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'll 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?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose,
Cannot contain their urine for affection:
Masters of passion sway it to the mood

Of what it likes, or loathes. Now, for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
Why he, a bollen bag-pipe; but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame,
As to offend, himself being offended,
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,

More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?
Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love?
Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first.

Shy. What! would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

Ant. 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 e'en as well use question with the wolf, When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; You may as well do any thing most hard, As seek to soften that (than which what's 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.

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. Shy. 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. Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
You have among you many a purchas'd 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 burdens? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be season'd with such viands? You will answer,
The slaves are ours.-So do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it.
If you deny me, fie upon your law!
There is no force in the decrees of Venice.

Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,

Whom I have sent for to determine this,
Come here to-day.

Salar.

My lord, here stays without

A messenger with letters from the doctor,
New come from Padua.

Duke. Bring us the letters: call the messenger. Bass. 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.

Ant. 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.

Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. [Presenting a letter. Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? [SHYLOCK whets his knife.

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can, No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog, And for thy life let justice be accus'd! Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 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, Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires

Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous.

Shy. Till thou can'st 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 cureless ruin.-I stand here for law.

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court.Where is he?

Ner.

He attendeth here hard by,

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.
Duke. With all my heart:-some three or four of
you,

Go give him courteous conduct to this place.-
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

66

[Clerk reads.] '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 Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio, the merchant : we turned o'er many books together: he is furnish'd with my opinion; which, better'd 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 to let him lack a reverend estimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation."

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes: And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws. Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario? Por. I did, my lord.

Duke. You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? Por. I am informed throughly of the cause.Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylock? Shy.

Shylock is my name. Por. 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? [TO ANTONIO. Ant. Ay, so he says.

Por.

Ant. I do. Por.

Do you confess the bond?

Then must the Jew be merciful.
Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that.
Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
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.
Shy. My deeds upon my head. I crave the law;
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
Por. Is he not able to discharge the money?
Bass. 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 o'er,

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

If this will not suffice, it must appear

That malice bears down truth: and, I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority:
To do a great right, do a little wrong,
And curb this cruel devil of his will.

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.
Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour.-
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.

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.

:

Por.
Why then, thus it is :-
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
Shy. O, noble judge! O, excellent young man!
Por. For the intent and purpose of the law,
Hath full relation to the penalty,

Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy. 'Tis very true. O, wise and upright judge!
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.
Shy.
So says the bond:-doth it not, noble judge?—
Nearest his heart: those are the very words.
Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh

Ay, his breast;

The flesh?
Shy.
I have them ready. [Producing scales.
Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond?
Por. It is not so express'd; but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.
Shy. I cannot find it: 'tis not in the bond.
Por. You, merchant, have you any thing to say y?
Ant. But little: I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.-
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 out-live 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;
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge,
Whether Bassanio had not once a lover.
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. Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife,

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.

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!— O, wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor; here it is.

[Showing it.
Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.

Por.
Why, this bond is forfeit,
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim

We trifle time; I pray thee, pursue sentence.
Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shy. Most rightful judge!

Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast: The law allows it, and the court awards it.

Shy. Most learned judge !—A sentence ! come, pre-
pare!
[Showing the scales again.
Por. Tarry a little there is something else.—
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh:
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed

One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.

Gra. O upright judge!-Mark, Jew:-O learned judge!

Shy. Is that the law? Por.

Thyself shalt see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. Gra. O learned judge!-Mark, Jew:—a learned judge!

Shy. I take his offer then: pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go.

Bass.

Por. Soft!

Here is the money.

The Jew shall have all justice ;-soft!-no haste :He shall have nothing but the penalty.

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!
Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more,
But just a pound of flesh if thou tak'st more,
Or less, than a just pound,—be it so much
As makes it light, or heavy, in the balance,
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.
Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!

Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.

Por. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture. Sky. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee: here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court: He shall have merely justice, and his bond.

Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it. I'll stay no longer question.

Por.

Tarry, Jew:

The law hath yet another hold on you.

It is enacted in the laws of Venice,

If it be prov'd 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 contriv'd against the very life
Of the defendant, and thou hast incurr'd

The danger formerly by me rehears'd.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra. Beg, that thou may'st 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.
Duke. 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.

Por. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio.
Shy. 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.

Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake!
Ant. So please my lord the duke, 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.

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant
The pardon, that I late pronounced here.
Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?
Shy. I am content.

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence. I am not well. Send the deed after me, And I will sign it.

Duke.

Get thee gone, but do it.

Gra. In christening thou shalt have two godfathers: Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [Exit SHYLOCK. Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: I must away this night toward Padua, And it is meet I presently set forth.

Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you not. Antonio, gratify this gentleman,

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

[Exeunt DUKE, Magnificoes, and train.
Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.
Ant. And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.

Por. He is well paid, that is well-satisfied;
And I, delivering you, am satisfied,
And therein do account myself well paid:
My mind was never yet more mercenary.

I

pray you, know me, when we meet again:

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

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you farther: 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.

Por. 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,

N

And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bass. This ring, good sir?-alas, it is a trifle;
I will not shame myself to give you this.

Por. I will have nothing else but only this;
And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.

Bass. 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.

Por. 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. Bass. 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.

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. An if your wife be not a mad woman, And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you. [Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA. Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring, Let his deservings, and my love withal, Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. Bass. Go, Gratiano; run and overtake him; Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou can'st, Unto Antonio's house.-Away! make haste.

[Exit GRATIANO.

Come, you and I will thither presently,

SCENE I.-Belmont. The Avenue to PORTIA'S

House.

Enter LORENZO and JESSICA.

Steph. A friend.

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.

In such a night,

Jes. Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, And ran dismay'd away.

Lor.

In such a night, Stood Dido with a willow in her hand

Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.
Jes.

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs

That did renew old son.

Lor.

In such a night,

In such a night,

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.

Jes.

In such a night,

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well,
Stealing her scul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor.
In such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Enter STEPHANO.

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patterns 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-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Enter Musicians.

Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn:
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

[Music.

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. 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 mov'd 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.

[Music again.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. Por. 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. Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. Por. 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!

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house.
Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection!-
Peace! now the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd!
Lor.

[Music ceases.
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.

No note at all of our being absent hence;—
Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor you. [Atucket sounded.
Lor. Your husband is at hand: I hear his trumpet.
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

Por. 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.

Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers.

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
And never be Bassanio so for me:

But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord. Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend:

This is the man, this is Antonio,

To whom I am so infinitely bound.

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of.
Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house:

It must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

Gra. [To NERISSA.] 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.

Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give to me; whose poesy was
For all the world, like cutlers' poetry
Upon a knife, "Love me, and leave me not."

Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value? You swore to me, when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death, And that it should lie with you in your grave: Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You should have been respective, and have kept it. Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge, The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face, that had it. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Gra. 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.

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear Never to part with it; 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.

Bass. [Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,

And swear I lost the ring defending it.

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
And neither man, nor master, would take aught
But the two rings.