For my affection.
MOROCCO Even for that I thank you:
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
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. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.
PORTIA You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage: therefore be advised.
MOROCCO Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.
PORTIA First, forward to the temple: after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
MOROCCO Good fortune then!
To make me blest or cursed’st among men.
Cornets, and exeunt
Scene 2
Venice. A street.
Enter LAUNCELOT
LAUNCELOT 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, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,’ or ‘good Gobbo,’ or good Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
conscience says ‘No; take heed,’ honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, ‘honest
Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
heels.’ Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
pack: ‘Via!’ says the fiend; ‘away!’ says the
fiend; ‘for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,’
says the fiend, ‘and run.’ Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
to me ‘My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
man’s son,’ or rather an honest woman’s son; for,
indeed, my father did something smack, something
grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
says ‘Launcelot, budge not.’ ‘Budge,’ says the
fiend. ‘Budge not,’ says my conscience.
‘Conscience,’ say I, ‘you counsel well;’ ‘ Fiend,’
say I, ‘you counsel well:’ to be ruled by my
conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
at your command; I will run.
Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket
GOBBO Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
to master Jew’s?
LAUNCELOT [Aside]
O 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.
GOBBO Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
to master Jew’s?
LAUNCELOT 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 indirectly to the Jew’s house.
GOBBO By God’s sonties, ’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
Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
of young Master Launcelot?
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.
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?
GOBBO Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership.
LAUNCELOT Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master
Launcelot, father; 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.
GOBBO Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
age, my very prop.
LAUNCELOT Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
a prop? Do you know me, father?
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?
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. Well, old man, I will tell you news of
your son: give me your blessing: truth will come
to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man’s son
may, but at the length truth will out.
GOBBO Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
Launcelot, my boy.
LAUNCELOT 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.
GOBBO I cannot think you are my son.
LAUNCELOT I know not what I shall think of that: but I am
Launcelot, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery your
wife is my mother.
GOBBO Her name is Margery, indeed: I’ll be sworn, if thou
be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.
LAUNCELOT It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows
backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail
than I have of my face when I last saw him.
GOBBO Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
master agree? I have brought him a present. How
‘gree you now?
LAUNCELOT Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set
up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I
have run some ground. My master’s a very Jew: give
him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in
his service; you may tell every finger I have with
my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me
your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed,
gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I
will run as far as God has any ground. O rare
fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I
am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.
Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers
BASSANIO You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper
be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See
these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,
and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Exit a Servant
LAUNCELOT To him, father.
GOBBO God bless your worship!
BASSANIO Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?
GOBBO Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,–
LAUNCELOT Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man; that
would, sir, as my father shall specify–
GOBBO He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve–
LAUNCELOT Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,
and have a desire, as my father shall specify–
GOBBO His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence,
are scarce cater-cousins–
LAUNCELOT 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–
GOBBO I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon
your worship, and my suit is–
LAUNCELOT In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as
your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,
though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.
BASSANIO One speak for both. What would you?
LAUNCELOT Serve you, sir.
GOBBO That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
BASSANIO I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit:
Shylock thy master spoke with 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.