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Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog.

      — Macbeth, Act IV Scene 1

The Merchant of Venice

Act I

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Scene 1. Venice. A street.

Scene 2. Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

Scene 3. Venice. A public place.

---
       

Act I, Scene 1

Venice. A street.

      next scene .
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[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

  • 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 born, 5
    I am to learn;
    And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
    That I have much ado to know myself.
  • Salarino. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
    There, where your argosies with portly sail, 10
    Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
    Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
    Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
    That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
    As they fly by them with their woven wings. 15
  • Salanio. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
    The better part of my affections would
    Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
    Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
    Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads; 20
    And every object that might make me fear
    Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
    Would make me sad.
  • Salarino. My wind cooling my broth
    Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 25
    What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
    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,
    Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs 30
    To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
    And see the holy edifice of stone,
    And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
    Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
    Would scatter all her spices on the stream, 35
    Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
    And, in a word, but even now worth this,
    And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
    To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
    That such a thing bechanced would make me sad? 40
    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; nor is my whole estate 45
    Upon the fortune of this present year:
    Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
  • Salarino. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad, 50
    Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
    For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
    Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
    Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
    Some that will evermore peep through their eyes 55
    And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
    And other of such vinegar aspect
    That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
    Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

  • Salanio. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
    Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
    We leave you now with better company.
  • Salarino. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
    If worthier friends had not prevented me. 65
  • Antonio. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
    I take it, your own business calls on you
    And you embrace the occasion to depart.
  • Bassanio. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? 70
    You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?
  • Salarino. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

  • Lorenzo. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
    We two will leave you: but at dinner-time, 75
    I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
  • Gratiano. You look not well, Signior Antonio;
    You have too much respect upon the world:
    They lose it that do buy it with much care: 80
    Believe me, you are marvellously changed.
  • Antonio. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
    A stage where every man must play a part,
    And mine a sad one.
  • Gratiano. Let me play the fool: 85
    With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
    And let my liver rather heat with wine
    Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
    Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
    Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 90
    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, 95
    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!' 100
    O my Antonio, I do know of these
    That therefore only are reputed wise
    For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
    If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
    Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 105
    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'll end my exhortation after dinner. 110
  • Lorenzo. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
    I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
    For Gratiano never lets me speak.
  • Gratiano. Well, keep me company but two years moe,
    Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 115
  • Antonio. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.
  • Gratiano. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
    In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

  • Antonio. Is that any thing now? 120
  • 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. 125
  • Antonio. Well, tell me now what lady is the same
    To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
    That you to-day promised to tell me of?
  • Bassanio. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
    How much I have disabled mine estate, 130
    By something showing a more swelling port
    Than my faint means would grant continuance:
    Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
    From such a noble rate; but my chief care
    Is to come fairly off from the great debts 135
    Wherein my time something too prodigal
    Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
    I owe the most, in money and in love,
    And from your love I have a warranty
    To unburden all my plots and purposes 140
    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 honour, be assured,
    My purse, my person, my extremest means, 145
    Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
  • Bassanio. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
    I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
    The self-same way with more advised watch,
    To find the other forth, and by adventuring both 150
    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 155
    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.
  • Antonio. You know me well, and herein spend but time 160
    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 165
    That in your knowledge may by me be done,
    And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.
  • Bassanio. In Belmont is a lady richly left;
    And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
    Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes 170
    I did receive fair speechless messages:
    Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
    To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
    Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
    For the four winds blow in from every coast 175
    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.
    O my Antonio, had I but the means 180
    To hold a rival place with one of them,
    I 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 185
    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,
    To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
    Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 190
    Where money is, and I no question make
    To have it of my trust or for my sake.

[Exeunt]

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. previous scene      

Act I, Scene 2

Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

      next scene .
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[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

  • Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of 195
    this great world.
  • Nerissa. 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 200
    is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
    mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
    competency lives longer.
  • Portia. Good sentences and well pronounced.
  • Nerissa. They would be better, if well followed. 205
  • Portia. 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 210
    twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may
    devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
    o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the
    youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the
    cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to 215
    choose me a husband. O 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? 220
  • Nerissa. 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 225
    rightly but one who 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 230
    description, level at my affection.
  • Nerissa. 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 235
    shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his
    mother played false with a smith.
  • Nerissa. Then there is the County Palatine.
  • Portia. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If you
    will not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales and 240
    smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping
    philosopher 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 245
    two!
  • Nerissa. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?
  • Portia. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.
    In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but,
    he! why, he hath a horse better than the 250
    Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than
    the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a
    throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will
    fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I
    should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me 255
    I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I
    shall never requite him.
  • Nerissa. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
    of England?
  • Portia. You know I say nothing to him, for he understands 260
    not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French,
    nor Italian, and you will come into the court and
    swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.
    He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can
    converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! 265
    I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round
    hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his
    behavior every where.
  • Nerissa. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?
  • Portia. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he 270
    borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and
    swore he would pay him again when he was able: I
    think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed
    under for another.
  • Nerissa. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew? 275
  • Portia. 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:
    and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall 280
    make shift to go without him.
  • Nerissa. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right
    casket, you should refuse to perform your father's
    will, if you should refuse to accept him.
  • Portia. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a 285
    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'll be married to a sponge.
  • Nerissa. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these 290
    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. 295
  • Portia. 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 300
    them a fair departure.
  • Nerissa. 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, he was so called. 305
  • Nerissa. 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 a Serving-man] 310
    How now! what news?
  • Servant. 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. 315
  • 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, 320
    Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
    Whiles we shut the gates
    upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

[Exeunt]

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. previous scene      

Act I, Scene 3

Venice. A public place.

       
---

[Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK]

  • Shylock. Three thousand ducats; well.
  • Bassanio. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.
  • Shylock. Antonio shall become bound; well. 330
  • Bassanio. May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I
    know your answer?
  • Shylock. Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.
  • Shylock. Antonio is a good man. 335
  • Bassanio. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
  • Shylock. Oh, 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 340
    Indies; I understand moreover, upon the Rialto, he
    hath a third at Mexico, 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, water-thieves and land-thieves, I 345
    mean pirates, and then there is the peril of waters,
    winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
    sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may
    take his bond.
  • Shylock. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,
    I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?
  • Bassanio. If it please you to dine with us.
  • Shylock. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which
    your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I 355
    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? Who is he comes here?

[Enter ANTONIO]

  • Shylock. [Aside] 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 365
    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, 370
    On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
    Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
    If I forgive him!
  • Shylock. I am debating of my present store, 375
    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 380
    Do you desire?
    [To ANTONIO]
    Rest you fair, good signior;
    Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
  • Antonio. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow 385
    By taking nor by giving of excess,
    Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
    I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd
    How much ye would?
  • Shylock. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 390
  • Shylock. I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
    Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
    Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
    Upon advantage. 395
  • Shylock. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep—
    This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
    As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
    The third possessor; ay, he was the third— 400
  • Antonio. And what of him? did he take interest?
  • Shylock. No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
    Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
    When Laban and himself were compromised
    That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied 405
    Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
    In the end of autumn turned to the rams,
    And, when the work of generation was
    Between these woolly breeders in the act,
    The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 410
    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-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
    This was a way to thrive, and he was blest: 415
    And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.
  • Antonio. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served 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? 420
    Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?
  • Shylock. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
    But note me, signior.
  • Antonio. Mark you this, Bassanio,
    The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 425
    An evil soul producing holy witness
    Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
    A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
    O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
  • Shylock. Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum. 430
    Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate—
  • Antonio. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
  • Shylock. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
    In the Rialto you have rated me
    About my moneys and my usances: 435
    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. 440
    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 445
    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, 450
    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'? 455
  • Antonio. I am as like to call thee so again,
    To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
    If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
    As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
    A breed for barren metal of his friend? 460
    But lend it rather to thine enemy,
    Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
    Exact the penalty.
  • Shylock. Why, look you, how you storm!
    I would be friends with you and have your love, 465
    Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
    Supply your present wants and take no doit
    Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:
    This is kind I offer.
  • Shylock. This kindness will I show.
    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 475
    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, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond 480
    And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
  • 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 485
    This bond expires, I do expect return
    Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
  • Shylock. O father Abram, what these Christians are,
    Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
    The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this; 490
    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, 495
    To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
    If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
    And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
  • Antonio. Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
  • Shylock. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; 500
    Give him direction for this merry bond,
    And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
    See to my house, left in the fearful guard
    Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
    I will be with you. 505
  • Antonio. Hie thee, gentle Jew.
    [Exit Shylock]
    The 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; 510
    My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exeunt]

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