to an ague,
when I thought what harm a wind too
great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy
hour-glass run,
but I should think of shallows and
of flats,
and see my wealthy Andrew docked in
sand,
vailing her high-top lower than her
ribs to kiss her burial.
Should I go to church and see the
holy edifice of stone,
and not bethink me straight of
dangerous rocks,
which touching but my gentle
vessel's 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?
But tell not me; I know, Antonio is
sad to think upon his merchandise.
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 upon the
fortune of this present year,
therefore my merchandise makes me
not sad.
Why, then you are in love.
SALANIO GASPS
Fie, fie!
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.
Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
kinsman. Gratiano and Lorenzo.
Fare ye well, we leave you now
with better company.
I would have stayed till
I had made you merry,
if worthier friends had not
prevented me.
Your worth is very
dear in my regard.
I take it your own business calls
on you
and you embrace the occasion
to depart.
Good morrow. My good lords.
BASSANIO: Good signiors both, when
shall we laugh? Say, when?
You grow exceeding strange.
Must it be so?
We'll make our leisures to
attend on yours.
LORENZO: 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?
I will not fail you.
GRATIANO: You look not well,
Signior Antonio.
You have too much respect upon the
world.
They lose it that do buy it with
much care.
Believe me,
you are marvellously changed.
AUDIENCE CHUCKLES
I hold the world but as the world,
Gratiano.
A stage where every man must play
a part and mine a sad one.
Let me play the fool.
With mirth and laughter let old
wrinkles come
and let my liver rather heat with
wine,
than my heart cool with
mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is
warm within,
sit like his grandsire
cut in alabaster?
I'm sorry.
AUDIENCE LAUGHS
I tell thee what, Antonio.
I love thee,
and it is my love that speaks.
There are a sort of men whose
visages
do cream
and mantle like a standing pond,
and do a wilful stillness entertain,
with purpose to be dressed in an
opinion of wisdom, gravity,
profound conceit, as who should say,
"I am Sir Oracle, and when I open
my lips, let no dog bark!"
Oh, my Antonio, I do know of these
that therefore only are reputed wise
for saying nothing.
I'll tell thee more of this another
time,
but fish not with this melancholy
bait,
for this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well
awhile.
I'll end my exhortation
after dinner.
LORENZO: Well, we will leave you,
then, till dinner-time.
I must be one of these same
dumb wise men,
for Gratiano never lets me speak.
Well, keep me company but two years
more,
thou shalt not know
the sound of thine own tongue.
ANTONIO: Fare ye well.
I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Thanks, in faith, for silence is
only commendable
in a neat's tongue dried
and a maid not vendible.
ANTONIO CHUCKLES
Is that anything now?
BASSANIO: Gratiano speaks an
infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice.
His reasons are 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.
Well, tell me now,
what lady is the same to whom you
swore a secret pilgrimage,
that you today promised
to tell me of?
It is not unknown to you, Antonio,
how much I have disabled mine
estate,
by something showing a more swelling
port
than my faint means would grant
continuance.
Nor do I now make moan to be
abridged from such a noble rate,
but my chief care is to come fairly
off from the great debts
wherein my time something too
prodigal hath left me gauged.
To you, Antonio, I owe the most,
in money and in love,
and from your love I have a
warranty to unburden all my plots
and purposes 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,
within the eye of honour, be
assured, my purse,
my person, my extremist means,
lie all unlocked to your occasions.
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, because
what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much,
and like a wilful youth,
that which I owe is lost, but
if you please to shoot another arrow
the self way which you did shoot
the first,
I do not doubt,
as I will watch the aim,
or to find both or bring your latter
hazard back again
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
in making question of my uttermost
than if you had made waste of all I
have,
then do but say to me what I should
do that in your knowledge
may by me be done, and I am pressed
unto it.
Therefore, speak.
In Belmont is a lady richly left.
And she is fair, and fairer than
that word, of wondrous virtues,
sometimes from her eyes I did
receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia,
nothing undervalued to Cato's
daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant
of her worth,
for the four winds blow in from
every coast renowned suitors,
and many Jasons come in quest of
her.
Oh, my Antonio...
..had I but the means to hold a
rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such
thrift,
that I should questionless be
fortunate!
Thou know'st that
all my fortunes are at sea.
Neither have I money nor commodity
to raise a present sum, therefore
go forth...
..try what my credit can in Venice
do.
That shall be racked, even to the
uttermost,
to furnish thee to Belmont, to fair
Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will
I,
where money is,
and I no question make to have
it of my trust or for my sake.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS OMINOUS DRONE
PORTIA: By my troth, Nerissa,
my little body is
aweary of this great world.
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.
Good sentences and well pronounced.
They would be better,
if well followed.
If to do were as easy as to know
what were good to do,
chapels had been churches and poor
men's cottages princes' palaces.
It is a good divine that
follows his own instructions.
I can easier teach 20 what were
good to be done,
than be 1 of the 20 to follow mine
own teaching.
The brain may devise
laws for the blood,
but a hot temper leaps over
a cold decree.
But this reason is not in
fashion to choose me a husband.
Oh, 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 you shall rightly love.
BOTH: Yeah.
CROWD CHUCKLES
But what warmth is there in your
affection
toward 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 description,
level at my affection.
First, there is
the Neapolitan prince.
He doth nothing
but talk of his horse.
I am much afraid, my lady, his
mother played false with a smith.
Then is there the County Palatine.
I had rather to be married to a
death's-head
with a bone in his mouth.
How say you by the French lord,
Monsieur Le Bon?
God made him, and therefore let him
pass for a man.
How like you the young German,
the Duke of Saxony's nephew?
Very vilely in the morning,
when he is sober
and most vilely in the afternoon,
when he is drunk.
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 I will be married to a sponge.
You need not fear, lady,
the having of 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 father's imposition
depending on the caskets.
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 father's 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 wish them a fair departure.
Do you not remember, lady,
in your father's 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, so was he called.
Ugh! 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 thy praise.
The four strangers seek 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 tonight.
If I could bid the fifth welcome
with so good heart
as I can bid the other four
farewell,
I should be glad of his approach.
Come, Nerissa. Go before.
Whilst we shut the gate upon one
wooer, another knocks at the door.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS OMINOUS MUSIC
SHYLOCK: 3,000 ducats?
Well...?
BASSANIO: Aye,
sir, for three months.
For three months? Well...
For the which, as I told you,
Antonio shall be bound.
Antonio shall become bound. Well...
May you stead me?
Will you pleasure
me?
Shall I know your answer?
3,000 ducats for three
months and Antonio bound.
Your answer to that?
Antonio is a good man.
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.
True.
He hath an argosy bound to Tripoli,
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.
3,000 ducats, I think
I may take his bond.
Be assured, you may.
I will be assured I may and, that
I may be assured, I will bethink me.
May I speak with Antonio?
If it please you, dine with us.
Yes, to smell pork.
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. No.
What news on the Rialto?
Who is he comes here?
This is Signior Antonio.
How like a fawning publican
he looks!
I hate him...
CROWD LAUGHS
..for that in low simplicity he
lends out money gratis
and brings down the rate of usance
here with us in Venice.
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.
Shylock, do you hear?
I am debating of my present store
and, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the
gross of full 3,000 ducats.
What of that? Tubal, a wealthy
Hebrew of my tribe, will furnish me.
But soft!
How many months do you desire?
Rest you fair, good signior,
your worship was the last
man in our mouths.
ANTONIO: Shylock,
albeit I neither lend nor borrow by
taking nor by giving of excess,
yet, to supply the ripe wants of my
friend, I'll break a custom.
Is he yet possessed how
much ye would?
Aye, aye, 3,000 ducats.
And for three months?
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
upon advantage.
I do never use it.
When Jacob grazed his uncle
Laban's sheep,
this Jacob from our holy
Abram was...
And what of him?
Did he take interest?
No, not take interest.
Not, as you would say, directly
interest.
Mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were
compromised
that all the new lambs which were
streaked and pied
should fall as Jacob's hire, the
ewes, being rank,
in the end of autumn turned to the
rams,
and when the work of generation was
between these woolly breeders
in the rank, the skilful shepherd...
..built him certain shoots and stuck
them up before the lusty ewes,
who then conceiving did in eaning
time fall parti-coloured lambs
and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive,
and he was blessed.
And thrift is blessing,
if men steal it not.
Was this inserted to make
interest good?!
Or is your gold
and silver ewes and rams?
I cannot tell, I make it breed as
fast. But note me, signior.
Mark you this, Bassanio, mark you
this...
The devil can cite Scripture for his
purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
is like a villain with a smiling
cheek.
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
Oh, what a goodly outside
falsehood hath!
3,000 ducats, it is a good round
sum.
3 months from 12, then,
let me see the rate...
Well, Shylock,
shall we be beholding to you?
Signior Antonio,
many a time, and oft in the Rialto,
you have rated me about my moneys
and my usances.
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 spit upon my Jewish gabardine
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
and foot me as you spurn a stranger
cur over your threshold.
Moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you?
Should I not say,
"Hath a dog money? Is it possible a
cur should lend 3,000 ducats?"
Or shall I bend low?
And in a beggar's key, with bated
breath and whispering humbleness,
say this; "Fair sir, you spat on me
on Wednesday last,
"you spurned me such a day, another
time you called me dog,
"and for these courtesies I'll lend
you thus much moneys?"
I am as like to call thee so again,
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 a breed
for barren metal of his friend?
But lend it rather to thine enemy?
ANTONIO SPITS
Ugh.
SPITS AGAIN
Who, if he break, thou mayst with
better face exact the penalties.
Agh!
Why...
..look you, how you storm!
I would be friends with you and have
your love,
forget the shames that
you have stained me with,
supply your present wants and take
no piece of interest of my moneys
and you'll not hear me.
This is kind I offer.
This were kindness.
This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary,
seal me there your single bond
and, in a merry sport, if you repay
me not on such a day,
in such a place, such sum or sums as
are expressed in the condition,
let the forfeit be nominated for an
equal pound of your fair flesh,
to be cut off and taken in what
part of your body it pleaseth me.
Content, in faith, I'll seal to such
a bond
and say there is much
kindness in the Jew.
You shall not seal to such
a bond for me.
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
Why, fear not, man,
I will not forfeit it.
Within these two months, that's a
month before this bond expires,
I do expect return of thrice three
times the value of this bond.
Oh, 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
by the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh taken
from a man is not so estimable,
profitable neither, as flesh
of muttons, beefs, or goats.
I say, to buy his favour,
I extend this friendship.
If he will take it, so. If not,
adieu.
And, for my love,
I pray you wrong me not.
Yes, Shylock, I will seal
unto this bond.
Then meet me forthwith at the
notary's,
give him direction for this merry
bond,
and I will go
and purse the ducats straight.
Hie thee, gentle Jew.
This Hebrew will turn Christian.
He grows kind.
I like not fair terms
and a villain's mind.
Oh, come on!
In this there can be no dismay.
My ships come home
a month before the day.
OMINOUS CHORAL MUSIC PLAYS
PRINCE OF MOROCCO: Mislike me not
for my complexion,
the shadowed livery of the burnished
sun,
to whom I am a neighbour and near
bred.
Bring me the fairest creature
northward born,
where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the
icicles
and let us make incision for your
love,
to prove whose blood is reddest, his
or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of
mine hath feared the valiant.
By my love I swear the best-regarded
virgins of our clime
have loved it too.
I would not change this hue...
..except to steal your thoughts,
my gentle queen.
In terms of choice,
I am not solely led by nice
direction of a maiden's eyes.
But if my father had not scanted me
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 as any comer I
have looked on yet for my affection.
Even for that I thank you.
Therefore, I pray you, lead me
to the caskets to try my fortune.
You must take your chance,
and either not attempt to choose at
all or swear before you choose,
if you choose wrong,
never to speak to lady afterward in
way of marriage,
therefore be advised...
Nor will not.
Come, bring me unto my chance.
After dinner your hazard
shall be made.
Good fortune, then! To make me
blessed...
..or cursed among men.
LAUNCELOT: Oh, come on.
Goodness' sake.
HE TUTS
HE CHUCKLES
VOCALISES HIGH PITCHED TUNE
HE CHUCKLES
Certainly, my conscience will serve
me to run from this Jew, my master.
CROWD LAUGHS
The fiend is at mine elbow...
CROWD LAUGHS
..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 man's son,
"or rather an honest woman's 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 fiend.
"Budge not," says my conscience.
"Conscience," say I, "you counsel
well."
"Fiend," say I...
"..you counsel well."
CROWD CHUCKLES
GOBBO SIGHS
CROWD LAUGHS
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.
Hm?
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 at your commandment. I will run.
Ah, rare fortune,
here comes Master Bassanio,
who, indeed, gives rare new
liveries.
If I serve not him, I will run as
far as God has any ground.
To him, for I am a Jew, if I serve
the Jew any longer. Come on!
BASSANIO: You may do so, but let it
be so hasted that supper be ready
at the farthest by five of the
clock.
And see these letters delivered.
God bless your worship!
Gramercy!
Wouldst thou aught with me?
I have a great infection, sir...
..as one would say, to serve...
Indeed. What would you?
Serve you, sir.
That is the very
defect of the matter, sir.
Thou hast obtained thy suit. Go.
Take leave of thy old master
and inquire my lodging out.
Give him a livery more tricked
out than his fellows.
See it done.
And good Leonardo, think on this...
Well, if fortune be a woman,
she's a good wench for this gear.
These things being bought...
I'll take my leave of the Jew
in the twinkling.
..orderly bestowed, return in haste,
for I do feast tonight,
my best-esteemed acquaintance.
Hie thee, go, go, go.
LEONARDO: My best endeavours
shall be done herein.
GRATIANO: Where is your master?
Yonder, sir, he walks.
Signior Bassanio! Gratiano!
I have a suit to you. You have
obtained it.
You must not deny me,
I must go with you to Belmont.
Why then you must.
HE SHRIEKS IN HAPPINESS
But hear thee, Gratiano,
thou art too wild, too rude and bold
of voice,
parts that become thee happily
enough and in such eyes as ours
appear not faults, But where they
Are not known, why,
there they show something too
liberal.
Pray you, take pain to allay with
some cold drops of modesty
thy skipping spirit, lest through
thy wild behaviour
I be misconstrued in the place I go
to
and lose my hopes.
Signior Bassanio, hear me.
If I do not put on a sober habit,
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."
Use all the observance of civility,
like one well-studied in a sad
ostent to please his grandam,
never trust me more.
Well, we shall see your bearing.
Nay, but I bar tonight. You shall
not gauge me by what we do tonight.
No, that were pity.
I would entreat you rather to put on
your boldest suit of mirth,
for we have friends that
purpose merriment.
But fare you well. I have some
business.
And I must tell Lorenzo
and the rest.
But we will visit you at
supper-time.
I am sorry thou would 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
payment for thee.
And, Launcelot?
Launcelot?
Soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo,
who is thy new master's guest.
Give him this letter.
Do it secretly.
And so farewell!
I would not have my father see me
in talk with thee.
A-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, er, adieu.
These foolish drops do somewhat
drown my manly spirit.
Adieu.
Farewell, good Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
to be ashamed to be my father's
child?
But though I am a daughter to his
blood, I am not to his manners.
Oh, Lorenzo!
If thou keep promise, I shall end
this strife,
become a Christian and thy loving
wife.
Nay, we will slink away at
supper-time,
disguise us at my lodging
and return -
all in an hour.
We have not made good preparation.
We have not spoke us yet of
torchbearers.
Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly
ordered,
And better in my mind not undertook.
Tis now but four o'clock. We have
two hours to furnish us.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news?
Ooh.
And it shall please you
to break up this,
shall it seem to signify.
I know the hand.
In faith, tis a fair hand.
And whiter than the paper it
writ on
is the fair hand that writ.
Love-news, in faith.
By your leave, sir.
Whither goest thou?
Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
Jew to sup tonight
with my new master
the Christian.
Well, hold here. Take this.
Tell gentle Jessica I will not
fail her.
Speak it privately.
Go!
Gentlemen,
will you prepare you for this masque
tonight?
I'm provided of a torchbearer.
Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it
straight.
So will I.
Meet me and Gratiano at Gratiano's
lodging some hour hence.
Tis good we do so.
Was not that letter from fair
Jessica?
I must needs tell thee all.
She hath directed how I shall take
her from her father's house,
what gold and jewels she is
furnished with,
what page's suit she hath in
readiness.
If ever the Jew her father
come to heaven,
it'll be for his gentle
daughter's sake.
Come, go with me. And peruse this as
thou goest.
Fair Jessica shall be my
torchbearer!
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.
Why, Jessica, I say?
Why, Jessica!
Who bids thee call? I do not bid
thee call.
Your worship was wont to tell me I
could do nothing
without your bidding.
Call you? What is your will?
I'm bid forth to supper, Jessica.
But wherefore should I go?
I'm not bid for love.
They flatter me.
But yet I'll go in hate.
Jessica, my girl. Look to my house.
I am right loath to go.
I beseech you, sir, go!
My young master doth expect
your reproach.
So do I his.
And they have conspired together.
I will not say you shall see
a masque, but, if you do,
it was not for nothing that my nose
fell a-bleeding
on Black Monday last at six o'clock
in the morning.
What, are there masques?
Hear you me, Jessica!
Lock up my doors,
and, when you hear the drum, clamber
not you up to the casements
to gaze on Christian fools with
varnished faces.
But stop my house's ears - I mean,
my casements.
Let not the sound of shallow foppery
enter my sober house!
By Jacob's staff, I swear, I have no
mind of feasting forth tonight.
But I will go.
Go you before me, sirrah.
Say I will come.
I will go before, sir.
Mistress, look out at window,
for all this,
there will come a Christian boy -
will be worth a Jewess' eye.
What says that fool, huh?
His words were "Farewell mistress,"
nothing else.
The patch is kind enough,
but a huge feeder.
Well, Jessica, go in.
Perhaps I will return immediately.
Do as I bid you -
shut doors after you.
Fast bind, fast find.
Fast bind, fast find.
A proverb never stale in thrifty
mind.
Farewell. And, if my fortune be not
crost,
I have a father, you a daughter,
lost.
CHANTING
This is the penthouse under which
Lorenzo
desired us to make a stand.
His hour is almost past.
And it is marvel he out-dwells his
hour,
for lovers ever run before the
clock.
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,
I'll watch as long for you then.
Approach!
Here dwells my father Jew.
Ho! Who's within?
Who are you?
Tell me, for more certainty,
albeit I'll swear that I do know
your tongue.
Lorenzo, and thy love.
Lorenzo, certain, and my love
indeed.
For who love I so much?
And now who knows but you, Lorenzo,
whether I am yours?
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, for I am much
ashamed of my exchange.
But love is blind and lovers cannot
see the pretty follies
that themselves commit.
For if they could, Cupid himself
would blush
to see me thus transformed to a boy.
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.
Why, tis an office of discovery,
love,
and I should be obscured.
So are you, sweet. Even in the
lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once,
for the close night doth play the
runaway
and we are stayed for at Bassanio's
feast.
I will make fast the doors,
and gild myself with some more
ducats,
and be with you straight.
THEY LAUGH
Now, by my hood, a gentile and
no Jew.
Beshrew me but I love her
heartily,
for she is wise, if I can judge of
her,
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.
Who's there?
Antonio?
Fie, fie, Gratiano!
Where are all the rest?
Tis nine o'clock!
Our friends all stay for you.
No masque tonight.
The wind is come about - Bassanio
presently will go aboard!
I have sent twenty out to seek
for you.
I am glad on it!
I desire no more delight than to be
under sail and gone tonight.
PORTIA: Go, discover The several
caskets to this noble prince.
SINGING
Now make your choice.
The first, of gold, who this
inscription bears.
"Who chooseth me shall gain what
many men desire."
And then the 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.
What says this leaden casket?
"Who chooseth me must give
and hazard all he hath."
Must give? For what? For lead?
Hazard for lead?
This casket threatens.
Men that hazard all do it in hope of
fair advantages.
And a golden mind stoops not to
shows of dross,
I'll 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,
and weigh thy value with an
even hand.
If thou be rated by thy estimation,
thou dost deserve enough -
and yet enough may not extend so far
as to the lady.
And yet, to be afeard of my
deserving
were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve?
Why, that's the lady!
I do in birth deserve her.
And in fortunes, in graces and in
qualities of breeding.
But, more than these, in love I do
deserve.
What if I strayed no further
but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying
graved in gold.
"Who chooseth me shall gain what
many men desire."
Why, that's the lady!
All the world desires her, from the
four corners of the Earth
they come to kiss this shrine, this
mortal-breathing saint.
One of these three contains her
heavenly picture.
Is it like that lead contains her?
It were damnation to think
so base a thought.
Or shall I think in silver
she's immured?
Being ten-times undervalued to tried
gold?
THE PRINCE LAUGHS
Oh, sinful thought!
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I
may!
If my form lie there, then I am
yours.
Oh, hell!
What have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty
eye there is...
..a written scroll!
I'll read the writing.
"All that glitters is not gold.
"Often have you heard that told.
"Many a man his life hath sold.
"But my outside to behold.
"Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
"Had you been as wise as bold,
young in limbs, in judgment old,
"your answer had not been
inscrolled,
"fare you well - your suit is cold."
Cold, indeed. And labour lost.
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome,
frost!
Portia, adieu.
I have too grieved a heart to take
a tedious leave.
Thus losers part.
A gentle riddance.
Go!
Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail!
With him is Gratiano gone along,
and in their ship I'm sure Lorenzo
is not!
The villain Jew with outcries raised
the duke,
who went with him to search
Bassanio's ship.
He comes too late, the ship was
under sail!
But there the duke was given to
understand
that in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica.
Besides, Antonio certified the duke.
They were not with Bassanio in his
ship.
I never heard a passion so confused,
so strange,
outrageous, and so variable as the
dog Jew did utter in the streets.
"Oh, my daughter!
"Oh, my ducats!
"Oh, my daughter!
"She fled with a Christian!
"Oh, my Christian ducats!"
Why, all the boys in Venice follow
him, crying,
"His stones! His daughter! And his
ducats."
Let good Antonio look he keep his
day,
or he shall pay for this.
Marry, well remembered!
I reasoned with a Frenchman
yesterday who told me,
in the narrow seas that part the
French and English,
there miscarried a vessel of our
country, richly fraught.
I thought upon Antonio when he
told me,
and wished 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.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part,
and Bassanio told him he would make
some speed of his return.
He answered, "Do not so!
"Slubber not business for my sake,
Bassanio,
"but stay the very riping
of the time.
"And for the Jew's bond which he
hath of me,
"let it not enter in your mind
of love.
"Be merry, and employ your chiefest
thoughts to courtship
"and such fair ostents of love
as shall conveniently become you
there."
And even there, his eye being big
with tears,
turning his face, he puts his hand
behind him.
And with affection wondrous sensible
he wrung Bassanio's hand.
And so they parted.
I think he only loves the world for
him.
I pray thee, let us go and find him
out
and quicken his embraced heaviness
with some delight or other.
Do we so!
Quick, quick,
the Prince of Arragon hath
taken his oath
and comes to his election presently.
Behold!
Hello! Hello, my dear.
How are you?
Are you enjoying your evening
so far?
Marvellous. Do carry on.
There hang the caskets, noble
prince.
If you choose that wherein
I am contained,
straight shall our nuptial
rites be solemnised.
But if thou fail, without more
speech, my lord,
you must be gone from hence
immediately.
I am enjoined by oath to
observe three things.
First, never to unfold to any one
which casket it was I chose.
Next, if I fail of the right casket,
never in my life to woo a maid in
way of marriage.
Lastly, If I do fail in fortune of
my choice,
immediately to leave you
and be gone.
To these injunctions every one doth
swear that comes to hazard
for my worthless self.
And so have I addressed me.
Rar!
Fortune now to my heart's hope!
Gold, silver and base lead.
"Who chooseth me must give
and hazard all he hath."
Well, you shall look fairer, ere I
give or hazard.
What? No, no, no, no.
What says the golden chest?
Let me see.
"Who chooseth me shall gain what
many men desire."
What many men desire?
Ah, that "many" may be meant by the
fool multitude
that choose by show.
And as I will not jump with common
spirits
and rank me with the barbarous
multitudes,
why, then to thee, thou silver
treasure-house.
Tell me now what title thou
dost bear.
"Who chooseth me shall get as much
as he deserves."
And well said, too.
For who shall go about to cozen
fortune
and be honourable without
the stamp of merit?
Let none presume to wear
an undeserved dignity.
Oh, that estates, degrees and
offices were not derived corruptly,
and that clear honour were purchased
by the merit of the wearer!
Well, but to my choice.
"Who chooseth me shall get as much
as he deserves."
I will assume desert and instantly
unlock my fortunes here.
What is here?
A portrait?
Ah! A portrait of a blinking idiot!
Presenting me a schedule.
I will read it.
Yes.
Oh, what is here?
Ah, very good.
"The fire seven times tried this.
"Seven times tried that judgment is,
"that did never choose amiss.
"Some there be that shadows kiss.
"Such have but a shadow's bliss.
"There be fools alive, I wis,
"silvered over, and so was this.
"Take what wife you will to bed, I
will ever be your head.
"So be gone - you are sped."
So be gone...?
Sweet, adieu.
I'll keep my oath, patiently, to
bear my wroth.
Thus hath the candle singed the
moth.
Madam, there is alighted at your
gate...
..a young Venetian.
One that comes before to signify
the approaching of his lord,
from whom he bringeth sensible
regreets
and gifts of rich value.
I have not yet seen so likely an
ambassador of love.
A day in April never came so sweet,
to show how costly summer was at
hand.
As this fore-spurrer comes
before his lord...
No more, I pray thee!
I am half afeard thou wilt say anon
he is some kin to thee,
thou spent such high-day wit in
praising him.
Come, come, Nerissa,
for I long to see Quick Cupid's post
that comes so mannerly.
Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will
it be!
Now, what news on the Rialto?
Why, yet it lives there
unchecked that Antonio hath
a ship of rich lading wrecked on the
narrow seas.
The good Antonio, the honest
Antonia, hath lost a ship?
I would it might prove the end of
his losses.
Let me say amen betimes, lest the
devil cross our prayer,
for here he comes in the likeness of
a Jew.
How now, Shylock! What news among
the merchants?
You knew - none so well, none so
well as you -
of my daughter's flight.
That's certain.
I, for my part, knew the tailor that
made the wings she flew withal.
And Shylock, for his own part, knew
the bird was fledged,
and then it is the complexion of
them all to leave the dam.
She is damned for it.
That's certain, if the devil may be
her judge.
My own flesh and blood to rebel!
Out upon it, old carrion!
Rebels it, at these years?
I say, my daughter is my flesh and
blood!
Oh, 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 loss
at sea or no?
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 look to his bond.
Why, I'm sure, if he forfeit, thou
wilt not take his flesh.
What's that good for?
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 what's the reason?
I am a Jew.
Hath not a Jew eyes?
Hath not a Jew hands?
Organs?
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 villainy you teach me,
I will execute,
and it shall go hard but I will
better the instruction.
Gentlemen! My master Antonio is at
his house
and desires to speak with you both.
We have been up and down to
seek him.
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 found my daughter?
I often came where I did hear of
her, but cannot find her.
A diamond, gone!
Cost me two thousand ducats in
Frankfurt!
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!
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 but of my shedding!
Yes, other men have ill luck, too!
Antonio, as I heard in Genoa...
What, what, what?
Ill luck? Ill luck!
..hath an argosy cast away, coming
from Tripoli.
I thank God! I thank God!
Is it true? Is it true?
I spoke with some of the sailors
that escaped the wreck.
I thank thee. I thank thee, good
Tubal.
Good news! Good news!
Heard it in Genoa?
Your daughter spent in Genoa,
as I heard, in one night,
fourscore ducats.
Thou sticks the dagger in me!
I shall never see my gold again.
Fourscore ducats at a sitting?
Fourscore ducats!
There came many of Antonio's
creditors in my company
to Venice, that swear he cannot
choose but break.
I'm very glad of it.
I'll plague him.
I'll torture him.
I'm glad of it.
One of them showed me a ring that he
had of your daughter for a monkey.
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.
But Antonio is certainly undone.
Nay, that's true.
That's very true.
Go, Tubal, fee me an officer,
bespeak him a fortnight before.
I will have the heart of him,
if he forfeit.
Go, Tubal, meet me at our synagogue.
Go, good Tubal!
At our synagogue, Tubal!
I pray you, tarry.
Pause a day or two before you
hazard,
for, in choosing wrong, I lose your
company.
Therefore, forbear awhile.
There's something tells me,
but it is not love,
I would not lose you.
And you know yourself, hate counsels
not in such a quality.
But lest you should not
understand me well,
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 forsworn.
So will I never be?
So may you miss me, but, if you do,
you'll make me wish a sin,
that I had been forsworn.
Beshrew your eyes, they have
overlooked me
and divided me.
One half of me is yours, the other
half yours.
Mine own, I would say.
But, if mine, then yours, and so all
yours.
Oh, these naughty times.
Puts bars between the owners and
their rights!
And so, though yours, not yours.
Prove it so, let fortune go to
hell for it, not I!
I speak too long, but tis to peize
the time,
to eke it and to draw it out in
length.
To stay you from election.
Let me choose, for as I am,
I live upon the rack.
Upon the rack, Bassanio! Then
confess what treason there is
mingled with your love.
None but that ugly treason of
mistrust,
which makes me fear the enjoying of
my love.
There may as well be amity and life
between snow and fire,
as treason and my love.
Aye, but I fear you speak upon the
rack,
where men enforced do speak
anything.
Promise me life, and I'll confess
the truth.
Well then, confess and live!
"Confess" and "love" had been the
very sum of my confession.
Oh, happy torment, when my torturer
doth teach me
answers for deliverance!
But let me to my fortune and the
caskets.
Away, then!
I am locked in one of them.
If you do love me, you will find
me out.
Nerissa and the rest...
..stand all aloof.
Go, Hercules!
Live thou, I live:
with much, much more dismay
I view the fight than thou
that makest the fray.
Er...er...er...
Aye, here. Let music sound
while he doth make his choice.
# Tell me where is fancy bred
# In the heart, or in the head?
# How begot, how nourished?
# Tis engender'd in the eyes
# With gazing fed, and fancy dies
# In the cradle where it lies
# Let us all ring fancy's knell
# I'll begin
# Ding, dong, bell. #
It's the gold one.
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,
Obscures the show of evil?
In religion,
What damned error,
but some sober brow
Will bless it
and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness
with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple
but assumes
Some mark of virtue
on his outward parts:
How many cowards,
whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand,
wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules
or frowning Mars,
Who, inward search'd,
have livers white as milk,
Thus ornament is but
the guiled shore
To a most dangerous sea.
In a word, the seeming truth
which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest.
Therefore, then, 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!
How all the other passions
fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts,
and rash-embraced despair,
And shuddering fear,
and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
Be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rein thy joy,
scant this excess.
I feel too much thy blessing:
make it less,
For fear I surfeit.
What find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit!
EXCITED SQUEALING
What demi-god
Hath come so near creation?
Move these eyes?
Or whether,
riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion?
Yet look, how far
The substance of my praise
doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it,
so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance.
Here is the continent
and summary of my fortune.
"You that choose not by the view,
"Chance as fair and choose as true!
"Since this fortune falls to you,
"Be content and seek no new,
"If you be well pleased with this
"And hold your fortune
for your bliss,
"Turn you where your lady is
"And claim her with a loving kiss."
HE LAUGHS
A gentle scroll.
Fair lady, by your leave,
I come by note,
to give and to receive.
SLOW HANDCLAPPING
AUDIENCE JOINS HANDCLAPPING
HANDCLAPPING QUICKENS
Like one of two
contending in a prize,
Who thinks he hath done well
in people's eyes,
Hearing applause
and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit,
still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise
be his or no,
So, thrice fair lady,
stand I, even so,
As doubtful whether what I see
be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd,
ratified by you.
You see me, Lord Bassanio,
where I stand,
Such as I am:
Though for myself alone
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better,
yet, for you
I would be trebled
twenty times myself,
A thousand times more fair,
ten thousand times more rich,
That only to stand
high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties,
livings, friends,
Exceed account,
but the full sum of me
Is sum of nothing,
which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl,
unschool'd, unpractised,
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn,
happier than this,
She is not bred so dull
but she can learn,
Happiest of all
is that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours
to be directed,
As from her lord,
her governor, her king.
Myself and what is mine
to you and yours
Is now converted:
But now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion,
master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself:
and even now, but now,
This house, these servants
and this same myself
Are yours, my lord:
I give them with this ring,
Which when you part from,
lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Madam, you have bereft me
of all words.
Only my blood
speaks to you now in my veins,
And there is such confusion
in my powers,
As after some oration
fairly spoke
By a beloved prince,
there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude,
Where every something,
being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing,
save of joy,
Express'd and not express'd.
But when this ring
Parts from this finger,
then parts life from hence:
O, then be bold to say
Bassanio's dead!
My lord and lady,
it is now our time,
That have stood by
and seen our wishes prosper,
To cry, good joy:
good joy, my lord and lady!
My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy
that you can wish,
As I'm sure you can wish
none from me:
And when your honours
mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith,
I do beseech you,
Even at that time
I may be married too.
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.
Your fortune stood upon
the caskets there,
And so did mine too,
as the matter falls,
With oaths of love,
at last, if promise last,
I got a promise
from this fair one here
To have her love,
provided that your fortune
Achieved her mistress.
Is this true, Nerissa?
Madam, it is so,
so you stand pleased withal.
And do you, Gratiano,
mean good faith?
Yes, faith, my lord.
Our feast shall be much honour'd
in your marriage.
We'll play with them
the first boy for a thousand ducats.
What, and stake down?
No, we shall ne'er win at that
sport, and stake down.
But who comes here?
Lorenzo and his infidel?
And my old Venetian friend Salerio?
Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither.
If that the youth
of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome.
By your leave, I bid my very friends
and countrymen,
Sweet Portia, welcome.
So do I, my lord,
They are entirely welcome.
I thank your honour.
For my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have
seen you here,
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
He did entreat me,
past all saying nay,
To come with him along.
I did, my lord.
And I had reason for it.
Signior Antonio
Commends him to you.
I pray you,
Ere I ope his letter,
tell me how my good friend doth.
Not sick, my lord,
unless it be in mind,
Nor well, unless in mind:
his letter there
Will show you his estate.
Nerissa, cheer yon stranger,
bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salerio:
what news from Venice?
How doth that royal merchant,
good Antonio?
I know he will be glad
of our success,
We are the Jasons,
we have won the fleece.
Would you had won the fleece
that he hath lost.
There are some shrewd
contents in yon same paper,
That steals the colour
from Bassanio's cheek:
Some dear friend dead,
else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man.
What, worse and worse! With leave,
Bassanio: I am half yourself,
And I must freely have
the half of anything
That this same paper brings you.
O sweet Portia,
Here are a few
of the unpleasant'st words
That ever blotted paper!
Gentle lady,
When I did first impart
my love to you,
I told you freely,
all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman.
And then I told you true:
And yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing,
you shall see
How much I was a braggart.
When I told you
My state was nothing,
I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing,
for, indeed,
I have engaged myself
to a dear friend,
Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
To feed my means.
Here is a letter, lady,
The paper as the body of my friend,
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing life-blood.
But is it true, Salerio?
Have all his ventures fail'd?
What, not one hit?
From Tripolis,
from Mexico and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary and India?
Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear,
that if he had
The present money
to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it.
Twenty merchants,
The duke herself, the magnificoes
Of greatest port,
have all persuaded with him,
And none can drive him
from the envious plea
Of forfeiture,
of justice and his bond.
I know, my lord,
If law, authority
and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.
Is it your dear friend
that is thus in trouble?
The dearest friend to me,
the kindest man,
The best-condition'd
and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies, and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour
more appears
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
What sum owes he the Jew?
For me three thousand ducats.
What, no more?
Pay him six thousand,
and deface the bond,
Double six thousand,
and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a hair
through Bassanio's fault.
First go with me to church
and call me wife,
And then away to Venice
to your friend,
For never shall you
lie by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul.
You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt
twenty times over:
When it is paid,
bring your true friend along.
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
Will live as maids and widows.
Come, away!
For you shall hence
upon your wedding-day:
Let me hear the letter
of your friend.
"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 see you at my death.
"Notwithstanding, use your pleasure:
"if your love do not persuade
you to come, let not my letter."
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,
No bed shall e'er be guilty
of my stay,
No rest be interposer
'twixt us twain.
CHORAL SINGING
Gaoler, look to him:
tell not me of mercy,
This is the fool
that lends out money gratis:
Gaoler, look to him.
Hear me yet, good Shylock.
I'll have my bond,
speak not against my bond:
I have an oath
that I will have my bond.
Thou call'dst me dog
before thou hadst a cause,
But, since I am a dog,
beware my fangs:
The duke shall grant me justice.
I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler,
that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him
at his request.
I pray thee, hear me speak.
I'll have my bond,
I will not hear thee speak:
I'll have my bond,
and therefore speak no more.
I'll not be made a soft
and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head,
relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors.
Follow not, I'll have no speaking:
I will have my bond.
It is the most impenetrable cur
That's ever kept with men.
Let him alone.
I'll follow him
no more with bootless prayers.
He seeks my life,
his reason well I know:
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
Many that have at times
made moan to me,
Therefore he hates me.
I'm sure the duke
Will never grant this forfeiture
to hold.
The duke cannot deny
the course of law:
For the commodity
that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice
of the state,
Since that the trade and profit
of the city
Consisteth of all nations.
Therefore, go!
These griefs and losses
have so bated me,
That I shall hardly
spare a pound of flesh
To-morrow to my bloody creditor.
Well, gaoler, on.
Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt,
and then I care not!
Madam, although I speak it
in your presence,
You have a noble
and true conceit
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 true a gentleman
you send relief,
How dear a lover
of my lord your husband,
I know you would be
prouder of the work
Than customary bounty
can enforce you.
I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now:
for in companions
That do converse
and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke
Of love,
There must be needs
a like proportion
Of lineaments,
of manners and of spirit,
Which makes me think
that this Antonio,
Being the bosom
lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord.
If it be so,
How little is the cost
I have bestow'd
In purchasing the semblance
of my soul
From out the state
of hellish cruelty!
This comes too near
the praising of myself,
Therefore no more of it:
hear other things.
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
The husbandry and manage of my house
Until my lord's return:
for mine own part,
I have toward heaven
breathed a secret vow
To live in prayer and contemplation,
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband
and my lord's return:
There is a monastery two miles off,
And there will we abide.
I do desire you
Not to deny this imposition,
The which my love and some necessity
Now lays upon you.
Madam, with all my heart, I shall
obey you in all fair commands.
My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you
and Jessica
In place of Lord Bassanio
and myself.
So fare you well,
till we shall meet again.
Fair thoughts and happy hours
attend on you!
I wish your ladyship
all heart's content.
I thank you for your wish,
and am well pleased
To wish it back on you:
fare you well Jessica.
Take this same letter,
And use thou
all the endeavour of a man
In speed to Padua:
see thou render this
Into my cousin's hand,
Doctor Bellario,
Look, what notes and garments
he doth give thee,
Bring them to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice.
Waste no time in words,
But get thee gone:
I shall be there before thee.
Madam, I go
with all convenient speed.
Come on, Nerissa,
I have work in hand
That you yet know not of:
we'll see our husbands
Before they think of us.
Shall they see us? They shall,
Nerissa, but in such a habit,
That they shall think
we are accomplished
With that we lack.
I'll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accoutred
like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow
of the two. I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks
of these bragging Jacks,
Which I will practise.
Why, shall we turn to men?
I'll tell thee all my whole device
When I am in my coach,
which stays for us
At the park gate,
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,
truly I think you're damned.
There is but one hope in it
that can do you any good,
and that is but a kind of
bastard hope neither.
And what hope is that, I pray thee?
Marry, you may partly hope
that your father got you not,
that you are not the Jew's 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're gone both ways.
I shall be saved by my husband,
he hath made me a Christian.
HE LAUGHS
Truly, the more to blame he.
This making of Christians
will raise the price of hogs:
if we grow all to be pork-eaters,
we shall not shortly have a
rasher on the coals for money.
I shall grow jealous
of you shortly, Launcelot,
if you thus get my wife
into corners.
Nay, you need not fear us,
Lorenzo: Launcelot and I are out.
He tells me flatly, there is
no mercy for me in heaven,
because I am a Jew's daughter:
and he says, you are no good
member of the commonwealth,
for in converting Jews
to Christians,
you raise the price of pork.
I will answer that better
to the commonwealth than you can
the getting up
of the servant's belly:
she is with child by you, Launcelot.
Go in, sirrah,
bid them prepare for dinner.
That's done, sir,
they have all stomachs.
Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are
you! then bid them prepare dinner.
That's done too, sir,
only 'cover' is the word.
Will you cover then, sir?
Not so, sir, neither,
I know my duty.
Yet more quarrelling with occasion!
Wilt thou show the whole
wealth of thy wit in an instant?
I pray thee, understand
a plain man in his plain meaning:
go to thy fellows, bid them
cover the table, serve in the meat,
and we will come in to dinner.
For the table, sir,
it shall be served in,
for the meat, sir,
it shall be covered,
for your coming
in to dinner, sir,
why, let it be as humours
and conceits shall govern.
O dear discretion,
how his words are suited!
Discourse shall soon grow
commendable
in none only but parrots.
How cheerest thou, Jessica?
Now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like
the Lord Bassanio's wife?
Past all expressing.
It is very meet
The Lord Bassanio
live an upright life,
For, having such a blessing
in his lady,
He finds the joys of heaven
here on earth,
And if on earth he do not merit it,
In reason he should
never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods
should play some heavenly match
And on the wager
lay two earthly women,
And Portia one,
there must be something else
Pawn'd with the other,
for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.
Even such a husband
Hast thou of me
as she is for a wife.
Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.
I will anon:
First, let us go to dinner.
CHORAL SINGING
What, is Antonio here?
Ready, so please your grace.
I am sorry for thee:
thou art come to answer
A stony adversary,
an inhuman wretch
uncapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.
I have heard
Your grace hath ta'en great pains
to qualify
His rigorous course,
but since he stands obdurate
And that no lawful means
can carry me
Out of his envy's reach,
I do oppose
My patience to his fury,
and am arm'd
To suffer,
with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Go one,
and call the Jew into the court.
He is ready at the door:
He comes, my lady.
Make room,
and let him stand before our face.
Shylock, the world thinks,
and I think so too,
That thou but lead'st
this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act,
and then 'tis thought
Thou'lt show thy mercy
and remorse more strange
Than is thy strange
apparent cruelty,
And where thou now
exact'st the penalty,
Which is a pound
of this poor merchant's flesh,
Thou wilt not only
loose the forfeiture,
But, touch'd with
human gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal,
Glancing an eye of pity
on his losses,
That have of late
so huddled on his back.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
I have possess'd your grace
of what I purpose,
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
To have the due
and forfeit of my bond:
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter
and your city's freedom.
You will ask me,
why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh
than to receive
Three thousand ducats:
I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour:
is it answer'd?
This is no answer,
thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current
of thy cruelty.
I am not bound to please thee
with my answer.
Do all men kill the things
they do not love?
Hates any man
the thing he would not kill?
Every offence is not
a hate at first.
What, wouldst thou have
a serpent sting thee twice?
I pray you, think you
question with the Jew:
You may as well
go stand upon the beach
And bid the main flood
bate his usual height,
Or even 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 fretted with
the gusts of heaven,
You may as well do
anything most hard,
As seek to soften that -
than which what 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.
If every ducat
in six thousand ducats
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,
You use in abject
and in slavish parts,
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.
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.
If you deny me, fie upon your law!
There is no force
in the decrees of Venice.
I stand for judgment:
answer, shall I have it?
On my power I may dismiss
this court,
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
Whom I have sent for
to determine this,
Come here to-day.
My lady, here stays without
A messenger with
letters from the doctor,
New come from Padua.
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.
I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death:
the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground,
and so let me
You cannot better be employ'd,
Bassanio,
Than to live still
and write mine epitaph.
Came you from Padua, from Bellario?
From both.
My lord Bellario greets your grace.
Why dost thou whet thy knife
so earnestly?
To cut the forfeiture
from that bankrupt there.
Can no prayers pierce thee?
No, none that thou hast
wit enough to make.
O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
And for thy life
let justice be accused.
Thou almost makest me hold opinion
That souls of animals infuse
themselves
Into the trunks of men:
thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who,
hang'd for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows
did his fell soul fleet,
And, whilst thou lay'st
in thy unhallow'd dam,
Infused itself in thee,
for thy desires
Are wolvish, bloody,
starved and ravenous.
Till thou canst rail
the seal from off my bond,
Thou but offend'st thy lungs
to speak so loud:
Repair thy wit, good youth,
or it will fall
To endless ruin.
I stand here for law.
This letter from Bellario
doth commend
A young and learned doctor
to our court. Where is he?
He attendeth here hard by,
To know your answer,
whether you'll admit him.
With all my heart.
Meantime the court shall hear
Bellario's 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.
"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 grace's request
in my stead.
"I beseech you,
"let his lack of years be no
impediment for I never knew
"so young a body
with so old a head."
You hear the learn'd Bellario,
what he writes:
And here, I take it,
is the doctor come.
Give me your hand.
Came you from old Bellario?
I did, my lady.
You are welcome: Take your place.
Are you acquainted
with the difference
That holds this
present question in the court?
I am informed
thoroughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant here,
and which the Jew?
Antonio and old Shylock,
both stand forth.
Is your name Shylock?
Shylock is my name.
Of a strange nature
is the suit you follow,
Yet in such rule
that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger,
do you not?
Ay, so he says.
Do you confess the bond?
I do. Then must the Jew be merciful.
On what compulsion must I?
Tell me that.
The quality of mercy
is not strain'd,
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,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread
and fear of kings,
But mercy is above
this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned
in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself,
And earthly power doth then
show likest God's
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
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,
Which if thou follow,
this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence
'gainst the merchant there.
My deeds upon my head!
I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
Is he not able
to discharge the money?
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 over,
On forfeit of my hands,
my head, my heart:
If that will not suffice,
it must appear
That malice bears down truth.
And I beseech you,
Wrest once the law
to your authority:
To do a great right,
do a little wrong,
And curb this cruel
devil of his will.
It must not be,
there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
And many an error
by the same example
Will rush into the state:
it cannot be.
A Daniel come to judgment!
yea, a Daniel!
O wise young judge,
how do I honour thee!
I pray you,
let me look upon the bond.
Here it is, most reverend doctor,
here it is.
Shylock, there's thrice thy money
offer'd thee.
An oath, an oath,
I have an oath in heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.
Why, this bond is forfeit,
And lawfully by this
the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh,
to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant's heart.
Be merciful:
Take thrice thy money,
bid me tear the bond.
When it is paid
according to the tenor.
It doth appear
you are a worthy judge,
You know the law, your exposition
Hath been most sound:
I charge you by the law,
Whereof you are
a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgment:
by my soul I swear
There is no power
in the tongue of man
To alter me:
I stay here on my bond.
Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
Why then, thus it is:
You must prepare your bosom
for his knife.
O noble judge!
O excellent young man!
For the intent and purpose
of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth
due upon the bond.
It is very true:
O wise and upright judge!
How much more elder
art thou than thy looks!
Therefore lay bare your bosom.
Ay, his breast:
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
The flesh?
I have them ready.
Have by some surgeon,
Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds,
lest he should bleed to death.
Is it so nominated in the bond?
It is not so express'd:
but what of that?
'Twere good you do
so much for charity.
I cannot find it,
'tis not in the bond.
Merchant, have you any thing to say?
But little: I am arm'd
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
Than is her custom:
it is still her use
To let the wretched man
outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye
and wrinkled brow
An age of poverty,
from which lingering penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honourable wife.
Tell her the process
of Antonio's end.
And say...
HE WAILS
Say how I loved you,
speak me fair in death,
And, when the tale is told,
bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio
had not once a love.
Repent not you
that you shall lose your friend.
And he repents not
that he pays your debt,
For if the Jew do cut
but deep enough,
I'll pay it instantly
with all my heart.
Antonio,
I am married to a wife
Which is as dear to me
as life itself,
But life itself, my wife,
and all the world,
Are not with me
esteem'd above thy life:
I would lose all,
ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil,
to deliver you.
Your wife would give you
little thanks for that,
If she were by,
to hear you make the offer.
I have a wife, whom,
I protest, I love:
I would she were in heaven,
so she could
Entreat some power
to change this currish Jew.
'Tis well you offer
it behind her back,
The wish would make else
an unquiet house.
These be the Christian husbands.
I have a daughter,
Would any of the stock of Barrabas
Had been her husband
rather than a Christian!
We trifle time:
I pray thee, pursue sentence.
A pound of that same merchant's
flesh is thine:
The court awards it,
and the law doth give it.
Most rightful judge!
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!
HE SOBS
HE WAILS
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:'
Then 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
Are, by the laws of Venice,
confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.
O upright judge!
Mark, Jew: O learned judge!
Is that the law?
Thyself shalt see the act:
For, as thou urgest justice,
be assured
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
And let the Christian go.
Here is the money. Soft!
The Jew shall have
all justice, soft! no haste:
He shall have nothing
but the penalty.
O Jew! An upright judge,
a learned judge!
Prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood.
Ah! Nor cut thou less nor more
But just a pound of flesh:
if thou taketh more
Or less than a just pound,
be it so much
As makes it light or heavy
in the substance,
Or the division
of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple, nay,
if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair,
Thou diest and all thy goods
are confiscate.
A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have thee
on the hip.
Why doth the Jew pause?
Take thy forfeiture.
Give me my principal, and let me go.
I have it ready for thee,
here it is.
He hath refused
it in the open court,
He shall have merely justice
and his bond.
A Daniel, still say I,
a second Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew,
for teaching me that word.
Shall I not have
barely my principal?
Thou shalt have nothing
but the forfeiture,
To be taken so at thy peril, Jew.
Why, then the devil give him good
of it! I'll stay no longer question.
Tarry, Jew:
The law hath yet
another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws
of Venice,
If it be proved against an alien
That by direct or indirect attempts
He seek the life of any citizen,
The party 'gainst the which
he doth contrive
Shall seize one half his goods,
the other half
Comes to the privy coffer
of the state,
And the offender's life
lies in the mercy
Of the duke only,
'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say,
thou stand'st,
For it appears,
by manifest proceeding,
That indirectly and directly too
Thou hast contrived
against the very life
Of the defendant,
and thou hast incurr'd
The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
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,
Thou hast not left the
value of a cord,
Therefore thou must be hang'd
at the state's charge.
That thou shalt see
the difference of our spirit,
I pardon thee thy life
before thou ask it:
For half thy wealth,
it is Antonio's,
The other half
comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive
unto a fine.
Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.
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.
What mercy can you render him,
Antonio?
A halter gratis,
nothing else, for God's sake.
So please my lady there
and all the court
To quit the fine
for one half of his goods,
I am content, so he will let me have
The other half in use, to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter:
Two things provided more,
that, for this favour,
He presently become a Christian.
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court,
of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo
and his daughter.
He shall do this,
or else I do recant
The pardon that
I late pronounced here.
Art thou contented, Jew?
What dost thou say?
I am content.
Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
I pray thee, give me leave
to go from hence,
I am not well:
send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
Get thee gone, but do it.
In christening thou shalt have
two god-fathers:
Had I been judge,
thou shouldst have had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallows,
not to the font.
Sir, I entreat you home
with me to dinner.
I humbly do desire
your grace of pardon:
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet
I presently set forth.
I am sorry that your leisure
serves you not.
Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
For, in my mind,
you are much bound to him.
Most worthy gentleman,
I and my friend
Have been by your wisdom this
day acquitted
Of grievous penalties,
in lieu whereof,
Three thousand ducats,
due unto the Jew,
We freely cope
your courteous pains withal.
And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.
He is well paid
that is well satisfied,
And I, delivering you, am satisfied
And therein do account myself
well paid:
I pray you, know me
when we meet again:
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,
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
You press me far,
and therefore I will yield.
Give me your gloves,
I'll wear them for your sake.
And, for your love,
I'll take this ring from you:
Do not draw back your hand,
I'll take no more,
And you in love
shall not deny me this.
Alas, good sir, this ring,
it is a trifle!
I will not shame myself
to give you this.
I will have nothing else
but only this,
And now methinks
I have a mind to it.
There's more depends on this
than on the value.
The dearest ring in Venice
will I give you,
And find it out by proclamation:
Only for this,
I pray you, pardon me.
I see, sir, you are liberal
in offers
You taught me first to beg,
and now methinks
You teach me how a beggar
should be answer'd.
Good sir, this ring
was given me by my wife,
And when she put it on,
she made me vow
That I should neither sell
nor give nor lose it.
That 'scuse serves many men
to save their gifts.
An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
And know how well
I have deserved this ring,
She would not hold out
enemy for ever,
For giving it to me.
Well, peace be with you!
My Lord Bassanio,
let him have the ring:
Let his deservings
and my love withal
Be valued against
your wife's commandment.
Gratiano, run and overtake him,
Give him this ring,
and bring him, if thou canst,
Unto Antonio's house: away!
make haste.
Come, you and I will
thither presently,
And in the morning we both
Fly toward Belmont:
come, Antonio.
Inquire the Jew's house out,
give him this deed
And let him sign it:
we'll away to-night
And be a day
before our husbands home:
This deed will be well
welcome to Lorenzo.
Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en
My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
Hath sent you here this ring,
and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.
That cannot be:
His ring I do accept
most thankfully:
And so, I pray you, tell him.
That will I do.
Sir, I would speak with you.
I'll see if I can
get my husband's ring,
Which I did make him swear
to keep for ever.
Thou mayst, I warrant.
Away! Make haste:
Thou knowist where I will tarry.
Come, good sir,
will you show me Shylock's house?
CHORAL SINGING
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 sigh'd his soul
toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.
In such a night
Did Thisbe
fearfully o'ertrip the dew
And saw the lion's shadow
ere himself
And ran dismay'd away.
In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea banks
and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.
In such a night
Medea gather'd
the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Aeson.
In such a night
Did Jessica steal
from the wealthy Jew
And with an unthrift love
did run from Venice
As far as Belmont.
In such a night
Did young Lorenzo
swear he loved her well,
Stealing her soul
with many vows of faith
And ne'er a true one.
In such a night
Did pretty Jessica,
like a little shrew,
Slander her love,
and he forgave it her.
I would out-night you,
did no body come,
But, hark...
Who comes so fast
in silence of the night?
I bring word
My mistress will
before the break of day
Be here at Belmont.
Signify, I pray you,
Within the house,
your mistress is at hand,
And bring your music
forth into the air.
Sweet soul, let's in,
and there expect their coming.
And yet no matter:
why should we go in?
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
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica.
Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid
with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb
which thou behold'st
But in his motion
like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed
cherubins.
Such harmony is in immortal souls,
But whilst this muddy vesture
of decay
Doth grossly close it in,
we cannot hear it.
I am never merry
when I hear sweet music.
The reason is,
your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild
and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful
and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds,
bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition
of their blood.
If they but hear
perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music
touch their ears,
You shall perceive them
make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes
turn'd to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music:
therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus
drew trees, stones and floods,
Since nought so stockish,
hard and full of rage,
But music for the time
doth change his nature.
The man that hath
no music in himself,
Nor is not moved
with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons,
stratagems and spoils.
The motions of his spirit
are dull as night
And his affections
dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.
Mark the music.
That light we see
is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle
throws his beams!
So shines a good deed
in a naughty world.
When the moon shone,
we did not see the candle.
So doth the greater glory
dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly
as a king
Until a king be by,
and then his state
Empties itself,
as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters.
Music! hark!
It is your music,
madam, of the house.
Nothing is good,
I see, without respect:
Methinks it sounds
much sweeter than by day.
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.
He knows me
as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.
Dear lady, welcome home.
We have been praying
for our husbands' welfare,
Which speed, we hope,
the better for our words.
Are they return'd? Madam,
they are not yet. Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants
they take
No note at all
of our being absent hence,
Nor you, Lorenzo,
Jessica, nor you.
Your husband is at hand.
We are no tell-tales, madam,
fear you not.
This night methinks
is but the daylight sick,
It looks a little paler:
'tis a day,
Such as the day is
when the sun is hid.
We should hold day
with the Antipodes,
If you would
walk in absence of the sun.
But God sort all!
You are welcome home, my lord.
I thank you, madam.
Give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
You should in all sense
be much bound to him.
For, as I hear,
he was much bound for you.
No more than I am well acquitted of.
Sir, you are very welcome
to our house:
It must appear
in other ways than words,
Therefore I scant
this breathing courtesy.
By yonder moon I swear
you do me wrong,
In faith, I gave it
to the judge's clerk:
Would he were gelt that had it,
for my part,
Since you do take it, love,
so much at heart.
A quarrel, ho, already!
What's the matter?
About a hoop of gold,
a paltry ring
That she did give me,
whose posy was
For all the world
like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife,
'Love me, and leave me not.'
What talk you of the posy
or the value?
You swore to me,
when I did give it you,
That you would wear it
till the hour of death
And that it should lie with you
in your grave.
Now, by this hand,
I gave it to a youth,
A kind of boy,
a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself,
the judge's clerk,
A prating boy,
that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart
deny it him.
You were to blame,
I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly
with your wife's first gift.
I gave my love a ring
and here he stands,
I dare be sworn for him
he would not leave it
Nor pluck it from his finger,
for the wealth
That the world masters.
Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind
a cause of grief:
An 'twere to me,
I should be mad at it.
Why, I were best to
cut my left hand off
And say I lost the ring
defending it.
My Lord Bassanio gave his ring
away...
..Unto the judge that begg'd it
and indeed
Deserved it too.
What ring gave you my lord?
Not that, I hope,
which you received of me.
If I could add a lie
unto a fault, I would deny it,
but you see this finger
Hath not the ring upon it,
it is gone.
Even so void
is your false heart of truth.
By heaven,
I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.
Sweet Portia,
If you did know
to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know
for whom I gave the ring
And could conceive
for what I gave the ring
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted
but the ring,
You would abate the strength
of your displeasure.
If you had known
the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness
that gave the ring,
Or your own honour
to contain the ring,
You would not then have
parted with the ring.
By mine honour, madam, by my soul,
a civil doctor had it,
Which did refuse
three thousand ducats of me
And begg'd the ring,
the which I did deny him
And suffer'd him
to go displeased away,
Even he that did held up very life
Of my dear friend.
What should I say? Sweet Portia,
I was enforced to send it after him,
I was beset with shame and courtesy,
Mine honour would not let
ingratitude
So much besmear it.
Pardon me, good lady,
And by these blessed candles
of the night,
Had you been there,
I think you would have begg'd
The ring of me
to give the worthy doctor.
I am the unhappy subject
of these quarrels.
Sir, grieve not you,
you are welcome notwithstanding.
Portia,
forgive this enforced wrong,
And, in the hearing
of these many friends,
I swear to thee,
even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself...
Mark you but that!
In both my eyes
he doubly sees himself,
In each eye, one:
swear by your double self,
And there's an oath of credit.
Nay, but hear me:
Pardon this fault,
and by my soul I swear
I never more will break
an oath with thee.
I once did lend my body
for thy wealth,
Which, but for him
that had your husband's ring,
Had quite miscarried:
I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit,
that your lord
Will never more
break faith advisedly.
Then you shall be his surety.
Give him this
And bid him
keep it better than the other.
Here, Lord Bassanio,
swear to keep this ring.
By heaven, it is the same
I gave the doctor!
I had it of him:
pardon, Bassanio,
For, by this ring,
the doctor lay with me.
And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,
For that same scrubbed boy,
the doctor's clerk,
In lieu of this last night
did lie with me.
What,
are we cuckolds
ere we have deserved it?
Speak not so grossly.
You are all amazed:
Here is a letter,
read it at your leisure,
It comes from Padua,
from Bellario:
There you shall find that
Portia was the doctor,
Nerissa here her clerk:
Lorenzo there
Shall witness I set forth
as soon as you
But e'en return'd, I have not yet
Enter'd my house.
Antonio, you are welcome.
I am dumb.
Were you the doctor
and I knew you not?
Were you the clerk
that is to make me cuckold?
Ay, but the clerk
that never means to do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
Sweet doctor,
you shall be my bed-fellow:
When I am absent,
then lie with my wife.
How now, Lorenzo! My clerk hath some
good comforts too for you.
Ay, and I'll give them him
without a fee.
There do I give to you
and Jessica,
From the rich Jew,
a special deed of gift,
After his death,
of all he dies possess'd of.
Fair ladies,
you drop manna in the way
Of starved people.
It is almost morning,
And yet I am sure
you are not satisfied
Of these events at full.
Let us go in,
And charge us there upon
inter'gatories,
And we will answer all things
faithfully.
Let it be so: the first inter'gatory
That my Nerissa
shall be sworn on is,
Whether till the next night
she had rather stay
Or go to bed now,
being two hours to day.
But were the day come,
I should wish it dark,
Till I were couching
with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live
I'll fear no other thing
So sore as keeping safe
Nerissa's ring.
CHORAL SINGING
APPLAUSE
CHORAL SINGING
