The Merchant of Venice

A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.

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.”

“All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told; Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold.

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;

And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honor, be assur’d My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.

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 bechanc’d would make me sad?

and since in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear’d between you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.”

And when the tale is told, bid her be judge Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, And he repents not that he pays your debt;

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;

Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad.

But come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device When I am in my coach, which stays for us At the park-gate; and therefore haste away, For we must measure twenty miles today.

But if my father had not scanted me, And hedg’d 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 look’d on yet For my affection.

But if you knew to whom you show this honor, 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.

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.

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.

can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

Come on, in this there can be no dismay, My ships come home a month before the day.

Do as I bid you, shut doors after you; Fast bind, fast find— A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. Exit. JES. Farewell, and if my fortune be not cross’d, I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

For the table, sir, it shall be serv’d in; for the meat, sir, it shall be cover’d; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humors and conceits shall govern.

“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.”

Ha, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship. SAL. I would it might prove the end of his losses. SOL. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

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.

He hates our sacred nation, and he rails Even there where merchants most do congregate On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe If I forgive him!

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.

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.

His hour is almost past. GRA. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock.

How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.

How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him for he is a Christian; But more, for that in low simplicity He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice.

How many things by season season’d are To their right praise and true perfection! Peace ho! The Moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak’d.

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 patens of bright gold.

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal’d by the same means, warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?

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.

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 do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing; when I am very sure If they should speak, would almost damn those ears Which hearing them would call their brothers fools.

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

I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon, I must away this night toward Padua, And it is meet I presently set forth.

I know the hand; in faith, ’tis a fair hand, And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ.

I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father.

I never did repent for doing good, Nor shall not now: for in companions That do converse and waste the time together,

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

I pray thee let us go and find him out And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other.

I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas’d To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.

I would out-night you, did nobody come; But hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter Stephano. LOR. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

I would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look, Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when ’a roars for prey,

If I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man. To him, father, for I am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.

If he have the condition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.

If it be so, How little is the cost I have bestowed In purchasing the semblance of my soul, From out the state of hellish cruelty.

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.

If you be well pleas’d with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss.”

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.

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;

In christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers: Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.

In such a night Did young Lorenzo swear he lov’d her well, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, And ne’er a true one.

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.

It is not so express’d, but what of that? ’Twere good you do so much for charity.

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.

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;

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.

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.

Madam, with all my heart, I shall obey you in all fair commands.

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.

Mark you this, Bassanio, 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.

Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed livery of the burnish’d sun, To whom I am a neighbor and near bred.

My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours.

My wind cooling my broth Would blow me to an ague when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

nd stand indebted, over and above, In love and service to you evermore.

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.

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?

Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind, Nor well, unless in mind. His letter there Will show you his estate.

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess! I feel too much thy blessing; make it less, For fear I surfeit.

O 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!

O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly To seal love’s bonds new made, than they are wont To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

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,

Pray thee take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior I be misconst’red in the place I go to, And lose my hopes.

Pray you let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing. I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

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, Nor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.

Sir, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

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.

So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so, As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.

Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper; And other of such vinegar aspect That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Sweet lady, you have given me life and living, For here I read for certain that my ships Are safely come to road.

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished?

Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat’s tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

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 honor more appears Than any that draws breath in Italy.

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.

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

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress’d 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!”

There be fools alive, iwis, Silver’d o’er, and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head. So be gone, you are sped.”

There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,

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.

therefore the lott’ry that he hath devis’d 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.

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.

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.

Thus hath the candle sing’d the moth. O, these deliberate fools, when they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. NER. The ancient saying is no heresy, Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

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 cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

’Tis well you offer it behind her back, The wish would make else an unquiet house.

To buy his favor, I extend this friendship. If he will take it, so, if not, adieu; And for my love I pray you wrong me not.

To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia.

To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow An age of poverty; from which ling’ring penance Of such misery doth she cut me off.

To wit (besides commends and courteous breath), Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen So likely an embassador 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.

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.

Very vildly in the morning, when he is sober, and most vildly in the afternoon, when he is drunk. When he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.

—We trifle time. I pray thee pursue sentence.

Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

When we are both accoutered like young men, I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two, And wear my dagger with the braver grace,

Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.

Why, thou loss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge, nor no ill luck stirring but what lights a’ my shoulders, no sighs but a’ my breathing, no tears but a’ my shedding.

Yes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your prophet the Nazarite conjur’d the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.

Yes, yes, it was Bassanio—as I think, so was he call’d. NER. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

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.

You may as well use question with the wolf Why he hath made the ewe bleak 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 do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters deliver’d, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

“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.

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.