Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Janelle Jenstad
Not Peer Reviewed

The Merchant of Venice (Folio 1, 1623)


835
Enter Iew, and his man that was the Clowne.
Iew. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy iudge,
The difference of old Shylocke and Bassanio;
What Iessica, thou shalt not gurmandize
As thou hast done with me: what Iessica?
840And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.
Why Iessica I say.
Clo. Why Iessica.
Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
Clo. Your worship was wont to tell me
845I could doe nothing without bidding.
Enter Iessica.
Ies. Call you? what is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper Iessica,
There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?
850I am not bid for loue, they flatttr me,
But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vpon
The prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,
Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,
There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,
855For I did dreame of money bags to night.
Clo. I beseech you sir goe, my yong Master
Doth expect your reproach.
Shy. So doe I his.
Clo. And they haue conspired together, I will not say
860you shall see a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not for
nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on blacke monday
last, at six a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere on
ashwensday was foure yeere in th' afternoone.
Shy. What are their maskes? heare you me Iessica,
865Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-neckt Fife,
Clamber not you vp to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publique streete
To gaze on Christian fooles with varnisht faces:
870But stop my houses eares, I meane my casements,
Let not the sound of shallow fopperie enter
My sober house. By Iacobs staffe I sweare,
I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:
But I will goe: goe you before me sirra,
875Say I will come.
Clo. I will goe before sir.
Mistris looke out at window for all this;
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Iewes eye.
880Shy. What saies that foole of Hagars off-spring?
ha.
Ies. His words were farewell mistris, nothing else.
Shy. The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder:
Snaile-slow in profit, but he sleepes by day
885More then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me,
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would haue him helpe to waste
His borrowed purse. Well Iessica goe in,
Perhaps I will returne immediately;
890Doe as I bid you, shut dores after you, fast binde, fast
finde,
A prouerbe neuer stale in thriftie minde.
Exit.
Ies. Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,
I haue a Father, you a daughter lost.
Exit.