Antonio says to his friend Gratiano:

"I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one."

But the light and airy Gratiano utters this philosophic speech, which the "gentle reader" should cut out and paste in his hat:

"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?
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;
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
Anl 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 ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing; who I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those

ears

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers

fools!"

Bassanio, in love with the rich heiress, Portia, tries to borrow three thousand ducats from Shylock, and Antonio, his friend, is willing to give bond for the loan.

The Jew and the Christian hate each other; and Shylock vents his opinion:

"How like a fawning publican he looks!

I hate him, for he is a Christian;

Antonio lends out money gratis and brings down—
The rate of usury here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
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 worn thrift,
Which he calls interest; cursed be my tribe
If I forgive him!"

Antonio finally asks for the three thousand ducats, and says:

"Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you?”

Then in a speech of brave defiance, Shylock humiliates the Gentile merchant in this manner:

"Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usury;
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 gaberdine,

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 monies; you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur-
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say;
Hath a dog money? Is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? Or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key,
With bated breath and whispering humbleness say
this-

Fair sir, you spit 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 monies!"

Antonio, not any way abashed at the scolding of the money lender, says:

"I am as like to call thee dog again,

And spit on thee again, to spurn thee, too!"

Shylock then agrees to lend the three thousand ducats if Antonio will give bond and penalty to pay the money back with interest in three months. Shylock says:

"Let the forfeit of the bond

Be nominated for an equal pound

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off, and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me!"

The second act opens with Portia in her grand home at "Belmont," awaiting suitors for her wealth, beauty and brains.

Her father dying, left three locked chests, gold, silver, and lead, one of them containing the picture of Portia; and the fortunate suitor who picked out that rich casket, was to be the husband of the brilliant Portia.

The Prince of Morocco and Prince of Arragon, with Bassanio, were the suitors.

Portia says to Morocco:

"In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
Besides, the lottery of my destiny

Bars me the right of voluntary choosing."

Launcelot, the foolish serving man for Shylock, says to old Gobbo, his blind father:

"Do you not know me, father?"

Gobbo replies:

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

Launcelot makes this wise statement:

"Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes,
You might fail of the knowing of me:

It is a wise father that knows his own child!”

Shylock discharges Launcelot, and Jessica, the beautiful daughter of the money lender, parts with

him regretfully-she gives him a secret letter to deliver to her Christian lover, Lorenzo, and then says:

"Farewell, good Launcelot―

Alack, what heinous sin it is 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; O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife!"

This beautiful Jewess forswears her birth and religion for infatuated love, and throws to the winds all duty and honor as a daughter; a renegade of matchless quality, stealing her father's money and jewels to elope with the fascinating Christian Lorenzo.

The Hebrew race has not produced many Jessicas; and the morality taught by Shakspere of a daughter "fooling her father" is base and rotten in principle.

Shylock says to his daughter:

"Well, Jessica, go in to the house,

Perhaps I will return immediately;
Do as I bid you;

Shut doors after you; fast bind, fast find,
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind."

Then at the turn of his back the beautiful fraud Jessica says:

"Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost!"