Imágenes de páginas

And let us make incifion for your love,
To prove

whose blood is reddeft, his or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this afpect 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,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
Por. In terms of choice I am not folely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Befides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choofing.
But if my father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his will to yield myself
His wife, who wins me by that means I told
Yourfelf, renowned prince, then stood as fair
As any comer I have look'd on yet,
For my affection.


Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the cafkets
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,
That flew the fophy, and a Perfian prince,
That won three fields of fultan Solyman,
I would outstare the fterneft eyes that look,
Outbrave the heart moft daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the fhe-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lychas 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 fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Mifs that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all,

[merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

Or fwear, before you choose, if you choose wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward'

In way of marriage; therefore be advis’d.

Mor. Nor will not; therefore bring me to my chance.
Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner
Your hazard fhall be made.

Mor. Good fortune then!

To make me bleft, or curfed'ft among men.


[cornets. [Exeunt.


Enter Launcelot alone.



ERTAINLY, my confcience will ferve me to run from this Few my mafter. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, faying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, ufe your legs, take the start, run away. My conscience says, no; take heed, honeft Launcelot, take heed, honeft Gobbo, or, as aforefaid, honeft Launcelot Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy heels. Well, the moft courageous fiend bids me pack; via, fays the fiend, away, fays the fiend, for the heav'ns roufe up a brave mind, fays the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience hanging about the neck of my heart, fays very wifely to me, my honeft friend Launcelot, being an honeft man's fon, or rather an honeft woman's fon-for, indeed, my father did fomething fmack, fomething grow to; he had a kind of taste. — Well, my conscience fays, budge not; budge, fays the fiend; budge not, fays my confcience: confcience, fay I, you counsel well; fiend, fay I, you counfel ill. To be rul'd 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 fhould be ruled by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly, the few is the very devil incarnal; and, in


[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

my conscience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counfel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo with a basket.

Gob. Mafter young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. Ŏ heav'ns! this is my true begotten father, who, being more than sandblind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confufions with him.

Gob. Mafter young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. 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.

Gob. By god's fonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit: can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no?

Laun. Talk you of master Launcelot? (mark me now; young now will I raise the waters;) talk you of young mafter Launcelot? Gob. No mafter, fir, but a poor man's fon. His father, though I say't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, god be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young mafter Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, fir.

Laun. But, I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young mafter Launcelot ?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

Laun. Ergo, mafter Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according to fates, and deftinies, and fuch odd fayings, the fifters three, and fuch branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heav'n.


Gob. Marry, god forbid! the boy was the very staff of my

age, my very prop.

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-poft, a staff, or a prop? do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, god reft his foul! alive, or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, fir, I am fandblind, I know you not.

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wife father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your blessing; truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but, in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, fir, ftand up; I am fure, you are not Launcelot my boy.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your bleffing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your fon that is, your child that shall be.

Gob. I cannot think, you are my fon.

Laun. I know not what I fhall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be fworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood: lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more. hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.

Laun. It fhould feem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail that I have on my face when I laft faw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a prefent; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set up my reft to run away, so I will not reft till I have run some ground. My mafter's a very few: give him a present? give him a halter: I am famish'd in his fervice; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come, give me your present


to one mafter Baffanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve him not, 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 Baffanio with Leonardo and a follower or two more.

Baff. You may do fo; but let it be so hafted, that supper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock: fee thefe letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Laun. To him, father.

Gob. God bless your worship!

Baff. Gramercy, would'ft thou ought with me?

Gob. Here's my fon, fir, a poor boy.

Laun. Not a poor boy, fir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, fir, as my father shall specify.

Gob. He hath a great infection, fir, as one would fay, to serve. Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I ferve the Jew, and have a defire as my father shall specify.

Gob. His mafter and he, saving your worship's reverence, are fcarce cater-coufins.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth caufe me, as my father, being I hope an old man, fhall frutify unto you.

Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship; and my fuit is

Laun. In very brief, the fuit is impertinent to myself, as your worship fhall know by this honeft old man; and, though I fay it, though old man, yet, poor man, my father.

Baff. One fpeak for both, what would you?
Laun. Serve you, fir.

[ocr errors]

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, fir. ·
Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy fuit;
Shylock, thy mafter, spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's fervice to become


[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
« AnteriorContinuar »