THE 
 
 DAVID BELASCO 
 
 ' ARRANGEMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST OF 
 
 George Jean Nathan 
 Class of 1904 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 2825.A2B42 
 
 The merchant of Venice; a comedy, as arra 
 
 3 1924 012 960 476 .,»,.... 
 
-^Ki. 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924012960476 
 
David Bklabco 
 
THE 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 A COMEDY 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 AS ARRANGED FOR THE CONTEMPORARY STAGE 
 
 BY 
 
 DAVID BELASCO 
 
 AND 
 
 Acted Under His Direction 
 At the Lyceum Theatre, New York 
 
 WITH 
 
 DAVID WARFIELD 
 
 In the Character of Shylock 
 December 21, 1922 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 1922 
 
Copyright, 1922, by 
 DAVID BELASCO 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
DEDICATED 
 TO 
 LOVEBS OF THE THEATEE EVEBYWHEBE 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 All my life I have desired and purposed to produce 
 The Plays of Shakbspbaeb. They were the chief part 
 of my earliest study, and my love for them increased 
 with my years. In youth it was my frequent privilege 
 to see many of the best actors our Stage has known in 
 their finest Shakespearean embodiments, and, sometimes, 
 personating minor characters, to act in association with 
 them. The first words that I ever spoke in the theatre 
 were words of Shakespeare, — those of the little Richard, 
 Duke of York, in "King Eichard III.," a part which, in 
 childhood, I played at the old Theatre Royal, in Victoria, 
 B. C, with the famous Charles Kean and Ellen Tree, 
 his wife. 
 
 Year by year my familiarity with the best Shake- 
 spearean acting increased. Walter Montgomery (idol 
 of my boyhood!) as Marc Antony, Benedick and Hot- 
 spur; John McCullough as Brutus, Falconbridge and 
 Lear; Lawrence Barrett as Hamlet, lago and Cassius; 
 Barry Sullivan as Richard the Third, Othello and Mac- 
 beth; Adelaide Neilson as Juliet, Viola and Imogen; 
 Edwin Booth as Othello, lago, Hamlet, Richard, Macbeth 
 and Brutus, — those, and many others like to those, were 
 objects of my constant and admiring study. Among 
 the plays of Shakespeare in which I appeared during 
 my theatrical novitiate, and which then were acted 
 under my stage management — some of them many 
 times-^were "Hamlet,*' "King Richard III., "Othello," 
 "Romeo and Juliet," "Julius Caesar," "Macbeth," 
 "King John," "King Lear," "Coriolanus," "Cym- 
 
 5 
 
6 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 beline," "Measure for Measure," "The Comedy of 
 Errors," "Much Ado About Nothing," "A Midsummer 
 Night's Dream," "The Taming of the Shrew," "As 
 You Like It," "Twelfth Night" and "The Merchant of 
 Venice." Among the great players of Shylock for whom 
 it has been my fortune to direct the stage and to rehearse 
 the immortal drama of which he is the central and per- 
 vasive figure are McCullough, Barrett, Sullivan, Booth, 
 and — by no means least — William E. Sheridan. In vari- 
 ous early barnstorming ventures of my own I indulged 
 my dominant desire and presented "The Merchant" and 
 some other of the Bard's great plays — with, be it said, 
 a simplicity of scenic investiture which would cause pro- 
 ductions made "in the Elizabethan manner" to appear 
 as lavishly over-loaded with ornament! But such juve- 
 nile endeavors do not count; and circumstances have 
 not, until now, permitted me really to begin fulfillment 
 of my ambitious purpose, — which I do with this oft- 
 postponed but at last accomplished revival of ' ' The Mer- 
 chant of Venice," in which it is my privilege to present 
 the leader of the American Stage, my dear friend Mr. 
 David Warfield, in one of the most exacting of test parts. 
 In Shakespeare's own words : "Joy be the consequence I" 
 It is my earnest purpose to follow this revival with 
 presentments of many other great plays of Shakespeare 
 —among them "King Lear," with Mr. "Warfield as the 
 heart-broken and heart-breaking monarch of misery; 
 ' ' Romeo and Juliet, " " King Henry V., " " Julius Csesar, ' ' 
 "Twelfth Night," and a trilogy comprising "King Rich- 
 ard IL" and the First and Second Parts of "King Henry 
 IV." The last named three plays were in great part 
 arranged for my presentation by my friend the late 
 William Winter, to whom I was, at the time of his la- 
 mented death, under promise to produce them. They 
 shall be brought forth as soon as it is possible for me 
 
PREFACE 7 
 
 to do so. All these ventures must, in the very nature 
 of things, be beset by great dijficulties and must entail 
 a staggering burden of expense. They can be carried 
 to success only with the approval, the hearty and prac- 
 tical encouragement, cooperation and support of the vast 
 theatre-going public (which, in the past, has been so 
 generously bestowed upon my enterprises) and of all 
 those thoughtful and conscientious writers for the news- 
 paper press who have at heart both the welfare of 
 the community and the interests of the Stage and who 
 by their critical commentaries so profoundly influence 
 the popular taste. I do not subscribe to the despairing 
 dictum of old Frederick Chatterton, sometime manager 
 of Drury Lane Theatre, London, that "Byron spells 
 bankruptcy and Shakespeare spells ruin," — and the in- 
 tellectual approval and practical support essential to 
 adequate revivals of Shakespeare I not only earnestly 
 bespeak but confidently expect to receive. 
 
 "The Merchant of Venice" is one of the plays by 
 William Shakespeare mentioned by Francis Meres in 
 his "Pallis Tamia." That work was published in 1598 
 — and, therefore, the comedy must have been written at 
 least a little earlier. It was entered at Stationers' Hall, 
 London, in that year (1598), by James Eoberts. It was 
 published by Roberts, London, 1600 (the First Quarto), 
 and it was issued again, in 1600, by Thomas Hayes (the 
 Second Quarto). After that it was not reprinted until 
 it appeared in the First Folio — 1623. 
 
 The period of the action of "The Merchant of Venice" 
 is generally accepted as being that in which it was writ- 
 ten.* There is no known positive record of its first pro- 
 duction. In the "Diary" of Philip Henslowe (partner 
 
 *"The Venice of Shakespeare's own time, and the manners 
 of that city, are delineated with matchless accuracy in this 
 drama." — Charles Knight. 
 
8 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 in theatrical management with, the famous Edward 
 AUeyn, who founded Dulwich College, where the 
 "Diary" is preserved) an allusion occurs to presentment 
 of "the Venesyan Comedy" as having occurred in Lon- 
 don on August 25, 1594. That allusion has been accepted 
 by scholars as referring to the first production of "The 
 Merchant of Venice." It seems a reasonable conjec- 
 ture.^ The dates assigned for composition of this com- 
 edy, by various commentators of authority, range from 
 1594 (Malone, Grant White, and others) to 1598 (Ste- 
 vens, Hudson, and others). Charles Knight (without 
 stipulating for any particular year) pleads, in general 
 terms, for "a much earlier date than any hitherto as- 
 signed": i. e., for a date much earlier than 1594. To 
 me it has long seemed that "The Merchant of Venice" 
 was well described by the late Richard Mansfield as "a 
 fairy tale," — that is, as wholly a figment of fancy, fit- 
 tingly localized in any Venetian period remote enough 
 to be romantic and colorful enough to be picturesque. 
 Therefore, without attempting contribution to the fog of 
 scholarly dispute as to when it was written, I have placed 
 the period of its action at about the first quarter of the 
 sixteenth century. That was what may be called The 
 Golden Age of Venice— the time when she had touched 
 the highest point of all her greatness ; when, resplendent 
 in the full meridian of her glory, she seemed, indeed, a 
 jeweled queen of the summer seas. Selection of that 
 time, accordingly, permits me to provide for this lovely 
 comedy not only romantic environment but, also, pleas- 
 ingly novel as well as beautiful costuming. And I have 
 been further swayed in so placing the period of its action 
 by the fact that Jews, especially those of wealth and 
 therefore of influence, were then permitted to live in 
 
 ^ Dowden is inclined to think otherwise. He says : "This may- 
 have been Shakespeare's play, but more probably it was not. " 
 
PREFACE 9 
 
 Venice (as it is indisputable that Shylock lived), outside 
 of the ghetto.^ 
 
 The island city of Venice, of course, and Belmont, an 
 imagined country estate, or "seat," somewhere upon 
 the neighboring mainland shore, are the places of its 
 action. 
 
 The text of The Wobks op Shakbspeaeb as revised 
 and issued by that superb scholar and model editor, the 
 Rev. Alexander Dyce, has been adopted as the basis for 
 this arrangement.^ In a few instances, however (but 
 
 ^ Origin of the term "ghetto" is obscure. The Jews' quarters 
 of Venice and Salerno are, in some documents of the eleventh 
 century, called "Judaea" and "Judearia." It has been main- 
 tained that these became "Judaicam" (as, for example, in 
 the designation of a place in Capua, "San Nicolo ad Ju- 
 daicam"); then "Guideica" and thence by corruption into 
 "ghetto." According to another theory, it is derived from 
 "gietto," the common foundry in Venice, near to which was 
 the first Jews' quarter of that city. Still another theory de- 
 rives the term from "borghetto," a diminutive of the Italian 
 "borgo," a borough; — i. e., a little borough. The word is 
 used carelessly to-day to signify in a general manner any locality 
 in a great city where Jews most do congregate. In earlier 
 times it signified the exact locality in certain cities, enclosed 
 by gated walls, to occupancy of which Jews were restricted by 
 law. The walls and gates of the ghetto in Eome were not de- 
 molished until 1885. 
 
 During the Middle- Ages {circa, 500-1500) the Jews were for- 
 bidden to leave their ghettos after sunset, when the gates 
 thereof were locked; and they were also imprisoned therein 
 upon Sundays and all other Christian holy days. The ghetto 
 at Venice was established upon a separate island. "An island 
 was appropriated to them [the Jews]," says the Shakespearean 
 scholar Edmund Malone; "but they long ago overflowed into 
 other parts of the city." It would hardly be reasonable to 
 suppose that reveling Christian masquers would or could pene- 
 trate at night into the dark and squalid region of the Venetian 
 ghetto. Therefore we must suppose that Shylock was one of 
 those Jews who, as Malone says, overflowed into other parts 
 of the city and that his "sober house" must have been situate 
 in some district more agreeable and readily accessible. 
 
 " Second Edition. 
 
10 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 always for cogent reasons), punctuations or readings of 
 other editors have been followed. In every such, instance 
 the editor preferred is also one of recognized authority. 
 The spelling has been a little modified — being that sanc- 
 tioned by the best contemporary usage in America: 
 "color" instead of the English form of "colour"; 
 "honor" instead of "honour," and the like. 
 
 As printed in the quartos and the First Folio "The 
 Merchant of Venice" is divided into five acts; but the 
 acts are not divided into scenes. Nicholas Eowe, in 
 1709, was the first editor to remedy that defect, arrang- 
 ing the comedy in fourteen scenes. Subsequent editors 
 have increased the number of scenes to twenty, in which 
 form this play is printed in many of the standard Library 
 Editions. For reasons of expediency this arrangement 
 presents it in five acts and eleven scenes, several of 
 which are played practically without pause, — a method 
 which long experience has taught me is specially pleas- 
 ing to the contemporary audience, an audience that 
 craves fluently continuous movement; that will not as- 
 semble in the theatre earlier than eight-fifteen, and that, 
 as a whole, will not remain there later, at the latest, than 
 a few minutes after eleven.^ 
 
 No enumeration of Chaeactees is prefixed to either of 
 the quarto, or to the First Folio, texts of "The Mer- 
 chant." In those texts we find the names of Salarino, 
 Slarino, Salcmio, Solanio, Salino, Salerio. These six 
 sensibly have been reduced (by Dyce, Knight, and others) 
 to Salarino and Solanio. A hair-splitting argument can, 
 perhaps, be made to sustain a separate identity for 
 Salerio; but for practical stage purposes there is no 
 room for reasonable dispute: these characters should 
 stand as Salarino and Solanio. 
 
 ^This is a fact I earnestly deprecate. But it is a fact, — 
 and with facts there is no disputing. — D. B. 
 
PREFACE 11 
 
 A whiole literature of emendation, conjecture and com- 
 mentary has grown up around the text and the char- 
 acters of this play — as it has around those of all its 
 fellows. It is not desirable to cumber a practical Acting 
 Edition with discussions and citations almost intermi- 
 nable. But I would here specify that the whole of that 
 literature (containing much of folly and conceit as well 
 as much of wisdom and learning) has been heedfuUy 
 examined in preparing the play for its present revival, 
 and that ample authority exists for each and every de- 
 cision as to moot points embodied in this arrangement. 
 
 In making it the following truths, as stated by one 
 of the greatest and most reverend of Shakespeare 
 scholars, and one of the wisest and most practical of 
 modem stage adapters, have been heedfuUy regarded: 
 
 "The purists of the present, who utter the voice 
 of indignant protest against even the slightest al- 
 teration of the 'original' Shakespeare structures, 
 seem to suppose that earlier times displayed a 
 greater reverence in this matter ; but that is a mis- 
 take. The truth is that no one of Shakespeare's 
 plays can be presented and spoken exactly as it is 
 fashioned and written; and that, in the regular 
 theatre, no one of them ever has been performed, 
 since Shakespeare 's time, without some curtailment. 
 In the universities, and on scholastic occasions, the 
 literal original [or what passes for such] has, now 
 and then, been given. . . .^ In Shakespeare's period, 
 
 * "Hamlet" has been so acted, at the Memorial Theatre, Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon, for example; and several other of the plays 
 have, on occasion, been presented in prolix if not absolutely 
 complete detaU, at various places, — ^notably, at the Victoria The- 
 atre, London. Such revivals in extenso bring to mind one of 
 the sensible remarks of Shakespeare's personal friend, "rare 
 Ben Jonson" (who loved the man and honored his memory, on 
 
12 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 when theatrical performances occurred in the day, 
 and when but little use was made of scenery, the 
 whole of such a piece as 'King Richard III.' might 
 have been given; but no audience would endure it 
 now. 
 
 "Every actor [and, let me interject, every pro- 
 ducing manager, — D. B.J who, achieving distinction, 
 has attained power, uses his own versions of Shake- 
 speare ; and if all those versions had been preserved, 
 we should possess, in writing, the stage traditions 
 which now, for the greater part, are preserved only 
 in the memory of a rapidly vanishing race of 
 players. ..." 
 
 It is the duty of a producing manager to provide, 
 for every play he elects to set upon the stage, both a 
 company of players capable of its proper interpretation 
 and a scenic investiture adequate to its requirements and 
 contributory, in the fullest possible degree, to its enact- 
 ment and apprehension.^ In a matter so largely one of 
 taste there never can be universal accord; and to the 
 end of time there will be divergent ideas of adequacy 
 in the setting of Shakespeare. Ever since Charles Kean, 
 for example, began his series of sumptuous revivals 
 
 this side idolatry, as much as any) : "I remember that the 
 players have often mentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare 
 that in his writings, whatever he penned, he never blotted out 
 a line. My answer hath been: 'Would he had blotted a thou- 
 sand!' " His works would, indeed, have been improved had 
 he done so. 
 
 ^The public ought, I think, to reflect that it is only the 
 desire and purpose of a theatrical manager to give to it what 
 it is entitled to expect and to receive which prompts such a 
 one to assume the burdensome expense of making an adequate 
 production — an expense which, to-day, is often all but pro- 
 hibitive. 
 
PEEFACE 13 
 
 of Shakespeare, at the old Princess' Theatre, London, 
 with "King John," '—February 9, 1852,— there has been 
 a wail of clamorous complaint about "over-loading 
 Shakespeare with scenery" and an outcry as to the need 
 of reverting, in Shakespearean revivals, to "the original 
 text." 
 
 It is, of course, to be conceded that neither the plays 
 of Shakespeare nor those of any other dramatist should 
 be "over-loaded" with scenery. Also, it is conceded 
 that where a clear, consistent, dramatic ' ' original text ' ' 
 exists it should, as far as possible, be adhered to. 
 
 In this matter the first disagreement must necessarily 
 come over the question of what constitutes scenic over- 
 loading. Shall we have the stage practically bare ? Or, 
 Shall we have it set to represent as closely as possible 
 the scenes specified? A very small minority of the 
 theatre-going public, which enjoys mere rhetoric and 
 declamation, approves presentation of plays upon stages 
 almost barren and most insufficiently illumined. The 
 immense majority of that public, upon the other hand, 
 prefers and demands (and is therein reasonable and 
 right) representations designed to create illusions : rep- 
 resentations wherein actors, impersonating and inter- 
 preting character, are required to ' * suit the word to the 
 action, the action to the word," and wherein, also, stage 
 directors strive to suit the scenic investiture to the in- 
 dications of time and place and to the dramatic and his- 
 trionic needs of plays presented. Yet, by the minority, 
 such stage directors are those most often (and most 
 
 ^Kean had previously brought out "Twelfth Night" and 
 "The Merry Wives of Windsor," but "King John,"— which 
 he first produced at the old Park Theatre, New York, six years 
 earlier, November 16, 1846, — ^was really the first of his great, 
 his sumptuous, revivals, for the making of which he was cen- 
 sured. 
 
14 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 unjustly) censured for "over-loading"' Shakespeare 
 with scenery. 
 
 Charles Kean, in the Shakespeare revivals to which 
 I have alluded, depended far more upon Acting than he 
 did upon scenery and accessories ; a reading of the lists 
 of his theatrical companies will show that. And it is 
 certain not only that he was associated with one of the 
 most accomplished of actresses, Ellen Tree, but, also, 
 that he was himself truly a great actor. The complaint 
 against his rich settings owes much of its endurance 
 (if, indeed, it does not owe its origin) to jealousy on 
 the part of a still greater actor, William Charles 
 Macready, whose rival Kean was in some sort. 
 Macready, after retiring from the Stage, was bitterly 
 resentful of the success, public applause and social 
 favor which were lavished upon the younger player.^ 
 Commenting upon Kean's revival of "The Winter's 
 Tale," and upon the careful attention therein bestowed 
 upon investiture, he said: 
 
 "Evidently the accessories swallow up the poetry 
 and action. ... I take it so much to heart, because 
 
 1 Shakespeare himself was, beyond doubt, keenly appreciative 
 of the absolute and deplorable inadequacy of the oft-vaunted 
 Elizabethan Stage to proper presentation of some of his great 
 plays. Consider, in this connection, his lament in "King Henry 
 v.," about the unsatisfactory, and indeed contemptible, manner 
 in which, upon that stage, one of the most famous of decisive 
 battles was indicated: 
 
 "Where — 0, for pity! — we shall much disgrace, 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils. 
 The name of Agincourt ! " 
 
 " This jealousy was so well known among their contemporaries 
 that when Kean lost a valuable ring which had been given to 
 him by Queen Victoria, in recognition of his histrionic and 
 managerial achievements, the sardonic Douglas Jerrold re- 
 marked: "It will probably be found sticking m Macready 's 
 crop." 
 
PREFACE 15 
 
 I feel myself in some measure responsible. I, in 
 my endeavor to give to Shakespeare all his at- 
 tributes; to enrich his poetry with scenes [settings] 
 worthy of its interpretation : to give to his tragedies 
 their due magnificence, and to his comedies their 
 entire brilliancy, have set an example which is ac- 
 companied with great peril, — for the public is will- 
 ing to have the magnificence without the tragedy, 
 and the poet is swallowed up in display. ..." 
 
 Those ill-natured comments by Macready (a much em- 
 bittered man as well as one of the greatest of artists), 
 apropos of the work of Kean, were merely an ebullition 
 of envy. He perceived himself being excelled as a pro- 
 ducer, and he vented his spleen in detraction. His solici- 
 tude concerning "the poet" was entirely superfluous. 
 With the public, then as now and always, in a presenta- 
 tion of Shakespeare "the play's the thing": no revival 
 of any of his plays that has depended for support merely 
 upon "display" has ever had, at best, more than a 
 fleeting prosperity : many of such productions have been 
 disastrous failures. A diamond is always a diamond — 
 but cut, polished and placed in a suitable and lovely 
 setting it always shows to better advantage than when 
 left, rough and imperfect, embedded in clay. To give to 
 Shakespeare's plays, tragic or comic, their wholly ade- 
 quate, due investiture — that, and nothing more — has been, 
 and is, the honorable ambition of his most truly appre- 
 ciative and reverent producers. Such, certainly, is 
 my ambition in reviving "The Merchant of Venice." 
 But to recognize that not everything which Shakespeare 
 wrote is either good literature or good drama does not 
 injure, — on the contrary it aids, — in making satisfactory 
 revivals of his plays. 
 
 The same complaint, nevertheless, that was made 
 
16 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 against Kean has been uttered, in successive periods, 
 against Kean's successors, — against, for example, Lester 
 Wallack (when he revived "Much Ado About Nothing"), 
 Edwin Booth, Lawrence Barrett, Augustin Daly, Charles 
 Calvert, and — most of all — against Henry Irving. Not 
 long ago I read an article extolling the methods of pro- 
 ducers who throw away all the beautiful and invaluable 
 improvements which have been developed during the last 
 three hundred years and revert to primitive methods. 
 In that article I found the following amazing remarks: 
 
 "... The two producers who did most in Eng- 
 land to keep Shakespeare on the boards, also did a 
 great deal to ruin Shakespeare, by denying that he 
 knew his business. . . . 
 
 ' ' Those two ^ producers were Sir Henry Irving, 
 who chopped up the plays and re-arranged the scenes 
 to make as few changes of locale as possible. He 
 ruined Shakespeare's construction. 
 
 "Sir Frank Benson, who trained a whole swarm 
 of Shakespearean actors. He let loose upon the 
 poor land that plague of mouthing a/nd solemn elo- 
 cutionists who have ruined whatever Irving and the 
 other producers had left of Shakespeare's splendid 
 and racy humanity. ..." 
 
 There is a kind of men who very quickly grow tired 
 of hearing Aristides called the just and who (vicious 
 with envy) take a sort of malicious pleasure in girding 
 at the great achievements of leaders in any calling. 
 
 ^It is rank and ignorant injustice thus to ignore all that 
 was done, in England, in the way of "keeping Shakespeare on 
 the stage," by Maeready, Charles Kean, Samuel Phelps (who 
 produced thirty-two of Shakespeare's thirty-seven plays — a rec- 
 ord never equaled), Charles Calvert and Herbert Beerbohm- 
 Tree. 
 
PEBFACE 17 
 
 Silent contempt, no doubt, often is the wisest way to 
 treat their ebullitions of disparagement. Yet it is not 
 right that theatrical history should be falsified, and the 
 reputations of noble artists and devoted public servants 
 be traduced, without protest. Henry Irving was (in my 
 judgment) the greatest stage producer that ever lived. 
 The British Government (with the hearty approval of 
 the whole English-speaking world) made him a knight 
 (the first actor ever, as such, to be so honored), in rec- 
 ognition of his unequaled services to the Theatre and 
 the Art of Acting and thus to the Public. And now, 
 seventeen years after his death, we are apprised (upon 
 authority of persons who have never done anything of 
 the slightest note for anybody!) that his beneficent serv- 
 ices consisted, in large part, of "chopping up" Shake- 
 speare and ruining or destroying his "construction" and 
 "the splendid and racy humanity" which he depicted! 
 Sir Frank Benson (a disciple of Irving, who began 
 his stage career under him, at the London Lyceum The- 
 atre, in 1883) has long maintained, in his theatrical trav- 
 eling company, the best training school accessible, in 
 recent years, to the English-speaking stage aspirant. 
 The one thing which Irving detested most in the Theatre 
 was a "mouthing, solemn elocutionist." His derisive 
 name for such a one was "a spouter." He preached, 
 practiced and enforced, from first to last, the theory of 
 acting which at all times subordinates mere elocution 
 to impersonation. One of the texts upon which he 
 descanted, time and again, as illustrating his doctrine, 
 is the terrific speech of Shylock, in the famous Street 
 Scene of "The Merchant." That theory and practice 
 of impersonation instead of declamation Benson learned 
 from Irving, and throughout his long and admirable 
 career he has inculcated it in the actors whom he has 
 trained — yet we are now informed, falsely as well as 
 
18 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 flippantly, that Benson was honored by his government, 
 as Irving had been, not for merit, but for training and 
 letting loose upon the stage "a plague" of "spouters," 
 of ** mouthing and solemn elocutionists"! Such mean 
 belittlement of greatness "is not, and it cannot come to, 
 good." 
 
 Irving produced twelve of Shakespeare's plays. When 
 he first came out in "Hamlet," at the London Lyceum 
 (under management, by the way, of an American, old 
 "Chain-Lightning" Bateman), that tragedy was given 
 for 200 consecutive performances (the longest run ever 
 achieved with it anywhere), and the total cost of the 
 production, scenery and dresses (the latter being hired), 
 was — $4751 When Irving again revived it at the Ly- 
 ceum, four years later, the amount expended on the 
 production was approximately $5,000. When (Novem- 
 ber 1, 1879) he made his famous revival of "The Mer- 
 chant of Venice" (which for artistic beauty and general 
 excellence has never been excelled) the production ac- 
 count totaled but $5,750. During the run of the piece 
 (250 consecutive performances — the longest run ever 
 achieved, anywhere, with a play by Shakespeare) Irviag 
 spent, for upkeep and new scenery and costumes, an 
 additional $4,090— a grand total of only $9,840. Accord- 
 ing to an old proverb "money talks." Well, it does. 
 And, on this subject, I seem to hear it saying: "You 
 cannot produce a Shakespeare comedy, setting it in thir- 
 teen scenes ; dress upward of 150 different persons, and 
 run the play for more than seven consecutive months, 
 on a total production expenditure of less than $10,000 — 
 and still do much scenic 'overloading'!"^ 
 
 ^ ' ' Except in one instance [meaning, when he produced ' ' King 
 Henry VIII."] the scenic art has never been made the cardinal 
 element of my policy. . . . 
 
 "Nothing, to my mind, can be 'overdone' upon the stage that 
 
PREFACE 19 
 
 The second point of disagreement always comes as to 
 the original text. Clamor for the complete, unexpur- 
 gated, original text of Shakespeare arises, primarily, 
 from a fallacious assumption— the assumption, namely, 
 that there exists a clear, definite, complete "original 
 text." All competent Shakespeare scholars are aware, 
 of course, that there is no such thing. Yet, by way of 
 censuring modern producers, who, of necessity, edit and 
 arrange Shakespeare's plays for the contemporary stage, 
 it is sarcastically alleged that ' ' Shakespeare knew what 
 he was doing when he put together his plays in short 
 scenes, developing rapidly on one another. ..." 
 
 Such observations as that display ignorance — because 
 they reveal a supposition that Shakespeare made his 
 plays exactly as they stand to-day in those superb mon- 
 uments of scholarship and devoted labor, the modern 
 standard Library Editions. Such, of course, is not the 
 case. Save by inference and deduction, we possess com- 
 paratively little knowledge of how Shakespeare "put to- 
 gether his plays." But part of the knowledge on that 
 subject which we do possess is that he did not, exclu- 
 sively, — or even in most instances, — put them together 
 ia "short scenes." 
 
 Counting the two parts of "King Henry TV." and the 
 three parts of "King Henry VI.," as separate plays, and 
 including both "Titus Andronicus" and "Pericles," 
 there are thirty-seven Shakespeare plays. Our chief 
 source of their text is the First Folio, 1623. Eighteen 
 of the plays are therein printed for the first time. The 
 others had been previously printed in one, or more, 
 
 is beautiful — I mean, correct and harmonious,— and that 
 heightens, not dwarfs, the imagination and reality. I took no 
 less pains [than he had taken in staging Shakespeare] in pro- 
 ducing [the farce of] 'The Captain of the Watch' or 'The Two 
 Roses.' " — Henrt Irving. 
 
20 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 quarto editions. Some of those quartos were surrep- 
 titious or piratical (e. g., "The Merry Wives of Wind- 
 sor" and "King Henry VI. — Part One").^ Some of 
 them were authorized and are invaluable. The type for 
 the First Folio was (probably) set, in some instances, 
 from manuscripts (e. g., "The Tempest"),^ in some, 
 from playhouse (prompt) copies — which may have been 
 made up on copies of printed quartos or may have been 
 in manuscript — and in some other instances, beyond 
 doubt, from earlier quartos. 
 
 The First Folio, while it certainly is what that great- 
 est of Shakespeare scholars, J. 0. Halliwell-Phillipps, 
 called it, — namely, "The most interesting and valuable 
 book in the whole range of English literature," — is, also, 
 certainly the worst compiled, edited and printed worJc, 
 of major importance, ever issued from the press.^ It 
 has been authoritatively said to contain approximately 
 20,000 demonstrable errors.* In the plays, as there 
 printed, are found some scenes or passages which do 
 not occur in any of the previously printed quartos — 
 
 1 Halliwell-Phillipps. 
 
 ^ A great deal of pother is made, from time to time (especiaUy 
 by Baconian fanatics), over the fact that we do not possess 
 the original manuscripts of Shakespeare. Everything consid- 
 ered it would be more strange if we did possess them. The 
 Globe Theatre was burnt, June (29?), 1613, during a perform- 
 ance of "King Henry VIII." and, beyond reasonable doubt, 
 many of those manuscripts were then destroyed. Not much 
 care was taken of manuscripts after they had been "set up. 
 Moreover, London was swept by a terrible fire, m 1666, m 
 which old St. Paul's Cathedral was consumed, and along with 
 it "a vast quantity of books and manioscripts that had been 
 brought from all the threatened parts of the city and heaped 
 beneath its arches." Thus might well have perished the manu- 
 scripts of the later Shakespeare plays— first printed m the 
 Folio — supposing them to have survived for forty-three years 
 after that book issued. 
 
 * William Winter. 
 
PREFACE 21 
 
 while, on the other hand, in some of those quartos are 
 scenes or passages which do not occur in the First Folio. 
 This, notably, is the case with "Hamlet" and "King 
 Richard III." In almost innumerable instances "read- 
 ings" vary. "Troilus and Cressida" is, practically 
 speaking, an irreparable jumble. "King John" is, sceni- 
 cally, much tangled. "Macbeth" is notoriously cor- 
 rupt.^ "Antony and Cleopatra" and "Troilus and Cres- 
 sida," as we have received them (First Folio), are not 
 divided into scenes, or even into acts. "The Comedy 
 of Errors," "A Midsummer Night's Dream, "^ "Much 
 Ado About Nothing," "Love's Labor's Lost," "Julius 
 Caesar," and " Coriolanus, " like "The Merchant of 
 Venice, are divided into acts, but not into scenes. And 
 yet modem producers (who are scrupulous to present 
 the great plays with due consideration of unity, con- 
 sistency, continuity, clarity and dramatic effect) are cen- 
 sured and aspersed for not setting them upon the stage, 
 according to "the original text," and in many "short 
 scenes," as Shakespeare made them! 
 
 Much of the fallacious (or fictitious) reverence for 
 "the original text" of Shakespeare which has been mani- 
 fested during the last century or so (and manifested, 
 generally, by idlers, in disparagement of the work of 
 sincere and competent producers) originated with the 
 famous English political agitator and philologist, John 
 Home Tooke (1736-1812), who, very preposterously, 
 wrote that "The First Folio [of Shakespeare] is the 
 only edition worth reading" and that "it is much to 
 be wished that an edition of Shakespeare were given 
 
 ^"Shakespeare wrote for an ill-provided stage, and there is 
 reaRon to believe that his plavs, as they have come down to us, 
 contain languaqe fhat was foisted upon them ty other writers." 
 — William Winter. 
 
 ^In the first quarto, "The Dream" is not even divided into 
 acts. 
 
22 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 literatim according to the First Folio . . . for, by the 
 presumptuous license of the dwarfish commentators, we 
 risk the loss of Shakespeare's genuine text, which that 
 Folio assuredly contains, notwithstanding some few 
 slight [!] errors of the press." 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps, with terse restraint, remarks that : 
 "Home Tooke was not so well read as the commentators, 
 none of whom could have exhibited such cm entire igno- 
 rance of the value of the quartos," — nor, be it added, 
 of the state of the text as it stands in the First Folio. 
 Indeed, it is proper to say that Tooke 's observations 
 suggest the probability that he never really studied a 
 copy of the Folio, — ^which exhibits such a jumble of 
 errors and defects that no publisher of to-day would 
 accept it as printers '-copy, let alone offer it for sale as 
 a finished product of the bookmaker's craft! Since the 
 time of Home Tooke we have had many editors and com- 
 mentators (Dyce, Staunton, Knight, Collier, "White, 
 Clarke and Wright, Keightley and Furness, among 
 them) who have rendered invaluable service in correc- 
 tion and coordination of Shakespeare's plays. 
 
 And the producers who (in my judgment) most truly 
 revere the Great Dramatist and best serve his fame and 
 the public interest are not those who make of his plays 
 archaic and tiresome curiosities, but those who (sensibly 
 utilizing an eclectic and purged text) present those plays 
 in form suitable to the modern stage and contemporary 
 taste.^ I cannot comprehend, for example, how it can 
 
 ^Dr. Johnson frankly remarked of Shakespeare that: "He 
 has scenes of undoubted and perpetual excellence, but perhaps 
 not one play which, if it were now exhibited as the work of 
 a contemporary writer, would be heard to the conclusion." 
 
 And William Winter, with his customary simplicity and sane- 
 ness, has written: "No person, I believe, has ever entertained 
 a more profound veneration for the genius of Shakespeare than 
 is cherished by me. But I have long felt that the habit of 
 
PREFACE 23 
 
 be thought either reverent of Shakespeare, or agreeable, 
 or necessary to satisfaction of an audience assembled 
 in the theatre, to hear Lorenzo rebuke Laimcelot with 
 "the getting up of the negro's belly" Act. V., Sc. 1, 
 ed. Dyce), — and in my stage arrangement of "The Mer- 
 chant" all such exquisite gems of the original text will 
 be found conspicuous by their absence. 
 
 In arranging this Acting Edition of "The Merchant 
 of Venice" my steadfast purpose has been to provide 
 a properly full and entirely adequate, correct, and there- 
 fore satisfactory, presentation of Shakespeare's ever- 
 favorite tragi-comedy, within the limit of time available, 
 — about three hours. In order to accomplish this, all 
 that it was found practically possible to do for the 
 acceleration of the dramatic movement has been done, 
 by omission of expatiative passages and of all such 
 scenes as experience has shown to be supererogatory,^ 
 and also (as previously signified) by deletion of all such 
 speeches as, being gross and vulgar, are offensive to 
 decency and good taste. 
 
 In performance of the work of arrangement the best 
 of the earlier stage versions have been studiously exam- 
 ined and considered (most of all, those made by Charles 
 Kean, Edwin Booth— 1878 and 1887— and Henry Irving). 
 It is my hope and belief that the resultant fabric, while 
 it is in some sense peculiar to itself, will be found, also, 
 
 ascribing perfection to everything that Shakespeare wrote, 
 merely because he wrote it, is one of the chief obstacles to a 
 right understanding of his works. ... He should be venerated 
 and extolled for his virtues, not for his faults. As an artist 
 he was often heedless ; there is not even one of his plays which, 
 as we possess it, would not he better had it been carefully re- 
 vised by him, and one object which should invariably and con- 
 scientiously be sought in the stage presentation of his plays is 
 the exclusion of fhe errors and ilemishes of 'the original text.' " 
 * Notably, the Arragon Casket Scene. 
 
24 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 to be incorporative of all tliat is best in the arrangements 
 of precedent producers. 
 
 I recently read a letter by tbat great American theatri- 
 cal manager Augustin Daly, addressed to his friend and 
 mine, the late William Winter, when they were at work 
 upon a stage arrangement (never produced) of "All's 
 Well That Ends Well," in which he expressed some 
 views on adaptation which seem to me worthy of record : 
 
 "... My only idea of adaptation is to make as 
 few changes of scene as it is possible to get along 
 with, and to reach this end it will only be necessary 
 to transpose a few of the scenes, — as I did in 'The 
 School for Scandal.' 
 
 "In that piece there are not fifteen words added 
 to Sheridan. 
 
 "... There are [in Shakespeare] some obsolete 
 and incomprehensible phrases which might be 
 'adapted,' I think; but that I leave to your taste. 
 We want to make Shakespeare attractive to the 
 greater mass: and, to that end (as Charles Dickens 
 advised Bulwer), we must concede something to 
 them. . . ." 
 
 And I would also commend, to persons solicitous con- 
 cerning the text as it stands cut and arranged in my 
 version, the following remarks by one of the most rev- 
 erent and scrupulous editors of Shakespeare, the late 
 Charles Edward Flower — who, it is interesting to re- 
 call, did his editorial work within sight of the spot where 
 the Swan of Avon ceased from singing and where his 
 ashes lie at rest: 
 
 "Some learned critics object to any omissions, 
 or any alterations in the order of scenes, however 
 necessary to the exigencies of the stage, and say 
 
PREFACE 25 
 
 that Shakespeare's plays should be acted only as 
 he wrote them, forgetting that the 'original text' 
 [i. e., the quartos and the First Folio] are very 
 corrupt, and that the divisions into scenes aee, in 
 
 MOST INSTANCES, ONLY CONJECTUEAL. ... It might aS 
 
 well be objected that Shakespeare's plays ought 
 never to be acted, as we understand acting, but 
 should simply be declaimed before a tapestry 
 screen. ..." 
 
 In his Notes on the Arrangement of ''Hamlet," Flower 
 says: 
 
 "In the editions published during the last [the 
 eighteenth] century this play was divided into a 
 great number of scenes, and some exception has been 
 taken to the recent practice of reducing this num- 
 ber, by playing several scenes continuously, without 
 change or pause. This, instead of being an inno- 
 vation, is really a return to the original form,"* 
 
 ^ It was as a consequence of Mr. Flower's often expressed 
 wish and suggestion that "Hamlet" was, finally, presented "in 
 its entirety" (the performance lasting about seven hours and 
 being given in two parts, the first in the afternoon, the second 
 at night), at Stratford-upon-Avon. But Mr. Flower was an 
 eminently sensible man, and he quite comprehended that such a 
 representation was suitable to a special occasion only and neither 
 feasible nor desirable in the regular theatre. He had a perfect 
 understanding of the practical requirements of the stage, for, 
 working upon the basis of all available English stage arrange- 
 ments (including those of Gibber, Garrick, J. P. Kemble, E. 
 Kean, Macready, C. Kean, Phelps, C. Calvert and Irving) and 
 of many used or made in Germany, he had prepared an invalu- 
 able students' Working Edition of Shakespeare, preserving prac- 
 tically entire the definitive texts, while — by use of two sizes 
 of type, supplemented with explanatory notes in italics — simul- 
 taneously showing the various cuts and transpositions required 
 by the exigencies of the modern Theatre and sanctioned by the 
 most scholarly usage. 
 
26 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 — an important fact which. I have heedfully borne in 
 mind, notably in my treatment of the Second Act of 
 "The Merchant," in which there is only one change of 
 set, and that a change supplementary to the text of 
 Shakespeare, made at the close of the Act. 
 
 The whole long and sometimes acrimonious contro 
 versy over proper methods of reviving the plays of 
 Shakespeare upon the Stage of to-day (whether in re- 
 spect to the nature of investiture or the editing of the 
 text) resolves itself into this: 
 
 Should a producer utilize all the expedients, devices 
 and improvements which incessant study and continuous 
 scientific discovery and invention have developed during 
 the last three hundred years : or, Should he (not for a 
 special, educational occasion but as a permanent policy) 
 throw away ambition, and with it all the advancement 
 that has been made in that long time, and revert to the 
 crude, inferior, wholly inadequate methods which were 
 in vogue (and which were contemned while they were 
 in vogue) during the infancy of the modern Theatre? 
 
 To do the latter, honestly and consistently, we should, 
 among other things, have to banish women from our 
 stage and to have such parts as Portia, Nerissa and 
 the amorous Jessica represented by "squeaking boys": 
 to dispense with suitable music and the almost limitless 
 advantages and all the exquisite beauties of electrical 
 lighting: to forego the use of proper make-up (wigs, pig- 
 ments, etc.) : to do away with ail adequate scenery, fur- 
 niture and dressing: to present — for example — "The 
 Merchant of Venice" not in the garb and the environ- 
 ment of the Venice of the sixteenth century, but in the 
 cast-off garments of the nobility of Elizabeth's court, 
 and in a rough, semi-barren environment, scarce digni- 
 fied enough for a bear-baiting ! ^ 
 
 ^ Shakespeare students, of course, are familiar with the gen- 
 
PEEFACE 27 
 
 The Public certainly would not tolerate such ineptitude 
 in management. Nor is it possible for me to doubt that 
 Shakespeare himself would eagerly have employed all 
 the many invaluable accessories of modern stage-craft 
 if they had been available to him. Therefore, in making 
 this revival of "The Merchant of Venice," what I am 
 sure Shakespeare would have done, what I am sure he 
 would do if he were here to-day, that I have done — and 
 availed myself to the full of all those accessories and 
 aids to effect. But in the doing so I have neither for- 
 gotten nor disregarded the study, insight and achieve- 
 ment of three centuries of precedent labor. Thus it will, 
 I trust, be found that, while making innovations such 
 as life-long study and experience have suggested, I have 
 neither cumbered the stage with superfluous and ham- 
 pering embellishments nor disregarded anything valuable 
 in the traditions with which, through generations of 
 genius, this great play has become encrusted. From the 
 very first it has been a cardinal article of my artistic 
 creed that only by utilizing all that is best — all that 
 is true, right and effective — in old and tried methods, 
 together with all that is of manifest value in new ones, 
 can a dramatic director give to his public what that pub- 
 lic is entitled to receive. To nothing, perhaps, more 
 than to methods of stage representation are the wise 
 words of Pope applicable : 
 
 "Alike fantastic, if too new or old; 
 Be not the first by whom the new are tried. 
 Nor yet the last to lay the old aside." 
 
 eral circuinstances of a performance, at a public play-house, in 
 the time of Shakespeare. The average theatre-goer (to whom 
 primarily these words are addressed and for whom my produc- 
 tions are made) may not be; and therefore, as possibly sug- 
 gestive and interesting, I append a description of such a per- 
 formanbe, quoted from Taine : see page 37. 
 
28 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Thus, I may venture to claim, it will be found that I 
 have wrought neither as a blind adherent to old ways nor 
 as a mere presumptuous innovator, but as a humble, 
 reverent and most earnest student and disciple of 
 Shakespeare, of the great leaders of my beloved calling, 
 and of Truth and Beauty. I have at least done my 
 utmost to deserve success, and therefore with equanim- 
 ity I await the Public's verdict — remembering the words 
 of The Master himself: 
 
 "For never anything comes amiss 
 "When simpleness and duty tender itl" 
 
 ^^^-dt^'^U^c^ 
 
David Warkikj-O 
 
CONCEENING SHYLOCK 
 
CONCERNING SHYLOCK. 
 
 Into the controversy as to whether Shyloch is a mon- 
 ster or a martyr I shall not, here and now, enter. Mr. 
 Warfield's performance is, I am sure, the best essay 
 upon his conception which could be provided. But some 
 singular doctrines concerning the seriousness, I might 
 perhaps say the sincerity, of the character of Shylock 
 have, in the coming on of time, got themselves accepted. 
 Not long ago, for example, I read warm commenda- 
 tion of an actor who presented him as a short, fat, red- 
 haired, smirking Jew, grotesque and comical. Indeed, 
 of recent years, the assertion that Shylock was acted 
 in Shakespeare's day as a red-haired, comic character 
 has been so often made that, at last, ignorance has ac- 
 cepted mere iterant asseveration as truth and this no- 
 tion has become widely prevalent. 
 
 It is a notion both false and preposterous. There is 
 nothing in the character, the conduct, or the experience 
 of Shylock that is in the least comic. Nor is there any 
 sufficient ground for assuming and alleging that Shylock 
 was ever acted in the presence, or the period, of his 
 creator as a comic character. As Hamlet is an embodi- 
 ment of introspective, suffering intellect,— Macbeth, of 
 guilty, conscience-scourged ambition, — Lear, of paternal 
 love, outraged and anguished by filial ingratitude,— 7a^o, 
 of diabolical treachery,— so Shylock is an embodiment 
 (and a supreme one) of vindictive hatred over-reaching 
 and destroying itself in a hideous purpose of revenge. 
 And he is not the less so because, in his final discom- 
 fiture and utter ruin, he is, in some sort, pathetic. There 
 
 31 
 
32 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 is nothing comic in such a character and experience; 
 there is much that is afflictingly tragic. 
 
 Intelligent reading of the text of Shakespeare's play 
 can leave no slightest doubt of the vital, rugged, grim 
 and essentially tragic character of Shylock. Here and 
 there, indeed, that text reveals or suggests a momentary, 
 fleeting, grisly jocularity; but any person who can heed- 
 fully and apprehensively study it and find in that char- 
 acter anything comic, assuredly must possess a most 
 peculiar sense of humor. 
 
 The tradition that Shylock was originally played in 
 a red wig rests upon a probable (not to say a manifest) 
 forgery. There is no known, authentic chronicle con- 
 taining specific record of the first player of Shylock. 
 It is assumed, however, and with reasonable certainty, 
 that it was the famous actor Richard Burbage {circa 
 1568-1619). 
 
 Burbage was the principal player at the Globe and 
 Blackfriars theatres. One authority remarks of him 
 that "He was specially famous for his impersonation 
 of Richard the Third and other Shakespearean charac- 
 ters, and it was in tragedy that he most excelled.'* Bur- 
 bage was closely associated with Shakespeare (whom 
 he survived for about two years and who remembered 
 him in his will), and, as he was the original performer 
 of many other of Shakespeare's great tragic characters, 
 it is entirely reasonable to suppose that he was that of 
 Shylock, also. But as Shylock is manifestly a tragic 
 part, and as Burbage "especially excelled" as a tragic 
 actor there is no reason to assume that he played the 
 part in anything but a tragic manner. 
 
 When he died, some commemorative verses about him 
 were written anonymously, — and, perhaps, published. 
 Those verses are entitled: "A Funeral Elegy, on the 
 
CONCERNING SHYLOCK 33 
 
 Death ot the Famous Actor, Richard Burbage, who died 
 on Saturday in Lent, the 13th of March, 1618 [9]." 
 
 This "Funeral Elegy" was first published (in "The 
 Gentleman's Magazine," London, 1825) by Mr. Hasle- 
 wood, who owned the original manuscript, — which, later, 
 was placed in the Huth Library. 
 
 J. Payne Collier reprinted that Elegy in his "History 
 of English Dramatic Poetry," London, 1831. In his 
 "New Particulars Regarding the Works of Shake- 
 speare," London, 1836, Collier mentions as belonging 
 to Heber, a second manuscript copy of the verses, and 
 asserts that he had subsequently "met with a third 
 [manuscript] copy of the same Elegy, in which the list 
 of [Burbage 's] characters is enlarged [from three] . . . 
 to no fewer than twenty, of which twelve are in plays 
 by Shakespeare. ..." 
 
 This alleged third copy of the Elegy on Burbage, 
 which Collier asserts that he saw, he printed, in full, 
 in his "Memoirs of Actors," London, 1846. In Hasle- 
 wood's manuscript there are eighty-six lines. In the 
 alleged ''third copy," as printed by Collier, there are 
 one hundred and twenty-four lines. The additional 
 thirty-eight lines thus promulgated were rejected by C. 
 M. Inglby, when compiling his "Century of Praise"; 
 and Miss Toulmin Smith, in the second edition thereof, 
 remarks significantly that the original manuscript con- 
 taining them has "not yet come to light." 
 
 Among those additional thirty-eight lines published 
 by Collier occur the following, which allude to "The 
 Merchant of Venice" and Shylock: 
 
 "Heart-broke Philaster, and Amintas, too. 
 Are lost forever; with the red-hair 'd Jew, 
 Which sought the bankrupt merchant's pound of flesh. 
 By woman-lawyer caught in his own mesh . . ." &c. 
 
34 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Collier "was an indefatigable antiquarian and a pro- 
 foundly learned Shakespeare scholar, but his many- 
 forgeries (in the Perkins Folio of Shakespeare, and 
 elsewhere) make it difficult, if not rationally impossible, 
 to accept as genuine any uncorroborated "discovery" 
 made by him. And it must be remembered that those 
 lines additional to the old anonymous Elegy (lines abso- 
 lutely unauthenticated and — to speak frankly — beyond 
 doubt spurious) are the sole "authority" for asserting 
 that Shyloch was played, in Shakespeare 's day, in a red 
 wig. 
 
 Collier declared, also, that Burbage wore * ' a long false 
 nose, such as was worn by" Edward Alleyn, when acting 
 Barahas, in Marlowe's "The Jew of Malta." That is 
 only an assumption by Collier ; he had no authority for 
 making it. But, even if it be correct; and if, further- 
 more, the additional lines of the Elegy be accepted as 
 authentic — what then? A red wig is no bar to a tragic 
 impersonation — ^nor is a long nose. Was Eichard Mans- 
 field's personation of Cyrano de Bergerac any the less 
 tragic because he wore an elongated snout, when play- 
 ing that part? Who that ever saw the younger James 
 W. Wallack's red-haired Fagin would ever have called 
 it a comic embodiment? 
 
 The false notion that Shylock was at first played as 
 a comic character originated in the fact that Thomas 
 Doggett (died, 1721), the first actor definitely recorded 
 as a performer of Shylock, was an actor of comic and 
 farcical parts. The old prompter John Downes writes 
 of him, in the "Eoscius Anglicanus": "Mr. Doggett, 
 on the stage, he's very aspect abund [whatever that 
 may have been], wearing a farce in his face," and 
 Downes further pronounces him to be "the only comic 
 original now [1708] extant." His friend, and one-time 
 partner, old CoUey Cibber, also wrote of Doggett that 
 
CONCERNING SHYLOCK 35 
 
 "his greatest success was in characters of lower life," 
 and that "in songs, and particular dances, too, of 
 humor, he had no competitor." Doggett did present, in 
 a coarsely comic manner, a character called Shylock 
 (described as "a stock-jobbing Jew"); but he did so 
 only in the atrocious perversion of "The Merchant of 
 Venice" made by George Granville, Viscount of Lans- 
 downe, which was produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields The- 
 atre, London, in 1701, and which held the stage during 
 the next forty years. 
 
 That perversion bears about as much likeness to the 
 comedy by Shakespeare as does the light diffused by a 
 tallow dip to that of the sun. When the noble George 
 thrust his ears through Shakespeare's play he made only 
 one good change — he altered the title from "The Mer- 
 chant of Venice" to "The Jew of Venice." To assume 
 that Shakespeare's great character of Shylock was orig- 
 inally played by Burbage (or should ever be played by 
 anybody) as a humorous character because Doggett (of 
 necessity) played Lord Lansdowne's Shylock as a 
 ** comic original" is about as rational as it would be to 
 suppose that Hamlet should be presented as a humorous 
 character, because the once-famous clown George L. Fox 
 used, years ago, to present a burlesque Hamlet, in a 
 popular travesty of the tragedy, at old Niblo's Garden. 
 
 The great Shakespeare scholar, the elder Horace How- 
 ard Furness, remarks on this subject: "There is no 
 ground for the belief that Shakespeare's Shylock was 
 ever presented on the stage in a comic light. To assert 
 it is to imply that Lansdowne's 'Shylock' and Shake- 
 speare's Shylock are identical." 
 
 And the great actor and theatrical manager Edwin 
 Booth (a diligent, scrupulous student of Shakespeare 
 and one of the greatest players of Shylock ever seen) 
 wrote, in a published letter on this subject : 
 
36 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 "... 'Tis nonsense to suppose that Shylock was 
 represented in other than a serious vein by Burbage, 
 merely because he 'made up' (doubtless, after some 
 representation of Judas) with red hair, to empha- 
 size the vicious expression of his features. Is there 
 any authority for the assertion which some make 
 that he also wore a long nose?^ What if he did? 
 A clever actor once played the part of Tubal with 
 me, and wore red hair and a Jiooh'd nose. He did 
 not make the audience laugh : 'twas not his purpose ; 
 but he looked the very creature that could sympa- 
 thize with Shylock. His make-up was admirable. 
 He's the son of the famous John Drew, and is the 
 leading man with Augustin Daly's company. ..." 
 
 ^ None — it rests, as aforesaid, merely on the unsupported state- 
 ment of a diligent but unscrupulous antiquarian. 
 
THE ELIZABETHAN STAGE. 
 
 ,'c a 
 
 FBOM TAINB'S "HISTOEY OP ENGLISH LITBEATUBE. 
 
 >> 
 
 "There were already seven theatres in London, in 
 Shakespeare's time. . . . Great and rude contrivances, 
 awkward in their construction, barbarous in their ap- 
 pointments; but a fervid imagination readily supplied 
 all that they lacked, and hardy bodies endured all in- 
 conveniences without difficulty. On a dirty site, on the 
 banks of the Thames, rose the principal theatre, the 
 Globe, a sort of hexagonal tower, surrounded by a muddy 
 ditch, on which was hoisted a red flag. The common 
 people could enter as well as the rich: there were six- 
 penny, twopenny, even penny seats ; but they could not 
 see it without money. If it rained, and it often rains 
 in London, the people in the pit, butchers, mercers, 
 bakers, sailors, apprentices, received the streaming rain 
 upon their heads. I suppose they did not trouble them- 
 selves about it; it was not so long since they began to 
 pave the streets of London, and men like these have had 
 experience of sewers and puddles ; they were not afraid 
 of catching cold. While waiting for the piece, they 
 amuse themselves after their fashion; drink beer, crack 
 nuts, eat fruit, howl, and now and then resort to their 
 fists ; they have been known to fall upon the actors, and 
 turn the theatre upside down. At other times they were 
 dissatisfied and went to the tavern to give the poet a 
 hiding, or toss him in a blanket ; they were coarse fellows, 
 and there was no month when the cry of 'Clubs!' did 
 not call them out of their shops to exercise their brawny 
 arms. "When the beer took effect, there was a great up- 
 
 37 
 
38 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 turned barrel in the pit, a peculiar receptacle for general 
 use. The smell rises, and then comes the cry, 'Burn the 
 juniper ! ' They burn some in a plate on the stage, and 
 the heavy smoke fills the air. Certainly the folk there 
 assembled could scarcely get disgusted at anything, and 
 cannot have had sensitive noses. In the time of Rabelais 
 there was not much cleanliness to speak of. Remember 
 that they were hardly out of the middle-age, and that 
 in the middle-age man lived on a dunghill. 
 
 "Above them, on the stage, were the spectators able 
 to pay a shilling, the elegant people, the gentlefolk. 
 These were sheltered from the rain, and if they chose 
 to pay an extra shilling, could have a stool. To this 
 were reduced the prerogatives of rank and the devices 
 of comfort : it often happened that there were not stools 
 enough ; then they lie down on the ground : this was not 
 a time to be dainty. They play cards, smoke, insult the 
 pit, who gave it them back without stinting and throw 
 apples at them into the bargain. They also gesticulate, 
 swear in Italian, French, English; crack aloud jokes in 
 dainty, composite, high-colored words. . . . 
 
 ' ' There were no preparations or perspectives ; few or 
 no movable scenes : their imaginations took all this upon 
 them. A scroll in big letters announced to the public 
 that they were in London or Constantinople; and that 
 was enough to carry the public to the desired place. 
 There was no trouble about probability. Sir Philip 
 Sidney writes : 
 
 " 'You shall have Asia on the one side, and 
 Africke of the other, and so many other under-king- 
 doms, that the Plaier when hee comes in must ever 
 begin with telling where hee is, or else the tale will 
 not be conceived. Now shall you have three Ladies 
 walke to gather flowers, and then we must beleeve 
 
THE ELIZABETHAN STAGE 39 
 
 the stage to be a garden. By and by wee beare 
 newes of sbipwracke in the same place, then wee 
 are to blame if we accept it not for a rocke; . . . 
 while in the meane time two armies flie in, repre- 
 sented with four swords and bucklers, and then what 
 hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field? 
 Now of time they are much more liberall. For or- 
 dinary it is, that two young Princes fall in love, 
 after many traverses, she is got with childe, deliv- 
 ered of a faire boy, hee is lost, goweth a man, falleth 
 in love, and is readie to get another childe ; and all 
 this in two houres space.' " 
 
DAVID BELASCO 
 
 Presents 
 MR. WARFIELD 
 
 As Shylock 
 
 in 
 
 Wm. Shakespeaee's 
 
 The Mbechant of Venice 
 
 The Chaeactebs as Cast. 
 
 DtJKB OF Venice A. E. Anson 
 
 Pkincb of Mobocco Herbert Grimwood 
 
 Antonio, the Merchant Ian MacLaren 
 
 Bassanio, his kinsman and friend Philip Merivale 
 
 Geatlano, W. I. Percival 
 
 LoEENZO, Friends to Antonio Horace Braham 
 
 SaxiAeino, ' and Bassanio Herbert Ranson 
 
 SoLANio, Reginald Goode 
 
 Shylock, the Jew David Warfield 
 
 Tubal, "l Countrymen and friends f Albert Bruning 
 Chtjs, J to Shylock \ Morris Strassberg 
 
 Launcelot Gobbo, Servant to Shylock. .Percival Vivian 
 
 Old Gobbo, father to Lanncelot Fuller Mellish 
 
 Balthazar, Steward to Portia „ . .Charles Harbury 
 
 Stephano, a servant to Portia E. H. Wever 
 
 40 
 
CHARACTERS AND SCENES 41 
 
 Leonakdo, a servant to Bassanio Edward Crandall 
 
 A Jesteb, at Belmont Warde de Wolfe 
 
 Cleek op the Court Nick Long 
 
 A DucAii Messenger H. Brown 
 
 Portia, a rich heiress Mary Servoss 
 
 Nebissa, her waiting gentlewoman Mary Ellis 
 
 Jessica, daughter to Shylock Julia Adler 
 
 Magnificoes of Venice ; Officers of the Court of Justice ; 
 Gentlemen and Gentlewomen ; Citizens of Venice ; 
 Jews; Servants and Others. 
 
 Period, — About the First Quarter of the Sixteenth Cen- 
 tury, 
 
 Place, — in Italy: Partly in Venice, and partly at Bel- 
 mont, — the country seat of Portia upon the neigh- 
 boring mainland. 
 
 THE SCENES 
 AS arranged in this version. 
 
 First Act. 
 
 First Scene, Venice; A Street, near to the Rialto. Time, 
 Morning. 
 
 Second Scene, Belmont ; A Room in the House of Portia. 
 Time, Evening. 
 
 Third Scene, Venice; An Open Place, before a Syna- 
 gogue. Time, Late Afternoon. 
 
 Second Act. 
 
 First Scene, Venice ; The House of Shylock. Time, Dusk 
 darkening to Night. 
 
42 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Second Scene (without pause), A Room in the House 
 of Shylock, 
 An indeterminate lapse of time is supposed between 
 the Second and Third Scenes. In presentation there will 
 be the briefest possible interval between them. 
 
 Third Scene, The House of Shylock again. Time, Morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Third Act, 
 
 First Scene, Belmont ; The Casket Chamber in the House 
 of Portia. Time, Forenoon. 
 The Tableaux Curtains will be closed for one minute 
 at the end of this scene. 
 Second Scene, The Casket Chamber again. Time, the 
 next night. 
 The Tableaux Curtain will be closed for one minute 
 
 at the end of this scene. 
 Another interval of a day and the double wedding 
 (of Bassanio and Portia, Gratiano and Nerissa) is 
 here supposed. 
 Third Scene, The Casket Chamber again. Time, at Sun- 
 set, the next day. 
 
 FouETH Act. 
 Scene, Venice ; A Court of Justice. Time, Midday. 
 
 FiTTH Act. 
 
 Scene, Belmont; A Garden to the House of Portia. 
 Time, Midnight. 
 
PRESENT PRODUCTION 43 
 
 The Plat Produced Under the Personal Direction of 
 ME. BELASCO. 
 
 The Scenic Invtestituke by Ernest Gros. 
 
 Music by Norman O'Neill. 
 
 Costumes Designed by Percy McQuoid, R. I., made by B. J. 
 Simmons & Co., Covent Garden, London. 
 
 Scenes Painted by Ernest Gros, with the assistance of 
 
 E. W. Bergman and H. Robert Law. 
 
 Electrical Effects by Louis Hartman. 
 
 Scenes Built by Charles L. Carson, 
 
 Women's Costumes for First Act, Second Scene; Third Act, 
 Second Scene, and Fifth Act, Designed and Made by ^ 
 Mme. Gerber of Callot Sceurs, Paris. 
 
 Women's Costumes for Third Act, First Scene, Made by 
 Henri Bendel, New York. 
 
 Properties by Rosewag, Paris, Henry Gebhardt, Siedle Studios, 
 New York, and Matthew F. Purcell. 
 
 Renaissance Materials by Mariano Fortuny, Venice. 
 
 Curtains and Draperies by L. Kuhn, New York. 
 
 Wigs by Hepner, Broich, Zander and John. 
 
 Shoes by Algamba, London, ajad I. Miller, New York. 
 
 Execution of Artistic Details of Costumes and Properties 
 Supervised by Elmer E. Taflinger. 
 
 Costumer with Company, Mme. Heerman. 
 
 Stage Director, Burk Symon. 
 
 Stage Manager, William Boag. 
 
 Musical Director, Edwin E. Ludig. 
 
THE 
 
 DAVID BELASOO 
 
 STAGE AEEANGEMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 FIRST ACT. 
 
 First Scene, Venice; A Stbbet near to the Rialto. 
 Time, Morning. 
 
 At Tormentors, Right and Left, Dra- 
 peries. At R. a Mouse which extends diag- 
 onally upon Stage about halfway to C. and 
 on line with R. 2. E. (This House is Set 
 Piece with Door and Set Piece, extending 
 Back, up-Stag e, from point specified.) 
 
 Another House (2 Set Pieces, and 1 Set 
 Piece with Door), extends on from L. half- 
 way to 0. There it mahes angle and ex- 
 tends diagonally across and down-Stage to 
 a point a few feet R. of C, where it breaks 
 at sharp angle and extends Back up-Stage 
 toward R. With Wall of House R., this 
 House forms a Street, extending diag- 
 onally toward Back, R. Street-Backing at 
 ' extreme rear for this Street. 
 
 Entrances can be made by way of this 
 Street, at Back, from R. or from R. C. 
 
 At L. another House (Set Piece with 
 Door) extends diagonally up-Stage from 
 L. corner, above Tormentor, to about L. 2. 
 E. Above this, and thus in front of House 
 L. to H. C, (&c., there is space for En- 
 trance. 
 
 Between Tormentor Draperies, R. and 
 
 47 
 
48 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 L., and the Houses above them, there is 
 also Entrance space. 
 
 Music to cue. 
 
 As the CuBTAiNs are opened a Boy, 
 carrying a Basket of Cherries, is discov- 
 ered a little C. of the Entrance up-Stage 
 at L. He stands in the shadows of the 
 high House and gases upward, looking 
 from window to window for possible 
 buyers of his fruit. 
 
 Entbe from R., down Street at Back, a 
 ■Man with Faggots : he comes down, crosses 
 to L., passing Boy without noticing Mm 
 and Exit L, 2. E. 
 
 Enteb by Door in House up Street E. C. 
 a Man with Painting. He comes down and 
 to L., stops, speaks to Boy as though tell- 
 ing him of a buyer within the House from 
 which he has just come, then proceeds and 
 Exit, L. 2. E. 
 
 Boy with Cherries runs to Door of 
 House, up Street, E. C, knocks, is admitted 
 and Exit there. 
 
 Enter L., as Boy makes exit, a Man car- 
 rying a Wine-shin. As he gets on. Enter 
 at Back, from E. coming down the Street, 
 SoLANio, Antonio and Salarino. These 
 three come down the Street, Solanio lead- 
 ing. Man with Wine-skin meets them as 
 he turns corner to go up Street at Back; 
 steps aside, bowing deferentially. Solanio 
 and the others pass him, coming down- 
 Stage. Man with Wine-skin then proceeds 
 on his way and Exit at Back to R. Solanio 
 down-Stage to L. Salarino down-Stage to 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 49 
 
 R. Antonio C. and a little up-Stage from 
 them. 
 
 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 bom, 
 I am to learn; 
 
 And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
 That I have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Salabino. 
 Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
 There, where your argosies with portly sail, — 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, — : 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad ; 
 And every object that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 Salabino. 
 
 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 dock'd in sand. 
 
50 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, 
 
 To kiss her burial. 
 
 But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place; 
 Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 
 
 Salabino. 
 Why, then you are in love. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Fie, fie! 
 
 Salaeino. 
 Not in love neither? Then let's say you're sad, 
 Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
 For you to laugh, and leap, and say you're merry, 
 'Cause you're not sad. 
 
 (Bassanio, Gbatiano and Loeenzo are 
 heard laughing, off L.) 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 (Loohing off L., amd then speaking.) 
 Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 (SoLANio crosses E. to Salabino.) 
 
 Salaeino. 
 I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 51 
 
 Antonio. 
 {Up R. C.) 
 Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you, 
 And you embrace th' occasion to depart. 
 
 (Enteb from L. 2. E. Bassanio, Lobenzo 
 and Gbatiano.) 
 
 Salabino. 
 Good morrow, my good lords. 
 
 (Salabino and Solanio are going off to 
 R. F. E.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? 
 You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 
 
 Salabino. 
 
 We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 
 (Exeunt Salabino am,d Solanio R. F. E.) 
 
 Lorenzo. 
 My Lord Bassanio, since you've found Antonio, 
 We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time, 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 I will not fail you. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 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 marvelously chang'd. 
 
52 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Antonio. 
 I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage, where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one, 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 Let me play The Fool: 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 
 Wliy 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 ; 
 
 And do a wilful 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!" 
 
 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'U end my exhortation after dinner. 
 
 (LoEENzo comes down E. C. Antonio is 
 L. Geatiano meets Loeenzo, as the 
 latter comes down. Bassanio stands 
 'down-Stage of them E. C.) 
 
 Lorenzo. 
 Well, we will leave you then, till dinner-time : 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 53 
 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Well, keep me company but two years more, 
 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Thanks, i' faith; for silence is only commendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 
 (Exeunt Gbatiano and Lorenzo tip-Stage 
 to Back at R.) 
 
 Antonio. 
 (R. of C, looking after Gbatiano.) 
 Is that anything now? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than 
 any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains 
 of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all 
 day ere you find them; and when you have them, they 
 are not worth the search. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Well ; tell me now, what lady is the same 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 
54 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 By sometMng showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 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 gag'd. To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money and in love; 
 And from your love I have a warranty 
 T' unburden all my plots and purposes 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
 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. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
 
 I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight 
 
 The selfsame way with more advised watch, 
 
 To find the other forth; and by adveiituring 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 that 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. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 55 
 
 Antonio. 
 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 prest unto it: therefore, speak. 
 
 (Antonio is C, Bassanio on his R.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 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 undervalu'd 
 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 her sunny locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
 Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos ' strand, 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
 That I should questionless be fortunate! 
 
 Antonio. 
 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 rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
 
56 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 To furnisli 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. 
 
 {They clasp hands, then Exeunt Antonio 
 and Bassanio severally as Lights fade 
 out and Dark Change to Second Sc-ene.) 
 
Second Scene, Belmont; A Room, in the House of 
 PoETiA. Time, Evening. 
 
 At Tormentors, Right and Left, Dra- 
 peries. From L. corner diagonally up- 
 stage to a point L. C, about on line of 
 Second Entrance, Draperies, forming 
 Wall. Prom R. corner diagonally up- 
 stage to a point R. C. on same line, Dra- 
 peries, forming Wall. Across Stage at 
 Bach, about on line of Second Entrance, 
 Wall with Three Arches {Three Arch Set 
 Piece), bached by draperies. A Large 
 Hanging Light, C, above Stage. A Settee, 
 R. C. A Small Table near it. A Low Seat 
 L. of Settee. 
 
 Music for change sounds on PP. through 
 opening speeches of this Scene. 
 
 Discovered Portia, seated upon Settee; 
 Nebissa on Low Seat L. of her, worhing 
 upon a piece of Pettipoint. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this 
 great world. 
 
 Nebissa. 
 You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in 
 the same abundance as your good fortunes are : and yet, 
 for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too 
 much, as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean 
 happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean: super- 
 
 57 
 
58 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 fluity comes sooner by white hairs ; but competency lives 
 longer. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 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 twenty what were 
 good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow 
 mine own teaching. But this reasoning is not in the 
 fashion to choose me a husband: — 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? 
 
 Nebissa. 
 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. But what warmth is there 
 in your affection towards any of these princely suitors 
 that are already come? 
 
 Portia. 
 I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou namest them, 
 I will describe them; and, according to my description, 
 level at my affection. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 59 
 
 Nebissa. 
 First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Portia. 
 Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk 
 of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation 
 to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 Then is there the County Palatine. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, *'An 
 you will not have me, choose:" he hears merry tales, 
 and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weeping philoso- 
 pher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly 
 sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a 
 Death's-head with a bone in his mouth than to either 
 of these : — God defend me from these two ! 
 
 Neeissa. 
 How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon? 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man I 
 
 Neeissa. 
 How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's 
 nephew? 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober ; and most 
 vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is 
 best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is 
 worst, he is little better than a beast. An the worst fall 
 that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him. 
 
60 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Neeissa. 
 If he should offer to choose, and choose the right 
 casket, you should refuse to perform your father's wiU, 
 if you should refuse to accept him. 
 
 POBTfA. 
 
 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. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords : 
 they have acquainted me with their determinations; 
 which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble 
 you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some 
 other sort than your father's imposition, depending on 
 the caskets. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 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 pray God grant them a fair 
 departure. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 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? 
 
 Portia. 
 Yes, yes, it was Bassanio : as I think, so was he called. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 61 
 
 Nebissa. 
 True, madam : he, of all the men that ever my foolish 
 eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. 
 
 Portia. 
 
 I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of 
 thy praise. 
 
 (Enter Balthazar, at Arch C. from L.) 
 How now! what news? 
 
 Balthazae. 
 The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their 
 leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the 
 Prince of Morocco; who brings word, the prince his 
 master will be here to-night. 
 
 Portia. 
 If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart 
 as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of 
 his approach : if he have the condition of a saint and the 
 complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me 
 than wive me. 
 
 Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — ■ 
 Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks 
 at the door. 
 
 (Exeunt, — Balthazar, then Portia and 
 Nerissa, C. to L., as Lights fade out for 
 Dark Change to Third Scene.) 
 
Third Scene, Venice; An Open Place Before a Syna- 
 gogue. — Full Stage. Time, Late After- 
 noon. 
 
 The Synagogue at Back. Large door 
 (with single step before it) in front 
 thereof. Entrances, Streets formed by the 
 various buildings, E. and L., down to Tor- 
 mentors. 
 
 Light: As of late afternoon, fading into 
 a fiery suMset, and so almost to dark. 
 
 The congregation has assembled and the 
 evening service is in progress. The sounds 
 of chanting by the congregation and can- 
 tor; also, occasionally , the voice of the 
 Rabbi, are heard. Several belated wor- 
 shipers come hurrying on, separately, from 
 R. and L. and are admitted through main 
 door of Synagogue, by the Shanvus (Sex- 
 ton) — each hurriedly performing the cer- 
 emony of hand-washing before going in. 
 
 Launcelot Gobbo is discovered L. of 
 Synagogue Door. Enteb, from Synagogue, 
 Jessica ; she goes to Launoelot ; they whis- 
 per, then Exeunt R. U. E. After a mo- 
 ment, Jessica returns, alone, and goes 
 bach into Synagogue. 
 
 Enter Bassanio and Solanio, up-Stage, 
 from L. They come to about center, and 
 pa/use a moment irresolutely , — Bassanio 
 being perplexed to know whether or no 
 ShyiiOck is inside the Synagogue. Enter 
 
 62 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 63 
 
 from L. F. E. Tubal and Chus. Bassanio 
 stops them and questions Tubal, who 
 shakes his head in negation. Tubal and 
 Chus then proceed toward Synagogue 
 door; Tubal, looking of to R. U. E., sees 
 Shylock approaching. He points him out 
 to Bassanio: then Exeunt Tubal and 
 Chus into Synagogue. Bassanio and So- 
 LANio get down R., and Exit Solanio, at 
 a gesture by Bassanio, R. F. E. Enter 
 Shylook R. U. E. ; as he gets to Synagogue 
 door Bassanio calls him: "Shylock." 
 Bassanio goes up to Shylook : they stand 
 in converse near Synagogue door while 
 several other Jews pass in; — then they 
 come forward, Shylook speaking as they 
 do so. 
 
 Shylock. 
 (C, and Bassanio R. of him.) 
 Three thousand ducats, — ^well. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shylook. 
 For three months, — well. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 Antonio shall become bound, — ^well. 
 
 {As he says "hownd" there is a flicker of 
 eagerness in Shylock 's eyes, immedi- 
 ately veiled.) 
 
64 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Bassanio. 
 May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I know 
 
 your answer? 
 
 Shylock. 
 Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio 
 bound. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Your answer to that. 
 
 Shylook. 
 Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? 
 
 Shylock. 
 Ho, no, no, no, no; — my meaning, in saying he is "a 
 good man," is to have you understand me, that he is 
 sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition : he hath an 
 argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I under- 
 stand, moreover, upon the Eialto, he hath a third at Mex- 
 ico, 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, land-thieves and 
 water-thieves, — I mean pirates; and then there is the 
 peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwith- 
 standing, sufficient: — three thousand ducats: — I think I 
 may take his bond. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Be assured you may. 
 
 Shylook. 
 
 I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, 
 I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 65 
 
 Bassanio. 
 If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shylook. 
 Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your 
 prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will buy 
 with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and 
 so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, 
 nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? {Loohing 
 off to R. F. E.)— Who is he comes here? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 (Looking off in direction of Shylook 's 
 gase, then Exit as he speaks, going to 
 meet Antonio, R. F. E.) 
 This is Signior Antonio. 
 
 Shylook. 
 (Coming a little R. C, watchi/ng off to 
 R. F. E. as he speaks the following.) 
 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. 
 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-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 (Shylook going doum Left again, as En- 
 tee R. F. E. Bassanio and Antonio.) 
 
66 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Over Left, nodding slowly and not turn- 
 ing, while he speaks, ruminating.) 
 I am debating of my present store ; 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
 Do you desire? — 
 
 (Shylock, as he speaks, turns so as to see 
 Antonio.) 
 Rest you fair, good signior ; 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Antonio. 
 (R.) 
 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. — 
 
 (Addressing Bassanio, who is a little R. of 
 C.) 
 
 Is he yet possess 'd 
 How much we would? 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Antonio. 
 And for three months. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 67 
 
 Shylook. 
 I had forgot, — three months, 
 {To Bassanio) 
 
 you told me so. 
 Well, then, yonr bond ; and let me see, — but hear you ; 
 Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Antonio. 
 I do never use ii 
 
 Shylock. 
 "When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, — 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) 
 The third possessor; ay, he was the third,-^ 
 
 Antonio. 
 (Impatiently.) 
 And what of him? did he take interest! 
 
 ShTIiOCK. 
 
 (With vigor and great relish.) 
 
 No, not take interest ; not, as you would say, 
 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 
 When Laban and himself were compromis'd 
 
 That all the eanlings which were streak 'd and pied 
 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire, 
 
 The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 
 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind. 
 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes. 
 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 
 Fall parti-color 'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
 
68 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Antonio. 
 This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
 But sway'd and fashion 'd by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good? 
 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ? 
 
 Shylock. 
 I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast ! — • 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Antonio. 
 {Aside to Bassanio.) 
 
 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: 
 0, what a goodly outside failsehood hath! 
 
 Shylock. 
 (C.) 
 Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round sum. 
 Three months from twelve, — then, let me see, the rate — 
 
 Antonio. 
 Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you? 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Coming down C. as he speaks, and facing 
 Antonio, who is R. of C. Bassanio be- 
 low Antonio, to R.) 
 
THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 69 
 
 Signior Antonio, many a time,— and oft 
 In the Eialto,* — ^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 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 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 can lend three thousand ducats?" or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. 
 With bated breath and whispering humbleness, 
 Say this : — 
 "Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 
 You spurn 'd me such a day; another time 
 You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much moneys"? 
 
 (Shylock turns OAvay, going a little down 
 L., as he ends the foregoing speech, — 
 to which Antonio has listened with 
 visibly increasing anger.) 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 (To C, and furiov^ly.) 
 
 I am as like to call thee so again. 
 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too I 
 
 * This reading originated with the great actor — one of Gar- 
 rick's riTals--John Henderson (1747-1785). 
 
70 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 
 As to thy friend — for when did friendship take 
 
 A breed of barren metal of his friend? — 
 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy; 
 
 Who if he break, thou mayst with better face 
 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shylock. 
 (L., and coming C.) 
 
 Why, look you, how you storm ! 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain 'd me Avith, 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Of usance for my moneys, 
 And you '11 not hear me : this is kind I offer. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 This were kindness. 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 This kindness will I show: 
 
 {Tq Antonio) 
 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 
 Express 'd 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 pleaseth me. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Content, in faith : I'll seal to such a bond. 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 71 
 
 Bassanio. 
 You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Antonio. 
 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. 
 
 Shylock. 
 father Abraham, what these Christians are. 
 Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of others ! — 
 
 (Shylock coming a little toward Bassanio 
 and Antonio.) 
 
 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 favor, I extend this friendship : 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
 
 (Shylock about to go toward Synagogue, 
 at Bach, as though to leave them.) 
 
 Antonio. 
 Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shylock. 
 Then meet me forthwith at the notary's,— 
 XJive him direction for this merry bond ; ^ 
 And I will go and purse the dacats straight ; 
 
72 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 I wiU be with you. 
 
 (Shylook moves toward L. TJ. E.) 
 
 Antonio. 
 Hie thee, gentle Jew. 
 {To Bassanio.) 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
 My ships come home a month before the day ! 
 
 (Exeunt AntonIo and Bassanio to E. F. E.) 
 
 (Shylook is moving up C, towards L,, as 
 they Exeunt. As they are going off, 
 he turns slowly, his gaze following 
 them.) 
 
 (Miisic.) 
 
 {The Scene is darkening into shadows: the 
 Light falling upon Shylook is a dull, 
 ruddy glow. Sound of Hebrew choir 
 singing within Synagogue. As Anto- 
 nio and Bassanio are off, Shylook 
 comes down C, and looking after them, 
 speaks.) 
 
 Shylook. 
 Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause; 
 But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs ! 
 
 PICTUEE. — OUBTAIN. 
 END OF FIEST ACT. 
 
SECOND ACT. 
 
 First Scene, Venice; The House of Shylock. Time, 
 Dusk, Darkening to Night. 
 
 The place is the confluence of Two 
 Streets, narrow and somber. Shylock's 
 HoTJSE (Set Piece, with Door) is down L. 
 Opposite, R., is the ''pent-house" men- 
 tioned in the text. One Street leads off, 
 up-Stage, to R. The other Street leads 
 off, up-Stage, to L. 
 
 After curtain is full up. Enter Tubal, 
 from Back R., and crosses down to House 
 of Shylook, L. As Tubal reaches the 
 Door, Enter, through it, Chus: his man- 
 ner is depressed — as though he has just 
 failed in some business negotiation. Tu- 
 bal and Chus, in pantomime, greet each 
 other; then, Exeunt, — Chus across Stage 
 to R. F. E., Tubal into the House of Shy- 
 lock, meeting in the Doorway Launcblot 
 GoBBO, who opens Door from within and 
 stands respectfully aside for Tubal. After 
 Tubal has passed into House, Launoelot 
 Gobbo comes out, closing Door, and gets 
 ioC. 
 
 Launoelot. 
 
 Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from 
 
 this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and 
 
 tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Laimcelot Gobbo, good 
 
 Launcelot," or "good Gobbo," or "good Launoelot 
 
 73 
 
74 THE MEKCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. ' ' My con- 
 science says, "No; take heed, honest Launeelot; take 
 heed, honest Gobbo, ' ' or, as aforesaid, ' ' honest Launeelot 
 Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with thy heels. " 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 ran away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the 
 fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. 
 Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation ; and, in 
 my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard con- 
 science, 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. 
 
 (Launcelot runs toward R. Enter R. 
 F, E. Old Gobbo. Latjncelot stops 
 and retreats towards C. When Old 
 Gobbo gets on and is about C, Launce- 
 LOT passes behind him and gets H. C.) 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way 
 to master Jew's? 
 
 Lattnoelot. 
 (A little E. C, — aside.) 
 heavens, this is my true-begotten father ! who, being 
 more than sand-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not : 
 — I will try confusions with him. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way 
 to master Jew's? 
 
 Latjncelot. 
 {He speaks in an assumed voice, disguis- 
 ing his natural tones, so that he may 
 not he recognised by his father.) 
 
THE MERCHANT QF VENICE 75 
 
 Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, 
 at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the 
 very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down in- 
 directly to the Jew's house. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 
 By God's son ties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can 
 you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, 
 dwell with him or no? 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
 
 {Aside, coming down-Stage as he speahs.) 
 Mark me now ; now will I raise the waters.— 
 
 (To Old Gobbo.) 
 Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 No, "master," sir, but a poor man's son: his father, 
 though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, 
 God be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Well, let his father be what 'a will, we talk of young 
 Master Launcelot. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 But, I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, 
 talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
 
76 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launce- 
 lot, for the young gentleman — according to Fates and 
 Destinies, and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three, and 
 such branches of learning — is, indeed, deceased; or, as 
 you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of my 
 age, my very prop. 
 
 LAtTNOELOT. 
 
 Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a 
 prop? — {Speaks the foregoing aside; then, speaJcing in 
 his natural voice, addresses his father.) Do you not 
 know me, father? 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman : but, 
 I pray you, tell me, is my boy — God rest his soul ! — alive 
 or dead? 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Do you not know me, father? 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know you not. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the 
 knowing me : it is a wise father that knows his own child. 
 (Kneels before Old Gobbo, facing front.) Well, old 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 77 
 
 man, I will tell you news of your son : give me your bless- 
 ing : truth will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long, 
 — a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Pray you, sir, stand up : I am sure you are not Launce- 
 lot, my boy. 
 
 Launoblot. 
 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. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Launoblot. 
 I know not what I shall think of that : but I am Launce- 
 lot, the Jew's man- and I am sure Margery your wife 
 is my mother. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou 
 be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. 
 
 {Feeling before him, gropingly, Old Gobbo 
 
 tahes hold upon LAtrnroELOT's long bach 
 
 hair, which he fingers with amazement.) 
 
 Lord worshiped might he be ! what a beard hast thou 
 
 got! thou hast more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my 
 
 fill-horse has on his tail. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 (Rising.) 
 It would seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows back- 
 ward ; I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have 
 of my face when I last saw him. 
 
78 THE MEBCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Ojjd Gobbo. 
 Lord, how art thou changed I How dost thou and thy 
 master agree? I have brought him a present. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Give him a present ! give him a halter : I am famished 
 in his service ; you may tell every finger I have with my 
 ribs. 
 
 (Launcelot, laying his own hand upon his 
 ribs, the fingers spread wide apart, 
 takes a hand of his father's and draws 
 it across his fingers.) 
 Father, I am glad you are come : give me your present 
 to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liv- 
 eries: if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has 
 any ground. (Latjncelot looking off to E.) rare for- 
 tune ! here comes the man : — to him, father ; for I am a 
 Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 (Entbe Bassanio, his servant Leohaedo 
 and two other Servants, from Back, 
 up R. Laxtncelot and Old Gobbo stay 
 L, C, till Bassanio 's speech is ended, 
 then advance, as Bassanio combes down 
 to R. of C.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {To Leonardo.) 
 
 You may do so; — ^but let it be so hasted, that supper 
 be ready at the furthest by five of the clock. See these 
 letters delivered; put the liveries to making. 
 
 (Bassanio coming down, gives list and sev- 
 eral letters to Leonardo, as he speaks. 
 Launoelot and Old Gobbo to him.) 
 
THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 79 
 
 Latjnoblot. 
 To him, father. 
 
 OU) GOBBO. 
 
 God bless your worship ! 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Gramercy: wouldst thou aught with me I 
 
 •Old Gobbo. 
 Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 
 
 Launoelot. 
 {Who has been behind his father, now 
 comes forward and puts his father be- 
 hind him — where he holds him until the 
 end of his own speech, when Old Gobbo 
 comes to the front again: this business 
 is repeated during each speech, until, 
 "Serve you, sir!") 
 Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that would, 
 sir, {becoming embarrassed) — as my father shall spe- 
 cify,— 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to 
 serve, — 
 
 Launoelot. 
 Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and 
 have a desire, — as my father shall specify, — 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 His master and he — saving your wox^ship's reverence 
 — are scarce cater-cousins, — 
 
80 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Laukoelot. 
 To be brief, the very truth, is, that the Jew having done 
 me wrong, doth cause me, — as my father, being, I hope, 
 an old man, shall frutify unto you, — 
 
 Bassanio. 
 One speak for both. — What would you? 
 
 Lattncblot. 
 Serve you, sir. 
 
 Old Gobbo. 
 That is the very de-fect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 I know thee well; thou hast obtain 'd thy suit: 
 Shylock thy master spoke to me this day. 
 And hath preferr'd thee, — if it be preferment 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 The old proverb is very well parted between my master 
 Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, 
 and he hath enough. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Thou speak 'st it well. — Go, father, with thy son. — 
 Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
 My lodging out. — {Aside to Leonardo) Give him a livery 
 More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. 
 
 (Bassanio speaks aside to Leonardo — at 
 first with a smile, as though continuing 
 about Laxjncelot: then earnestly.) 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 81 
 
 Launoelot. 
 Father, in. — I cannot get a service, no; — ^I have ne'er 
 a tongue in my head. — Father, come; I'll take my leave 
 of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 (Exeunt Old Gobbo, led in by Lattnoelot, 
 to Shylock's House L. After they are 
 off, Eassanio comes forward.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {Coming forward, with Leonardo.) 
 I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
 
 {Gives Leonaedo folded papers, which he 
 has taken from his girdle.) 
 These things being bought and orderly bestow 'd, 
 Betnm in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 My best esteem 'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. 
 
 (Exit Leonaedo R. U. E. Bassanio, cross- 
 ing to L., is met ly Tubal coming forth 
 from Shylock's House. Tubal hows; 
 Bassanio, with a sneer, passes him hy. 
 Exit Tubal, up to L., around corner 
 of House. Enter Gbatiano, passing 
 Tubal and ignoring him. Gbatiano, 
 seeing Bassanio, as he is about to go 
 off L. F. E., speaks.) 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 Signior Bassanio ! 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Gratiano ! 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 I have a suit to you. 
 
82 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Bassanio. 
 You have obtain 'd it. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Nay, you must not deny me : I must go 
 "With you to Belmont. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Why, then you must. But, hear thee, Gratiano: 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ! 
 Pray thee, take pain 
 
 T' allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behavior, 
 I be misconstru'd in the place I go to, 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Signior Bassanio, hear me: 
 If I do not put on a sober habit. 
 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 th' observance of civility. 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
 To please his grandam, — never trust me more. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Nay, but I bar to-night : you shall not gauge me 
 By what we do to-night. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 No, that were pity : 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 83 
 
 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. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 
 And I must to Lorenzo and the rest ! 
 
 (Bassanio and Gbatiano clasp hands; then 
 Exeunt, Bassanio to L. F. E., Gbatiano 
 to R. U. E. After they are clear off, 
 Entbb, from Shylock's House, L., 
 Launcelot, with Old Gobbo, whom he 
 leads across Stage, setting him on his 
 •way, and who makes Exit R. F. E. 
 
 As the GoBBOS come out of Shylock's 
 House Jessica appears at window, in 
 House, L., where she stands, watching, 
 until Old Gobbo is off; then speaks to 
 Launcelot, as he returns toward 
 House.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 
 I'm sorry thou wilt leave my father so: 
 Our house is hell ; and thou, a merry devil, 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
 But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee : 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Give him this letter : 
 
 {Taking a sealed letter from her hosom, 
 and dropping it to Launcelot.) 
 do it secretly; — 
 Aad so farewell : I would not have my father 
 See me in talk with thee. 
 
84 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Launcelot. 
 
 Adieu ; tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, 
 most sweet Jew ! adieu : tbese foolish drops do somewhat 
 drown my manly spirit : adieu. 
 
 (Exit Launcelot to R. F. E.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 Farewell, good Launcelot. — 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
 To be asham'd 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. 
 
 (Exit Jessica hack into the Hotisb, L. The 
 Scene begins to darken, and the Lights, 
 in Windows of Houses, increase. 
 
 Entee from v/p R. Lorenzo, Gba- 
 tiano, Salabino and Soianio.) 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 
 
 SoiiANIO. 
 
 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order 'd. 
 And better in my mind not undertook. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 85 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 (Impatiently.) 
 We have two hours 
 To furnish us! 
 
 (Re-enter Launoelot from E. F. E.) 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 
 
 Launoelot. 
 
 (First looks swiftly up at windows of Shy- 
 lock's House, L., then behind him; 
 sidles to Lorenzo L. C, and gives him 
 Jessica's letter, which he draws fur- 
 tively from pouch at his side, as he 
 speaks.) 
 An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem 
 to signify. 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 (Taking letter.) 
 
 I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand: 
 And whiter than the paper that it writ on 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 (LoBENzo kisses, then opens, letter.) 
 
 Geatiano. 
 
 (Aside to the others, as he observes 
 LoEENzo kiss letter.) 
 
 Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Lattnoelot. 
 
 By your leave, sir. 
 
 (About to cross Mm, toward L.) 
 
86 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 [LooTis up from letter, which he has been 
 reading, and stops Laxjnoelot.) 
 Whither goest thou? 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to- 
 night with my new master the Christian. 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Hold here, take this : 
 
 {Gives Launoelot money.) 
 tell gentle Jessica 
 I will not fail her; — speak it privately; 
 Go.— 
 
 (Laxjitoelot crosses to House L., and Exit 
 through door.) 
 Gentlemen, 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 And so will I. 
 
 LoEEnrzo. 
 Meet me and Gratiano. 
 At Gratiano 's lodging some hour hence. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 (Exeunt Salaeino and Solanio, rapidly, 
 E. U. E.) 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 87 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Was not that letter from fair Jessica? 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 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 furnish 'd with, 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. — 
 Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: 
 
 {Gives letter to Geatiano.) 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. 
 
 (Exeunt Geatiano and Lobenzo L. U. E.) 
 
 (The scene is now all in shadow. Entee, 
 from door of Shylock's House, L., 
 Launce]X)t, followed, at a few steps dis- 
 tance hy Shtlock. Launcelot gets to 
 R., SHY1.0CK speaks, as he enters. 
 
 Shylock is fully dressed, as in the 
 FiBST Act, except that he wears a shull 
 cap instead of turban and that he does 
 not wear his outer night-cloak: he is 
 presently to return into House for 
 these. 
 
 The House of Shylook is now illumi- 
 nated within. A shaft of orange-yellow 
 light streams from the opened door, out 
 upon the Stage.) 
 
 Shylock. 
 Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be the ^ judge 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
 What, Jessica! — ^thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou hast done with me; — ^what, Jessica! — 
 ^ Keightley. 
 
88 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ;— ' 
 Why, Jessica, I say! 
 
 Launoelot. 
 Wliy, Jessica! 
 
 Shtlock. 
 Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. 
 
 Launcelot. 
 Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing 
 without bidding. 
 
 (Enter from House, door L., Jessica.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 Call you? what is your will? 
 
 Shylook. 
 (L.C.) 
 I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
 There are my keys. — 
 
 (Giving her ring of heys from his girdle, 
 but retaining his grasp upon them, 
 while they are in her hand, imtil "to 
 my house," when he releases them. 
 Jessica denotes covert eagerness in 
 taking the heys.) 
 
 But wherefore should I go? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
 But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, 
 Look to my house. — I am right loth to go : 
 There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 89 
 
 Latjnoelot. 
 I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect 
 
 your re-proach. 
 
 So do I his! 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Grimly.) 
 
 Launcelot. 
 And they have conspired together, — I will not say you 
 shall see a masque; hut if you do, then — 
 
 Shylock. 
 (With bitter contempt.) 
 What, are there masques? — Hear you me, Jessica: 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squealing of the wry-neck 'd fife, 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish 'd 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 to-night : 
 But I will go, — Go you before me, sirrah; 
 Say I will come. 
 
 (Exit Shylock, hach into his House, L.) 
 
 Launcelot. 
 (Bowing to Shylock, and speaJcing this as 
 
 he leaves scene.) 
 
 I will go before, sir, — 
 (Shylock off: Launcelot comes down, 
 
 glances in at door L., back to R. C, 
 
 and speaks rapidly to Jessica.) 
 
90 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Mistress, look out at window for all this ; 
 There will come a Christian by 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye! 
 {As Launoelot speaks this, Ee-bntee, from 
 Ms House, L., Shylook. He hears 
 Launcelot speak to Jessica, but does 
 not catch his words: at sight of Shy- 
 lock, Lattncelot darts up-Stage and so 
 makes Exit, R. U. E, Shylock crosses 
 swiftly to Jessica, at L. C, takes her 
 hy a wrist, forces her to gaze into 
 his eyes, which she does with cm expres- 
 sion of gentle submissiveness.) 
 
 Shylook. 
 [Pointing off after Launcelot, with cane, as he speaks.) 
 What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? 
 
 Jessica. 
 His words were, "Farewell, Mistress"; nothing else. 
 
 (Pause.) 
 
 Shylook. 
 {Believing her and relieved; going down 
 L., gets his cloak.) 
 The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder. 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild-cat : drones hive not with me ; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 His borrow 'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in: 
 Perhaps I will return immediately : 
 
 {Faint and far of, the sound of merry 
 WMsic is heard.) 
 Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you : 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 91 
 
 "Fast bind, fast find,"— 
 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind, 
 
 (Shylook stands gazing: Jessica, with 
 meekness, inclines her head, then goes 
 in at door to House L., closes door after 
 her. After an instant's pause, sound 
 of a chain bolt. Shylock satisfied, 
 nods head; turns, goes slowly up-Stage, 
 Exit, R. U. E., to R. Slight pause; then 
 Jessica peers out at window, cautiously 
 gazing after Shylock.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 Farewell 1 and if my fortune be not crost, 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost ! 
 
 (Exit Jessica at Window. Music swells. 
 Masquers throng across the Stage, 
 coming down Streets from Bach, L. and 
 R. Then Entbk Gratiano and Sala- 
 EINO L. U. E.) 
 
 Geatiano. 
 {Getting to R., beneath the "pent-house" there.) 
 This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo 
 Desir'd us to make stand. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 
 His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour. 
 For lovers ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salaeino, 
 Here comes Lorenzo I 
 
92 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 (Enteb Lorenzo, masgued, coming rapidly 
 from R. U. E.) 
 
 LOBBNZO. 
 
 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. — Come, approach; 
 Here dwells my father Jew. — Ho! who's within? 
 
 {Clapping Ms hands, as lie calls. Jessica 
 appears above at Window, dressed as 
 a page and wrapped with a cloah.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jessica. 
 Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed, — 
 For who love I so much? And now who knows 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. 
 
 Jessica. 
 Here, catch this casket ; 
 
 {Throws down to Lobenzo a heavy cashet, 
 leaning down as far as she can from 
 Window, while he stretches up: Lo- 
 renzo all hut drops it; recovers, and 
 passes it to Salaeino.) 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 93 
 
 it is worth the pains, 
 I'm glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
 For I am much asham'd of my exchange: 
 But love is hlind, 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. 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 
 
 Jessica. 
 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 obscur'd. 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 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 stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jessica. 
 I win make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 (Exit Jessica above.) 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew I 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her; 
 
94 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 
 And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; 
 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 (Entee, below, from House, door L., Jes- 
 sica, m page's suit, with a short cloak.) 
 
 What, art thou come? — 
 
 (Jessica stands, hesitating, in doorway; 
 she is embarrassed by the gaze of Gba- 
 TiANo and Salaeino. Loeenzo goes to 
 her, as he speaks. He takes from Jes- 
 sica a large "double-bag" of ducats, 
 which she is carrying. Loeenzo throws 
 this over his shoulder. Salaeino still 
 holds the Casket; he and Geatuno eoo- 
 change glances, midging each other — as 
 though thinking that Loeenzo has for- 
 gotten it. Lobenzo and Jessica move 
 slightly from House door, as though 
 about to go up toward Street at Back; 
 but stop; LoBEKzo turns, gestures per^ 
 emptorily to Salaeino to give the Cas- 
 ket to him. Salaeino makes a grimace 
 and hands Casket to Loeenzo, — who, 
 taking it, places it under an arm and, 
 as he and Jessica move toward Street 
 at Back, speaks.) 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 (Continued.) 
 On, gentlemen, away! 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 
 (As LoEENzo and Jessica move toward 
 Back, a Geoup of Masquees comes rush- 
 ing doum Street, romping and singing. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 95 
 
 Jessica shrinks from them, pressing 
 against Lorenzo, — who, protectingly, 
 throws his cloak about her: they turn 
 toward L., meeting more Masquers: 
 then turn down-Stage and, running, 
 Exeunt E. F. E. 
 
 Exeunt Gratiano and Salarino, 
 R. F. E. 
 
 Masquers throng upon the Stage, — 
 then Exeunt, to R. 
 
 Slight Pause. 
 
 Enter Shtlook, comvng from Back, 
 R., and down Street. He comes slowly 
 forward to Door, down L, ; pauses 
 there; raises his hand to grasp knocker 
 as Lights fade out and Dark Change.) 
 
Second Scene, Venice; A Boom in the House of Shy- 
 lock. 
 
 An austerely simple room. Across it, 
 from L. to E. at Back, a Platform elevated 
 considerably above Stage — i.e., the floor of 
 an Upper Boom. 
 
 A stairway L. gives access to Upper 
 Boom. A lighted lamp hangs over stair- 
 way. A desk-like table R., against wall. 
 Papers, quill-pens and ink-stand upon this 
 table. A huge, iron-bound money chest at 
 L., open: several other chests in upper 
 room, open and rich materials protruding 
 from them in disorder. On table R. a 
 letter and yellow veil, left by Jessica. 
 Shylock is heard knocking upon door R. 
 Shylock calls: "Why, Jessica, I say!" 
 Knock repeated: door sunngs open: Shy- 
 lock is revealed standing in doorway, — 
 amazed at finding his dwelling unguarded 
 and open. He Enters, stands gazing about 
 room and listening; then calls again: "Jes- 
 sica!" The sounds of revelry, heard 
 faintly, increase. Shylock turns, goes out 
 at door calling imperatively: "Jessica!" 
 Shylock comes back into room; as he does 
 so, he strikes keys dropped in doorway by 
 Jessica, with one of his feet: he snatches 
 up keys; calls again: "Jessica, Jessica!" 
 Shylock sees a jeweled ring upon floor; 
 rushes across stage and snatches it up, 
 crying "Jessica, my girl, Jessica!" He 
 
 96 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 97 
 
 sees the open chest and niters a piercing 
 cry as he realizes that he has been rohhed. 
 Turning, he sees, snatches up and reads, 
 the letter, left with veil, hy Jessica, The 
 Masquers are thronging past, outside his 
 house. Shylook, as he reads, then rushing 
 to door and out: 
 
 Shylock. 
 Fled with a Christian ! — my Christian ducats ! — 
 Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
 A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
 Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! 
 And jewels, — ^two stones, two rich and precious stones, 
 Stol'n by my daughter! — Justice! find the girl! 
 She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats ! 
 Justice ! the law ! the Duke shall do me justice ! 
 My daughter! my ducats, and my daughter! 
 
 (Exit Shylook and DarTc Change to) 
 
Third Scene, Venice; The House of Shylock agmv. 
 Time, Midday. 
 
 Salabino. 
 Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail: 
 With him is Gratiano gone along; 
 And in their ship I'm sure Lorenzo is not. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke; 
 Who went with him to search. Bassanio 's ship. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 He came 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. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
 
 So strange-outrageous, and so variable, 
 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 "My daughter! — my ducats! — my daughter! 
 Fled with a Christian ! — my Christian ducats ! — 
 Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!" — 
 
 Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 Marry, well remembered ! — ■ 
 But, what news on the Eialto? 
 
 98 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 99 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 Why, yet it lives there unchecked, that Antonio hath 
 a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas; the 
 Goodwins, I think they call the place ; a very dangerous 
 flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship 
 lie buried. 
 
 Salabino. 
 I would it might prove the end of his losses. 
 
 SoiiANIO, 
 
 {Looking off to R. U. E.) 
 Let me say "Amen" betimes, lest the devU cross my 
 prayer, — for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. 
 {Then, Enteb Shtlook, R. U. E. He is 
 without hat, his clothes disordered, his 
 hair disheveled; his face ghastly pale, 
 his eyes blazing, his manner imre- 
 strained and wild. He comes on with 
 a half-rvmning rush. As he enters 
 Salaeiito and Solanio give way before 
 him and get to R. down Stage. Shy- 
 look to L. C, above them.) 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 {Continued.) 
 How now, Shylockl what news among the merchants? 
 
 Shylook. 
 You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my 
 daughter's flight. 
 
 Salabino. 
 That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor that 
 made the wings she flew withal. 
 
100 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 SoLAKIO. 
 
 And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was 
 fledged ; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave 
 the dam. 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Slightly to L.) 
 She is damned for it. 
 
 Salaeino. 
 That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Raising his arms, gesture of impotent rage.) 
 My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salabino. 
 (Anxiously, hut assuming carelessness.) 
 But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any 
 loss at sea or no? 
 
 Shylock. 
 There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodi- 
 gal, who dare scarce show his head on the Eialto; — 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. 
 
 Salabino. 
 Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his 
 flesh: what's that good for? 
 
 Shylook. 
 To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it 
 will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hin- 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 101 
 
 dered 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 his 
 reason? I am a Jew! Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a 
 Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, pas- 
 sions? 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 
 sxmimer, 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, re- 
 venge. The villany you teach me, I wiU execute ; and it 
 shall go hard but I will better the instruction. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be 
 matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. 
 
 (Exeunt Salaeino and Solanio, E. U. E. 
 as Enteb from hack L. U. E. Tubal.) 
 
 Shtlook. 
 How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou 
 found my daughter? 
 
 Tubal. 
 I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot 
 find her. 
 
 Shylook. 
 Why, there, there, there, there I a diamond gone, cost 
 me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never 
 
102 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now; — 
 two thousand ducats gone in that; and other precious, 
 precious jewels. — I would my daughter were dead at 
 my foot, and the jewels in her ear! would she were 
 hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No 
 news of them? — Why, so: — and I know not what's spent 
 in the search : why, then, loss upon loss I the thief gone 
 with so much, and so much to find the thief; and no sat- 
 isfaction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring but what 
 lights o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my breathing; 
 no tears but o ' my shedding. 
 
 (Shylock clutches his hodp garment, tear- 
 ing it open at the throat and breast, 
 with left hand, and beats his breast 
 with right, clenched.) 
 
 Tubal. 
 
 Yes, other men have ill luck, too : Antonio, as I heard 
 in Genoa, — 
 
 Shylook. 
 {Interrupting, a look of incredulous joy on his face.) 
 What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 
 
 Tubal,. 
 Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. 
 
 Shylock. 
 I thank God, I thank God — (Then almost in terror, 
 lest the news be contradicted.) Is it true, is it true? 
 
 Tubal. 
 I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 103 
 
 Shylock. 
 {Grasping Tubal hy an arm.) 
 I thank thee, good Tubal :— good news, good news I ha, 
 ha! — where? in Genoa? 
 
 Tubal. 
 Tour daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night 
 fourscore ducats. 
 
 Shylock. 
 {With a long, in-drawn sighing moan, as 
 though physically hurt.) 
 Thou stickest a dagger in me: — I shall never see my 
 gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting! {As though 
 overwhelmed at the enormity of the criminal extrava- 
 gance.) Fourscore ducats! 
 
 Tubal. 
 There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my com- 
 pany to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 
 
 Shylock. 
 I am very glad of it : — I'll plague him ; I'll torture him : 
 — I am glad of it. 
 
 Tubal. 
 One of them showed me a ring that he had of your 
 daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shylock. 
 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. 
 
 Tubal. 
 But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
104 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Shylook. 
 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 ; for, were he out of Venice, 
 I can make what merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, and 
 meet me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our syna- 
 gogue, Tubal. 
 
 (Exeunt, — Tubal to L. U. E.; Shylock 
 into House, L.) 
 
 END of second ACT. 
 
THIRD ACT. 
 
 First Scene, Belmont; the Casket Chamber in the 
 House of Pobtia. Time, Forenoon. 
 
 At Tormentors, Right amd Left, Dra- 
 peries. A Three Arch Set Piece extends 
 from L. Tormentor diagonally to a point 
 L. C. on line of Second Entrance. Another 
 Three Arch Set Piece extends from R. Tor- 
 mentor to a point R. C. on line of Second 
 Entrance. On this line, extending from 
 R. C. to L. C, a third Three Arch Set 
 Piece — the center arch thereof being larger 
 than any of the other arches. 
 
 Upon a low platform, R., the three cas- 
 kets, covered. 
 
 Outside of Arches a marble terrace, — 
 with, R. and L., balustrades. 
 
 At B«Kik a wide Stairway, descending 
 into a Garden. The tops of Cypress Trees, 
 growing beside this Stairway, are visible. 
 
 The whole set is backed with a cyclorama 
 giving view of the Italian Countryside. 
 
 L. C. stands a large chair. Near it, a 
 footstool. 
 
 Entee, L. F. E., Portia, Neeissa, Bal- 
 THAZAE and Jestee, imth Attendants. 
 
 Music, — a Flourish of Moorish Trum- 
 pets. 
 
 Pobtia goes to throne-chair, L. C, 
 Neeissa takes place L. of her: Jestee at 
 her feet, to L. Balthazae R, of her. 
 
 106 
 
106 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Entee, coming up Stairway as from 
 Garden, and through center Arch, Pbinoe 
 OF MoBocco, attended hy Moorish Soldiees 
 and by Slaves, who hear precious gifts. 
 
 Music ceases. 
 
 MOBOOCO. 
 
 Mislike me not for my complexion, 
 
 The shadow 'd livery of the burnish. 'd sun, 
 
 To whom I am a neighbor and near bred. 
 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born. 
 
 Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws tbe icicles, 
 
 And let us make incision for our love. 
 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
 
 I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
 
 Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love, I swear 
 
 The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
 
 Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue, 
 
 Escept to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 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: 
 
 But, if my father had not scanted me. 
 
 And hedg'd me by his will, to yield myself 
 
 His wife who wins me by what means I told you. 
 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet 
 
 For my affection. 
 
 MOEOOCO. 
 
 Even for that I thank you : 
 Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 107 
 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar,— 
 That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,— 
 I would outstare the sternest eyes that look, 
 Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 
 Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
 To win thee, lady ! 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 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 advis'd. 
 
 Morocco. 
 Nor wiU not. Come, bring me unto my chance. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Discover 
 The several caskets to this noble prince. — ' 
 
 (Balthazab removes the covering from the 
 Caskets, then withdraws, at hack R. 
 PoETiA seats herself L. C. Moeooco 
 goes to the Caskets.) 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 MOEOCOO. 
 
 The first, of gold, which this inscription bears, — 
 "Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire" ; 
 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries, — 
 "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves"; 
 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,^ 
 
108 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 ' * Who chooseth. me must give and hazard all lie hath.^' ' 
 {Turning toward Pobtia.) 
 How shall I know if I do choose the right? 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 The one of them contains my picture, prince: 
 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
 
 MOBOCOO. 
 
 Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see ; 
 I will survey th' inscriptions back again. 
 What says this leaden casket? 
 
 "Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." 
 (PoBTiA anxious as he pamses over lead 
 Casket.) 
 Must give, — for what? for lead? hazard for lead? 
 This casket threatens: men that hazard all 
 Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
 A golden mind stoops not to show 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'st rated by thy estimation, 
 Thou dost deserve enough: 
 What if I stray 'd no further, but chose here? — ■ 
 Let's see once more this saying grav'd 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't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation 
 To think so base a thought : 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 109 
 
 Never so rich a gem 
 
 "Was set in worse than gold! 
 
 Deliver me the key : 
 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may 1 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 There, take it, prince; 
 
 {Gives him the Tcey from her girdle.) 
 and if my form lie there, 
 Then I am yours. 
 
 (MoBOcco takes hey from her and wnlochs 
 the Golden Casket, disclosing a human 
 Skull, with a scroll in one of its eye 
 sockets.) 
 
 MOBOCCO. 
 
 O hell! what have we here! 
 {Taking out the skull.) 
 A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing. 
 
 (MoEocco takes out the scroll, returns the 
 Skull to the Golden Gasket, and reads.) 
 " All that glisters is not gold, — 
 Often have you heard that told : 
 Many a man his life has sold 
 But my outside to behold: 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
 Had you been as wise as bold, 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
 Your answer had not been inscroU'd: 
 Fare you well; your suit is cold." 
 
 Cold indeed ; and labor lost : 
 Then, farewell, heat ; and welcome, frost ! — 
 Portia, adieu. I have too griev'd a heart 
 
110 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. 
 
 (Flourish; Moorish March. Exbukt, Mo- 
 Eooco and his Train, Arch 0. and down 
 Stairway.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 A gentle riddance. — Draw the curtains, go.-— 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. 
 
 {A Tncket is heard, sounding off R., at 
 Bach, as Portia ends, "choose me so." 
 
 Entee, from L., bp Teeeace at Back, 
 coming through Arch, Stephano, who 
 holds in leash two Italian Greyhoimds. 
 He is accompanied hy Four Huntsmen, 
 one of whom hears a hooded Falcon 
 upon his wrist. 
 
 As the Tucket sounds, two of Poetia's 
 attendant Women have gone off hur- 
 riedly to L. They return immediately, 
 bringing rich Mantles, which they place 
 about her and Neeissa. 
 
 Stephano and the Huntsmen, with 
 Dogs, form in Group. Poetia is mov- 
 ing, about to address them, when 
 Entee, with dignified haste, coming up 
 Stairway at Back C, Balthazae, who 
 is followed at a few steps distance by 
 Two Pages, most prettily dressed and 
 hearing rich Gifts and laden with 
 Flowers.) 
 
 Balthazar. 
 Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify th' approaching of his lord; 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 111 
 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, 
 
 To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 
 
 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not 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. 
 
 (PoETiA has listened with intense eager- 
 ness; motionless the while, save for a 
 slight gesture with which she has beck- 
 oned Nebissa closer to her, at same 
 time letting fall her Mantle. On cue, 
 "of his lord" she whispers low, scarce 
 audible, the word "Bassaniol" 
 
 As Balthazae ceases speaking, Poe- 
 TiA goes up a little, taking the Flowers 
 offered by the Pages, which completely 
 fill her arms; then, speaking as she 
 does so, turns to face down-Stage.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly! 
 
 (PoETiA is turning away toward Bach, C, 
 about to go; Neeissa is moving to fol- 
 low her, as she speaks; Balthazar, 
 bowing, makes way for them; the at- 
 tendant Women are about to follow.) 
 
 Neeissa, 
 
 Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be I 
 
 (PoETiA, burying her face in the Flowers, 
 just breathes the name "Bassanio!" 
 All are im, motion and 
 
 TABLEAUX CXJETAINS CLOSE. 
 
Second Scene, Belmont; the Gasket Chamber again. 
 
 Time, Night. 
 
 Geatiano is heard singing, off E. Enter 
 Nebissa L. F. E., goes up to C, looks off, 
 sees Gbatiano approaching, runs down L. 
 and hides beside throne-chair. Enter from 
 R., at back to C, Gbatiano, singing and 
 accompanying himself upon a lute. He 
 perceives Nebissa but affects not to and is 
 turning away, C. Nebissa utters a little 
 laughing cry and runs to him; he turns, 
 takes her in his arms; they kiss, as the 
 Jester appears, stealing up the Stairway, 
 watching them. Nebissa and Geatiano 
 come into room; the Jestee is following 
 them, when he perceives Portia and Ne- 
 bissa, off to R. U. E. He indicates them, 
 grimacing ; then capers into room, and 
 Exit, down L. F. E. Enter, C, at back 
 from R. U. E., Portia and Bassanio. At- 
 tendants come on at L. F. E. 
 
 Pobtia. 
 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, — 
 And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — 
 I would detain you here some month or two 
 
 112 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 113 
 
 Before you venture for me. I could teach you 
 How to choose right, but then 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 o'er-look'd me, and divided me; 
 One half of me is yours, th' other half yours, — 
 Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, 
 And so all yours ! 
 
 I speak too long; but 'tis to piece the time, 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 Let me choose; 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Portia. 
 Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak any thing. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Well then, confess, and live. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 Confess, and 10ve» 
 Had been the very sum of my confession : 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 Poetia. 
 Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 
 If you do love me, you will find me out.— ^ 
 
114 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
 
 Let music sound, while he doth make his choice; 
 
 (Geatiano and Nebissa retire up-Stag e 
 L. C. Attendants all withdraw. Poe- 
 TiA seats herself upon throne-chair. 
 Nebissa goes to her. Geatiano stands 
 R. Bassanio advances to the Caskets, 
 examines them, scanning the inscrip- 
 tions on each. Very soft Music sounds. 
 As Music dies away he speaks, begin- 
 ning on "fancy's knell.") 
 
 Pobtia. 
 (Continued.) 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream 
 And watery death-bed for him. He may win; 
 And what is music then? then music is 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch: such it is 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
 And summon him to marriage. — Now he goes; 
 Live thou, I live : — ^with much-much more dismay, 
 I view the fight than thou that mak'st the fray. 
 
 (Song, PPP., while Bassanio comments on 
 the Caskets.) 
 
 Song. 
 "Tell me where is fancy bred. 
 Or in the heart or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 Reply, reply. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 115 
 
 ''It is engender 'd in the eyes, 
 While gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies. 
 
 Let ns all ring fancy's knell: 
 (Bassanio begins to speak on "knell") 
 I'll begin it, — ^Ding, dong, bell. 
 Ding, dong, bell." 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 "Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire ;" 
 "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;" 
 (Bassanio touches the golden Casket, then 
 lays his hand upon the silver one.) 
 So may the outward shows be least themselves : 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being season 'd with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil? In religion. 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, £ind 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 : 
 Look on beauty. 
 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight; 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it. 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word. 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 T' entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee ; 
 Nor none of thee, thou stale and common drudge 
 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead. 
 
116 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 
 Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ; 
 And here choose I : — joj be the consequence! 
 
 (Bassanio goes to Portia, who gives him 
 hey, then returns to, unlocks and opens 
 the lead Gashet, while Poetta speaks.) 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 How all the other passions fleet to air ! — ■ 
 
 love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; 
 
 In measure rain thy joy; scant this excess! 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing: make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit ! 
 
 Bassanio. 
 (Opening lead Casket and taking out smail 
 oval-framed picture of Portia.) 
 What find I here? 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation? Here's the scroll. 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 (Reads.) 
 "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 pleas 'd with this. 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
 Turn you where your lady is. 
 And claim her with a loving kiss." 
 (Mu^ic ceases.) 
 A gentle scroll. — 
 
 (Bassanio coming to Portia.) 
 Fair lady, by your leave; 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 117 
 
 (Bassanio tahes Poetia in his arms.) 
 I come by note, to give and to receive, 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirm 'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 (Bassanio kisses Poetia. Geatiano and 
 Neeissa likewise embrace and kiss.) 
 
 Poetia. 
 (After the kiss, drawing slightly hack from him.) 
 Tou 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 an unlesson'd girl, unschooPd, unpractis'd: 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; then happier in this. 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all, in 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; 
 
 (Taking from one of her fingers a Ring, 
 which she places upon the ring finger 
 of Bassanio 's left hand. Neeissa at 
 
118 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 same time and in same manner gives a 
 
 EiNG to Gbatiano.) 
 Wliieli when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 Let it presage tlie ruin of your love, 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
 Bassanio, 
 Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 But when this ring 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : 
 
 (Hand to Ms heart.) 
 0, then be bold to say "Bassanio's dead!" 
 
 (Neeissa and Gbatiano come forward, C.) 
 
 Nbeissa. 
 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! 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 My Lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
 For I am sure you can wish none from me : 
 And, when your honors mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 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 ; 
 
THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 119 
 
 You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission 
 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, 
 
 And so did mine, as the matter falls ; 
 
 For wooing here, until I swet again, 
 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 
 With oaths of love, at last,— if promise last,— 
 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Is this true, Nerissa? 
 
 Nkeissa. 
 Madam, it is, so you stand pleas 'd withal. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? 
 
 Gratiano. 
 Yes, faith, my lord. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Our feast shall be much honor 'd in your marriage. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 {Looking off Stage.) 
 But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? 
 What, and my old Venetian friend Solanio ? 
 
 (Enter Arch C, coming up Stairway, Lo- 
 renzo, Jessica amd Solanio.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Lorenzo and Solanio, welcome hither; 
 
120 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 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. 
 
 Portia. 
 
 So do I, my lord ; 
 They are entirely welcome, 
 
 LOEBNZO. 
 
 I thank your honor, — For my part, my lord. 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here; 
 But meeting with Solanio by the way. 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay. 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 I did, my lord; 
 And I have reason for 't. Signor Antonio 
 Commends him to you. 
 
 (Solanio gives to Bassanio a letter, as he 
 speaks.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Ere I ope his letter, 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth, 
 
 Solanio. 
 {Speaking with stress and significance.) 
 Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. 
 
 (Bassanio opens and reads the letter given 
 him. ) 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 121 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Nerissa, cheer yond stranger ; bid her welcome. — 
 
 (Nekissa goes to Jessica.) 
 Your hand, Solanio: what's the 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. 
 
 SoiiANIO. 
 
 I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost ! 
 (SoLANio and Gbatiano talh, apart.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 {Aside, watching Bassanio.) 
 There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper, 
 That steal the color 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, 
 
 (PoBTiA to Bassanio, and laying hold of 
 the opened letter in his hand.) 
 And I must have the half of any thing 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 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 freely told you, 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 as nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
 My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
 
122 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
 I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
 Engag'd 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. — 
 
 (Turning to Soianio.) 
 
 But is it true, Solanio? 
 Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England? 
 From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? 
 And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merehant-marring rocks? 
 
 SOIANIO. 
 
 Not one, my lord. 
 Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He would not take it. Never did I know 
 A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
 So keen and greedy to confound a man ; 
 He plies the Duke at morning and at night ; 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
 If they deny him justice : twenty merchants. 
 The Duke himself, and the magnificoes 
 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea, 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jessica. 
 (Coming forward, holding Lobenzo by the hcmd.) 
 "When I was with him, I have heard him swear. 
 To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, 
 That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 123 
 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 
 If law, authority, and power deny not, 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 (To Bassanio.) 
 Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 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. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 What sum owes he the Jew? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 For me three thousand ducats. 
 
 Pobtia. 
 
 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. Come, away! 
 For you shaU hence upon your wedding-day: 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer : 
 Since you are dear-bought, I will love you dear. — 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
124 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {Reading Letter.) 
 "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 im- 
 possible I should live — " 
 
 (Bassanio, overcome by emotion, cannot 
 continue reading. Pobtia gently takes 
 Letter from him and, as he hows his 
 head, holding one of his hands in one 
 of hers, continues and finishes reading 
 it.) 
 
 PoETIA. 
 
 "... it is impossible I should live, all debts are 
 cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at my 
 death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if your love 
 do not persuade you to come, let not my letter." 
 
 love, dispatch all business, and be gone ! 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 
 I will make haste : but, till I come again. 
 No bed shall e'er be guUty of my stay, 
 Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain, 
 
 (Exeunt Omnes — Bassanio and Poetia 
 leading, Neeissa and Geatiano next; 
 then LoBENzo and Jessica, followed by 
 SoiiANio, to R. U. E., as 
 
 TABLEAUX OUETAINS CLOSE, FOE AN INTEEVAL OF ONE MINUTE. 
 
 {The Double Wedding, — of Bassanio and 
 Poetia, Geatiano and Neeissa, — is here 
 supposed.) 
 
Third Scene, the Casket Chamber again. Time, Late 
 Afternoon of the Next Day. 
 
 (Enter from R., coming through Center 
 Arch, PoETiA, Nebissa, Lobenzo, Jessica 
 and Balthazab. Poetia has a sealed Let- 
 ter in her hand.) 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 {To Poetia, as they come on.) 
 Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 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. 
 
 Poetia. 
 I never did repent for doing good, 
 Nor shall not now: — 
 
 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 breath'd a secret vow; 
 To live in prayer and contemplation, 
 Only attended by Nerissa here, 
 Until her husband and my lord's return: 
 
 125 
 
126 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 There is a monastery two miles off; 
 And there we will abide. 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Madam, with all my heart ; 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 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. 
 
 LOEBNZO. 
 
 Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you I 
 
 Jessica. 
 I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas 'd 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 
 
 (Exeunt Loeenzo and Jessica, Arch Cen- 
 ter, to L. PoETiA continues when they 
 are off, turning to Balthazae.) 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest-true, 
 So let me find thee still. Take this same letter. 
 
 (PoETiA gives Letter to Balthazae.) 
 And use thou all th' endeavor of a man 
 In speed to Padua : see thou render this 
 Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 127 
 
 WMch trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, 
 But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. 
 
 Balthazak. 
 Madam, I go with all-convenient speed. 
 
 (Exit Balthazae hrishly, through Center 
 Arch, to R.) 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand 
 
 That you yet know not of : we'll see our husbands 
 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 
 Shall they see us? 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 They shall, Nerissa {Archly) ; 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 accoutered like young men, 
 
 I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
 
 And speak between the change of man and boy 
 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 
 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, 
 
 Like a fine-bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies. 
 
 How honorable ladies sought my love, 
 
 WTiich I denying, they fell sick and died, — 
 
 I could not do withal; — then I'll repent, 
 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: 
 
 And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell; 
 
 That men shall swear I've discontinu'd school 
 
 Above a twelvemonth:— I've within my mind 
 
128 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 (Sitdden transition from mocking merri- 
 ment to serious and intent purpose, as 
 she grasps Nebissa's hand, to hurry her 
 away.) 
 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 to-day, 
 
 (ExETJNT at Back, C. doum Stairway, as 
 
 OUBTAIN. 
 
 END OF THIED ACT. 
 
FOURTH ACT. 
 
 Scene, Venice; A Couet of Justice. Time, Midday. 
 The Walls, Bight and Left, are formed 
 by heavy blue Draperies. At L. is a 
 square column surmoimted by an image, in 
 bronze, of The Lion of St. Mark. Before 
 this is a raised Platform — with steps lead- 
 ing up to it — upon which are a throne- 
 chair, for the Duke of Venice, and four 
 other seats {two on each side of it) for 
 "the magnificoes of greatest port." 
 Across, at bach, extends a row of throne- 
 like seats for the Membees of the CouNoHi. 
 Above these, upon the wall, a reproduction 
 of the fresco painted by Guarentio. In 
 this back-wall, R. and L., are large doors. 
 At R. (about line of 2nd E.) a high, square 
 column surmounted by an image, in bronze, 
 of St. Theodore. In lower L. corner of 
 Stage, a seat and small desk for Cleek of 
 the Court. TJp-Stage L., near to Plat- 
 form, a square table, upon which are sev- 
 eral large folio volumes; papers, ink-stand, 
 quill-pens am,d samd-box. Upon floor, R. C, 
 a pile of money-bags. 
 
 Discovered, in their several places, the 
 Duke of Venice, the Magnificoes, Mem- 
 bees of the Council, the Cleek of the 
 Couet. Soldibes in armor, with great two- 
 handed swords, guard the entrances and 
 the ducal throne. In a group R., by the 
 
 129 
 
130 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 pillar of St. Theodore, stand Antonio, with 
 Gaoleb, — in whose custody he is; Bassanio, 
 Gbatiano, Salaeino, and Solanio. Near to 
 them stands a Monk. R. of the pillar stand 
 various Lords, Gentlemen and Citizens 
 of Venice. Up-Stage, E., stand Tubal and 
 Chus. 
 
 Trumpets sound, immediately before the 
 curtain rises, — in salutation to the Duke, 
 then taking Ms place. There is a buzz of 
 many murmuring voices as the scene is dis- 
 closed. This 'ceases at a gesture by the 
 Duke. 
 
 Duke. 
 {Looking toward E.) 
 "What, is Antonio here? 
 
 Antonio. 
 (E., taking a step forward.) 
 Eeady, so please your grace. 
 
 Duke. 
 (Looking at Antonio fixedly; speaks very kindly.) 
 I'm 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. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 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 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 131 
 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 DUKB. 
 
 Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 
 
 (SoiANio steps to R. so as to he visible 
 through the open door, R. U. E,) 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 He's ready at the door: 
 
 (SoLANio raises his arm, as in signal.) 
 he comes, my lord. 
 
 Dtjke. 
 
 Make room, and let him stand before our face. — 
 
 (An instant's pause. Enter Shylook, 
 R. U. E. He comes on deliberately and 
 firmly; advances far enough to be vis- 
 ible from all parts of the house; stops, 
 looks round the court room for An- 
 tonio; locates him, fixes a glare upon 
 him for a moment; then his face be- 
 comes mask-lihe: he advances to center 
 of Stage, bows gravely and low to the 
 Duke — toward whom he shows great 
 deference in his manner — then stands, 
 calm and upright.) 
 
 Duke. 
 (Continued.) 
 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 'It show thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
 Than is thy strange-apparent cruelty; 
 
132 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 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, 
 Enow to press a royal merchant down, 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, 
 From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train 'd 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 (Slight pause.) 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 (C.) 
 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'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 hmnor :" 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 ban'd! What, are you answer'd yet? 
 Some men there are love not a gaping pig; 
 Some, that are mad if they behold a cat ; 
 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 ; 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 133 
 
 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? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {Speaking somewhat wildly, in excitement.) 
 
 This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 
 ,T' excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 (Shylock, listening; to answer, turns 
 slightly toward Bassakio; there is a 
 flickering gleam of resentment for a 
 moment in his eyes: he has not forgot- 
 ten that 'twas Bassanio objected, at 
 first, to Antonio signing the bond which 
 has brought him to the present danger; 
 then Shtlock's countena/nce again be- 
 comes stone hard, and he withdraws 
 his glance, looking before him toward 
 L. C. He speaks with cold, bitter con- 
 tempt.) 
 
 Shtlook, 
 I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 (In a pleading manner.) 
 Bo all men kill the things they do not love? 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Coldly bitter.) 
 Hates any man the thing he would not kill! 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Every offense is not a hate at first. 
 
134 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Shtlock. 
 (Turnmg toward him, dangerous and hit- 
 ter; speaks abruptly.) 
 
 What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? 
 
 Antonio. 
 {To Bassanio — with feeling, yet restraint.) 
 I pray you, think, — ^you question with the Jew: 
 You might as well go stand upon the beach, 
 And hid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 "Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are f retten with the gusts of heaven ; 
 You may as well do anything most hard, 
 As seek to soften that, — than which what's harder? — 
 His Jewish heart : — therefore, I do beseech you. 
 Make no more offers, {To Duke.) use no further means, 
 But, with all brief and plain conveniency. 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 (To Shylock, tahing up one of the money- 
 bags and hy gesture indicating the 
 others.) 
 For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 Shtlock. 
 
 {Turning toward Bassanio, advances 
 
 slowly to him, gazing into his eyes; 
 
 pointing downward, with a stab-like 
 
 gesture, at the money-bags, but with- 
 
THE MEEOHANT OF VENICE 135 
 
 out withdrawing Ms eyes from Bas- 
 SANio's, speaks: as he utters the words 
 "not draw them" he kicks one of the 
 money-hags aside.) 
 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? 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Facing about, returns toward C, speaks 
 with restraint hut great strength, ami, 
 at close, with truculence.) 
 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 I 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
 I stand for judgment: answer, — shall I have it? 
 
 Duke. 
 {After regarding Shtlook for a moment 
 with a steady cold gaze of aversion. 
 
136 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Enter R. U. E., very quietly and not 
 attracting attention, a Dtjoal Messen- 
 gee; he whispers to Soianio.) 
 
 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. 
 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 {To the Duke, indicating the Duoal Messengeb.) 
 My lord, here stays without 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Duke. 
 {With strong interest.) 
 Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 
 
 (Exit Solanio a/nd Ducal Messengbe, R. 
 U. E. Shylock gazes intently up at 
 Duke, then toward door, R. U. E.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, courage yet I 
 The Jew shall haye my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Antonio. 
 {With sad and gentle smile.) 
 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. 
 
 '{Clasping Bassanio hy the hand. — Enteb 
 R. U. E. SoLANio, the Ducal Mbssen- 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 137 
 
 GEE, escorting Nebissa, who is dressed 
 as a lawyer's cleric. They pause at 
 their former stations. She advances 
 to L. C, there stands, and hows to the 
 Duke, Shylock attentively watching: 
 he listens with attention till Neeissa 
 presents letter: then, going down upon 
 one knee, he deliberately and carefully 
 sharpens the edge of his Tcnife upon 
 sole of one of his shoes.) 
 
 Duke. 
 Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
 
 Neeissa. 
 From both, my lord, Bellario greets your grace. 
 
 {IfiTSRissA' advances, ascends the steps and, 
 kneeling, presents to the Duke a Let- 
 ter, which is folded lengthwise, tied 
 with narrow silk cord and sealed with 
 wax. The Duke takes it, breaks it open 
 and reads. Neeissa retires, backward, 
 to her former station and there waits.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {To Shtlock, whom he has been watching with horror.) 
 Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 
 SHYXiOCK. 
 
 (Pauses, looks up at Bassanio, looks past 
 him. with baleful gaze, at Antonio, 
 points at him with knife as he answers; 
 then resumes whetting of the knife.) 
 To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt there. 
 
 (Bassanio, in distress, turns away. Gea- 
 
138 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 TiANo comes forward and speaks an- 
 grily, standing E. C, over Shylook.) 
 
 Geatiano. 
 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? 
 
 Shylook. 
 (Contemptuously — without looking up.) 
 No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 (Furious, and ivith violence.) 
 0, 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, for thy desires 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 
 Shylook. 
 (Rising, tries edge and point of knife with 
 thumb; sheathes it; draws Bond from 
 his hosom, and taps upon seal, as he 
 speaks. "Rail" is uttered with a cruel 
 and contemptuous intonation.) 
 Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
 Thou but offend 'st thy lungs to speak so loud. 
 
 (Ris tone is low, strong and ominous.) 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin. — 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 139 
 
 (Shylook looks past Geatiano on these 
 words, at Antonio.) 
 I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. 
 (Looking up from letter, which he has been reading.) 
 This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court. — 
 
 (To Neeissa.) 
 Where is he? 
 
 Neeissa. 
 He attendeth here hard by, 
 To know your answer, whether you '11 admit him. 
 
 Duke. 
 With all my heart. — Some three or four of you 
 Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
 
 (Exeunt Solanio, Salaeino and Gentle- 
 men R. U. E.) 
 Meantime the court shall hear Bellario 's letter. 
 
 (Duke makes signal to Cleek, who ad- 
 vances, takes letter, returns to his 
 place, there stands while he reads it, 
 a/nd being finished, sits. Shylock lis- 
 tens with vigilant attention to the read- 
 ing of the letter and notes Portia, 
 when she comes on, with watchful sus- 
 picion.) 
 
 Cleek. 
 
 (Reading.) 
 
 "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 
 
140 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 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 to- 
 gether : 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 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 commen- 
 dation." 
 
 Duke. 
 You hear the learn 'd Bellario, what he writes : 
 
 {Looking off, through door R, U. E.) 
 And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 
 
 (Enter Poetia, R. U. E., dressed as a Doc- 
 tor-of-Laws. She is attended hy So- 
 LANio, Salabino, and Gentlemek, am-d 
 she carries a large folio Volume from 
 which protrude two marhers. This 
 volume she hands to Neeissa, as she 
 passes, who takes it up, and, at Cleek's 
 gestured invitation, lays it on large 
 table L. C, and then seats herself he- 
 fore table. Shylock slightly changes 
 his position, so as to see better this new 
 legal advocate.) 
 
 Duke. 
 (Continued.) 
 Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario? 
 
 (PoETiA crosses, ascends steps to Duke's 
 throne, kisses the hand which he ex- 
 tends to her.) 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 141 
 
 POBTU, 
 
 I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 You're welcome: take your place. 
 (PoETiA retires backward down steps and 
 
 takes station R. of table up L.) 
 Are you acquainted with the difference 
 That holds this present question in the court? 
 
 Portia. 
 I am informed throughly of the cause. — 
 
 (Slight pause.) 
 Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 
 
 Duke. 
 Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 
 (Shylock moves forward, down-Stage; 
 Antonio also, a little down below him.) 
 
 POETLA. 
 
 (Gazing at him with fixed attention.) 
 Is your name Shylock? 
 
 Shylock. 
 (Gazing steadily before hvm.) 
 
 Shylock is my name. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
 Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. — 
 
 (A gleam, of fierce joy lights SHYiiOOK's 
 eyes: he makes no other sign, no move- 
 ment. Portia now addresses Antonio. ) 
 
142 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 You stand within his danger, do you not? 
 
 Antonio. 
 Ay, so he says. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 {Quickly, as though the answer might raise 
 another point, — a question of fact. 
 Shylock's hand steals to his breast, 
 where he has placed his Bond, as he 
 looks toward Antonio and waits to 
 hear what reply he will make to Portia.) 
 Do you confess the bond? 
 
 I do. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 POETIA.. 
 
 {After an instant, and as though nonplused.) 
 Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shylock. 
 {Turning slowly toward her, as he speaks.) 
 On what compulsion must I? tell me that? 
 
 Pobtia. 
 {Impulsively, yet speaking very simply.) 
 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 scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 
THE MEECHANT OF YENICE 143 
 
 "Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptered 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. (Pame.) 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. 
 
 Shylook, 
 My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law ! 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Portia. 
 Is he not able to discharge the money? 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Yes, here I tender 't for him in the court ; 
 Yea, thrice 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 : 
 
 {With great feeling.) 
 If this will not suffice, it must appear 
 That malice bears down truth. {To Duke, wildly.) 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. 
 
 (Shtlook, restraining display of emotion, 
 listens anxiously for the reply to this 
 
144 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 appeal — and, when it comes, he is 
 deeply exultant.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 (With strong gesture of negation.) 
 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. 
 
 Shylock. 
 A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! — 
 {Turns toward Poetia.) 
 
 wise young judge, how I do honor thee ! 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 {To Shylock.) 
 
 1 pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
 Shylock. 
 {Eagerly, and complying.) 
 Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 
 (Shylock, as he speaks, tahes Bond from 
 inside his dress, and hands it to Poetl^ : 
 she takes it, hut keeps her eyes fixed 
 on his.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer 'd thee. 
 
 Shylock. 
 An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 145 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 (Opening and glancing at Bond.) 
 
 Why, this bond is forfeit; 
 And lawfully by this the Jew naay claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
 Nearest the merchant's heart. — 
 
 {To SHYiiOCK, urgently.) 
 
 Be merciful: 
 Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 (PoETiA makes gesture as though to tear 
 the Bond; Shylock lays hand on hers, 
 stopping her.) 
 
 Shylock. 
 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. 
 
 Ajsttonio. 
 Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 (Duke signs to Poetia.) 
 
 Portia. 
 
 Why then, thus it is: — 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 
 
 Shylock. 
 noble judge! excellent young man! 
 
146 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 POETLA,. 
 
 {Taking the folio Volume which, at a sign 
 Nebissa hands to her. Opening it he- 
 fore her.) 
 For the intent and purpose of the law 
 Hath full relation to the penalty, 
 "Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 {Tapping the Bond, which she has re- 
 tained.) 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 'Tis very true : wise and upright judge ! 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Therefore lay bare your bosom. 
 
 (Bassanio moves as though to interpose 
 his body between Antonio and Shy- 
 lock.) 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 Ay, his breast: 
 So says the bond: — doth it not, noble judge? — 
 "Nearest his heart": those are the very words. 
 
 (Shylock goes to Poetu. and, with point 
 of Ms hnife, indicates the words in the 
 Bond, which Portia still holds.) 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 It is so. Are there balance' here to weigh 
 The flesh? 
 
 Shylock. 
 {Touching scales, in his girdle.) 
 I have them ready. 
 
THE MERCHANT .OF YENICE 147 
 
 Portia. 
 Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shylock. 
 Is it so nominated in the bond? 
 
 (Shylock examines the Bond, which Pob- 
 TiA still holds, following the lines of 
 it with the point of his knife.) 
 
 Portly. 
 It is not so express 'd; but what of that? 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shylock. 
 I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 PORTLI. 
 
 Come, merchant, have you anything to say? 
 
 Antonio. 
 But little : I am arm'd and well prepar'd. — 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
 Grieve not that I am falPn 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 a misery doth she cut me off. 
 Commend me to your honorable 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. 
 
148 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Eepent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
 For, if the Jew do but cut deep enough, 
 I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 {Profowndly agitated.) 
 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! 
 
 Geatiano. 
 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. 
 
 Shtlock. 
 (Who has listened with a hitter sneer.) 
 These be the Christian husbands ! I have a daughter,- 
 Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
 Had been her husband rather than a Christian! — 
 
 {Fiercely, to Portia.) 
 We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 {Solemnly.) 
 A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 
 Shtlock. 
 Most rightful judge ! 
 
.THE MERCHANT OF yENICE 149 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 And you must cut this flesh from off his breast : 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Shylock. 
 
 Most learned judge ! A sentence ! 
 
 {Whirling to face Antonio, who, down R., 
 kneels, tears open his shirt at the 
 breast. Bassanio, about to throw him- 
 self before Antonio, is restrained by 
 Gbatiano. The Pbiest advances. Spec- 
 tators move, rising, some turn away. 
 The Duke half rises in his seat : so, also, 
 do several of the Council and the Mag- 
 
 NIFICOES.) 
 
 come, prepare 1 
 (Shylock is rushing upon Antonio. Pob- 
 TiA speaks very quickly.) 
 
 Poetia. 
 
 Tarry a little! there is something else. 
 
 (Shylock is arrested in movement — his 
 knife half raised.) 
 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 jwund of flesh ; 
 But, in the cutting of 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. 
 
 (Shylock, on the words "Take then thy 
 bond," makes a slight, convulsive 
 movement, — as though about to com- 
 plete his rush upon Antonio. Poetia 
 rapidly enunciates the words "take 
 
150 THE MEBCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 tJiou thy pound of flesh," and Shylook 
 is again halted by them. At "confis- 
 cate unto the state of Venice," he reels 
 a little. 
 An instant's pause.) 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 upright judge ! — Mark, Jew : — learned judge ! 
 
 Shylook. 
 (Writhing as though vn agony and not tak- 
 ing his eyes from Antonio, who rises, 
 Bassanio embracing him.) 
 Is that the law? 
 
 Portia. 
 Thyself shalt see the act : 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd 
 Thou shalt have justice,^ more than thou desir'st. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 
 learned judge! — Mark, Jew: — a learned judge! 
 
 Shylook. 
 (Still keeping his eyes fixed on Anton'io, 
 convulsively clutching and loosening 
 his hand upon knife handle.) 
 
 1 take his offer then ; pay the bond thrice, 
 And let the Christian go! 
 
 (This is spoken with a struggle: he can 
 scarce bring out the word "go" — as he 
 utters it, he casts the knife from him.) 
 
 ^ Students of this play should note that Skylock does not once 
 use the word "justice." That is Portia's word. Shyloch takes 
 his stand unon law and demands judgment, according to law. 
 — D. B. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 151 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 Here is the money. 
 (Shylook is about to take up several of 
 the money hags from floor. And he 
 moves, as though to do so, a second 
 time, on "all justice.") 
 
 Portia. 
 Soft I 
 
 The Jew shall have all justice; — soft! no haste: — 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 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 't but so much 
 
 As makes it light or heavy in the substance 
 
 Or the division of a 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. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 
 
 Shtlook. 
 Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
152 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Bassanio. 
 I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 
 (Shylock takes up a single money-bag 
 from the pile upon the floor.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 He hath refus'd it in the open court: 
 
 He shall have merely justice and his bond. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel f — 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 Shylock. 
 {Appalled and in fear for himself.) 
 Shall I not have barely my principal? 
 
 Pobtia. 
 Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture. 
 To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 SHYIiOOK. 
 
 "Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
 
 (Shylook casts the money-hag at Anto- 
 nio's feet; turns toward Pobtia, takes 
 from her the Bond, tears and crumples 
 it, and throws it toward Antonio.) 
 I'll stay no longer question. 
 
 (Shylook moves towards door E. U. E. 
 As Pobtia speaks, Gbatiano, Salabino, 
 and others bar his way.) 
 
 Pobtia. 
 
 Tarry, Jew: 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 153 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 
 {Reading from folio Volume.) 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
 If it be prov'd against an alien, 
 That by direct or indirect attehipts 
 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 formally by me rehears 'd. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. 
 
 Geatiasto. 
 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. 
 
 (Shylock slowly crosses to L. — suddenly 
 collapses and falls upon floor before 
 the Duke.) 
 
 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. 
 
154 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Ay, for the state, — not for Antonio. 
 
 Shylock. 
 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 wherehy I live. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 
 Gratiano. 
 A halter gratis; nothing else, for G-od's sake. 
 
 Antonio. 
 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 favor. 
 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. 
 
 {Murmur of satisfaction among Crowd.) 
 
 DxTKE. 
 
 He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
 The pardon that I late pronounced here. 
 
 PoETIA. 
 
 Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 155 
 
 Shylock. 
 I am content. 
 
 Portia. 
 Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 (Shylock rises.) 
 
 Shylook. 
 
 I pray yon, 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. 
 (As Shylock begins to move toward door 
 R. F. E., Gbatiano grasps Mm hy the 
 goivn, detaining him.) 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 In christening shalt thou have two godfathers : 
 Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 (Shylock plucks away his gown from the 
 grasp of Gbatiano, with difficulty 
 stands erect, slowly, with wnsure steps 
 walks toward R. F. E. ; he staggers and 
 falls forward, catching hold upon An- 
 tonio to stay himself. Recognizing 
 Antonio, he rallies his strength and 
 passes on. The Monk raises his cruci- 
 fix before Shylock, as he goes out. An 
 instant's pause, then sound of jeering 
 and hooting R. F. E. 
 
 The Duke now rises and descends, 
 followed by the Magnipicoes and the 
 
156 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Council, also the Clebk. The Duke 
 stops to speak to Poetia. After his 
 speech he makes exit B. at Bach. Ex- 
 eunt the Magnificobs and the Council 
 L, at Back. After the dignitaries are 
 off, Exeunt all Others at Bach, R. and 
 L,, leaving only the four characters 
 who are implicated in the closing pas- 
 sage of this act.) 
 
 Duke. 
 {To Poetia.) 
 Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
 
 Poetia. 
 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'm sorry that your leisure serves you not. — 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him, 
 
 (Exeunt Omnes, as above described.) 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 (To POETLi.) 
 
 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. 
 
 Antonio. 
 And stand indebted, over and above. 
 In love and service to you evermore. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 157 
 
 Portia. 
 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. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 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. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
 
 {To Antonio.) 
 Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake; 
 
 {To Bassanio.) 
 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. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle! 
 I wiU not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 Pobtia. 
 I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now methinks I have a mind to it. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 There's more depends on this than on the value. 
 The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
 
158 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 And find it out by proclamation: 
 Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 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. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 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. 
 
 PoBTIA. 
 
 That 'ecuse 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 1 
 
 {The same business has passed, in dmnh 
 show between Nebissa and Gbatiano as 
 between Bassanio and Poetia.) 
 
 Antonio. 
 My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: 
 Let his deservings, and my love withal. 
 Be valu'd 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 {Pulling off ring, which he gives to An- 
 tonio.) 
 Give him the ring; 
 
 And in the morning early will we three 
 Fly toward Belmont : come, Antonio. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 159 
 
 (Exeunt Bassanio, Anxonio and Geati- 
 ANo, R. F. E. Pobtia and Nebissa— 
 between laughter and indignation — 
 come down R., to looTc after them; then 
 turn and Exeunt R. U. E. as 
 
 CUBTAIN. 
 END OF rOUBTH ACT. 
 
FIFTH ACT. 
 
 Scene, Belmont; A Garden to the House of Pobtia. 
 Time, Toward Midnight. 
 
 Bright Moonlight, — which is, for a short 
 while, obscured by drifting clouds. 
 
 The entire Stage is bached by a Cyclo- 
 rama which represents the night shy, 
 studded unth stars. 
 
 At Bach is a wide Marble Stairway, lead- 
 ing down, hachward from the Stage, to a 
 lower level of Garden — of which the Shrub- 
 bery, Sc, is visible. 
 
 At Eight and Left of Stairway are 
 curved Marble Seats, elevated above stage- 
 level. These are bached by Box Hedges 
 which extend off -Stage, R. and L. 
 
 AfR. and L. Tormentors there are Dra- 
 peries, and on both sides, square Marble 
 Pillars. Between these <md the Seats 
 {mashed by the Hedges) spaces for En- 
 trances. 
 
 In Center of Stage, near Front, an ele- 
 vated Marble Sum Dial. 
 
 Discovered, as the Curtains open. The 
 Jesteb, seated C, upon base of Sum, Dial — 
 his Bauble beside him upon the groumd. 
 
 Jesteb. 
 (Singing and accompanying himself upon Lute.) 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 160 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 161 
 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 Between the acres of the rye, 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
 
 These pretty country folks would lie, 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 (-4s Jbsteb is finishing second stanza of 
 Song, Lorenzo and Jessica Entbb, 
 coming through opening down-Stage 
 R. Jessica carries in her arms many 
 red and yellow Roses: Jester, perceiv- 
 ing them, scrambles to his feet and gets 
 silently to L. of Sun Dial, where, con- 
 cealed by it, he crouches, watching 
 them. The lovers advance; Lorenzo 
 stops Jessica, laying a hand upon one 
 of her arms; she turns to him; they 
 are standing R. C. ; they embrace, then 
 kiss. Jester, grimacing and laughing, 
 darts forward from his concealment L. 
 of Svm Dial; dances around them; then, 
 still laughing, rushes of, L. F. E., to 
 House.) 
 
 Lorenzo. 
 (After watching Jester off, turns; looks 
 toward Back, then, as he speaks, up- 
 ward toward Sky.) 
 The moon shines bright : — in such a night as this. 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 
162 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 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. 
 
 Jessica. 
 
 In such a night 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew, 
 And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
 And ran dismay 'd away. 
 
 {They are moving toward B.) 
 
 LOBBNZO. 
 
 In such a night 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jessica. 
 And 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. 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 And in such a night 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 
 Jessica, 
 I would out-night you, did no body come; 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 {Music ceases.) 
 
 (Enteb, up Stairs C, at Back, Stephano. 
 As he comes on, Ee-entee L. F. B., as 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 163 
 
 from the House, The Jbstee, who 
 stands listening.) 
 
 LoEENZO. 
 
 Who comes so fast in silence of tlie night? 
 
 Stephano. 
 A friend. 
 
 Lorenzo. 
 A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend. 
 
 Stephano. 
 Stephdno is my name ; and I bring word 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont. 
 
 ( Jesteb, hearing this, manifests exuberant 
 joy at the imminent arrival of his mis- 
 tress, dashes up-Stage and Exit, dotim 
 Stairway at Bach C. 
 
 Stephano hows as he utters the 
 words "Here at Belmont" and moves 
 toward L. U. E., where he pauses.) 
 
 LOBBNZO. 
 
 {To Jessica.) 
 
 Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. 
 
 And yet no matter: — ^why should we go in? — 
 
 My friend Stephdno, signify, I pray you. 
 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
 
 And bring your music forth into the air. 
 
 (Exit Stephano toward House L. F. E. 
 LoBENZo and Jessica get down L. of 
 Sun Dial, as Stephano goes off. Lo- 
 EENzo, as they move, glances upward; 
 then douM again, at the Dial, which is 
 bathed in silvery moonlight.) 
 
164: THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 How sweet the moonliglit sleeps upon this bank I 
 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. 
 
 (LoBENzo, as he speaks, takes off his cloak 
 and spreads it for them to sit v/pon, 
 against the base of Dial, and they both 
 sit — he passing an arm around her so 
 that she is reclining upon his breast, 
 both gazing forward and up.) 
 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 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. 
 
 {Clapping hands.) 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ! 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
 And draw her home with music. 
 
 {Music soumds, off L. U. E.) 
 
 Jessica. 
 {Nestling close to Lorenzo.) 
 I'm never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 The reason is, your spirits are attentive. 
 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, 
 
THE MERCHANT OF. YENICE 165 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 
 
 {A cloud-like obscuration of the moonlight 
 now occurs. Song — Mixed Voices — 
 heard from off L. U. E.) 
 Come away, come away, death, 
 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
 Fly away, fly away, breath; 
 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 0, prepare it! 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 (The Song ceases and instrumental Music 
 sounds on. Then Entbe at Back C, 
 coming up Stairway, Poetia and Ne- 
 BissA, followed by Jesteb. Arrived at 
 head of Stairway, they pause, — the 
 Jester crouched at Portia's feet, gaz- 
 ing up at her with dog-like devotion.) 
 
 Portia. 
 
 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. 
 
 (Lorenzo cmd Jessica, couched upon base 
 of Sun Dial, are wrapped in reverie, 
 almost as though asleep. Jester 
 touches a hand of Portia and points 
 out to her the lovers. Portia, swiftly 
 and silently, goes down-Stage, snatch- 
 ing up some roses which Jessica has 
 dropped when she came on at opening 
 of Scene, and, hiding behind Dial, leans 
 over it, mischievously, and drops rose 
 
166 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 petals upon the dreaming lovers-=^at 
 the same moment darting away up- 
 Stage, singing these words of the Jhs- 
 tee's song:) 
 
 Between the acres of the rye 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 These pretty country folks would lie-— 
 
 {She hreaJcs off her singing and laughs 
 merrily. Lorenzo and Jessica, as rous- 
 ing from dream-like reverie, rise. Mu- 
 sic off L. U. E. becomes softer.) 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 That is the voice. 
 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckea, 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 LoBENZO. 
 
 Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
 Are they return 'd? 
 
 LOEENZO. 
 
 Madam, they are not yet; 
 But there is come a messenger before, 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 (QuicMt/.) 
 
 Go in, Nerissa; 
 Give order to my servants that they take 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 167 
 
 No note at all of our being absent ; — 
 
 (Exeunt Neeissa and Jestbb, who gambols 
 besides her, L. F, E,, as to House.) 
 Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 
 
 (Tkumpet sounds off B. U. E.) 
 
 LOBENZO. 
 
 Your husband is at hand ; I hear his trumpet : 
 We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. 
 
 (Ee-entee Neeissa L. F. E. — Moonlight 
 becomes very bright again.) 
 
 POETU. 
 
 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. 
 
 (Entee, coming up Stairway at Bach C, 
 Bassanio, Qb,atiano and Antonio.) 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 (To Bassanio.) 
 You are welcome home, my lord. 
 
 Bassanio, 
 (Embracing her.) 
 I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend: 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 PoBTIA. 
 
 You should in all sense be much bound to him, 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Antonio. 
 No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
168 THE MERCHANT OF yENICE 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Sir, you are very welcome to our house: 
 It must appear in other ways than words, 
 Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 (Gbatiano and Nebissa have been disput- 
 ing, in dumb show, during the two fore- 
 going speeches.) 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong ; 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge 's clerk ! 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 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." 
 
 Nebissa. 
 "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 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 wiU ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 169 
 
 Nerissa. 
 Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 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. 
 
 POETU. 
 
 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 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 cause of grief : 
 An 'twere me, I should be mad at it. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 (Aside, in distressed perplexity.) 
 Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear I lost the ring defending it. 
 
 Geatiano. 
 (With a spice of malicious enjoyment.) 
 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 : 
 
170 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 And neither man nor master would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 {With an assumption of incredulous amazement.) 
 What ring gave you, my lord? 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 
 
 Bassakio. 
 If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it, — it is gone. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 {To Gbatiano.) 
 Nor I in yours 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 
 Sweet Portia, 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 When naught would be accepted but the ring, 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 {Indignantly.) 
 If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 Or your own honor to contain the ring, 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 171 
 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 
 What man is there so much unreasonable,. 
 
 If you had pleas 'd to have defended it 
 
 "With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe : 
 
 I'll die for't but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bassanio, 
 No, by mine honor, madam, by my soul, 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 
 "Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, 
 And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him. 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 Of my dear friend. "What should I say, sweet lady? 
 I was enforc'd to give it to him: 
 Pardon me, good lady; 
 For 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. 
 
 Portia. 
 Let not that doctor e'er come near my house; 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd. 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you ; 
 I'll not deny him anything I have! 
 
 Nbbissa. 
 {To Gbatiano.) 
 Nor I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Antonio. 
 I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
172 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 Sir, grieve not you: you're welcome notwithstanding. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Portia, forgive me 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, — 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Mark you but that! 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Antonio. 
 I once did lend my body for his 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. 
 
 POBTIA. 
 
 Then you shall be his surety. Give him this ; 
 
 (Giving ring from her finger to Antonio.) 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Antonio. 
 (Giving ring to Bassanio.) 
 Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 173 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio, 
 
 Nebissa. 
 And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 Did give me this. 
 
 (Cfivrng ring from her finger to Gbatiano.) 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 You are all amazed: 
 Here is a letter, 
 
 {Criving one to Bassanio.) 
 read it at your leisure; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, 
 Nerissa there her clerk. 
 Antonio, you are welcome; 
 And I have better news in store for you 
 Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 
 
 (Criving Antonio a letter, which he takes 
 and opens.) 
 There you shall find three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbor suddenly. 
 
 Bassanio. 
 Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? 
 
 Gbatiano. 
 Were you the clerk and yet I knew you not? 
 
 Antonio. 
 Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; 
 For here I read for certain that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
174 THE MEECHANT OF VENICE 
 
 POETIA. 
 
 How now, Lorenzo! 
 My clerk liath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Neeissa. 
 Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
 
 {Giving to Lorenzo a legal document.) 
 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. 
 
 Portia. 
 
 It is almost morning. 
 
 And yet I'm 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. 
 
 {As she speaks the foregoing, Portia ex- 
 tends one hand to Bassanio, and the 
 other to Antonio and draws them to- 
 ward L. F. E., Gratiano and Nerissa, 
 Lorenzo and Jessica follomng. As 
 they Exeunt, the Jester Enters L. U. 
 E., and, getting down to Sun Dial, 
 drops upon its base and, half-satiric 
 cally, half -wistfully, accompanying him- 
 self upon Lute, begins to sing.) 
 
 Jester. 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 
 AS curtains close. 
 
 THE end.