The Merchant of Venice (Quarto 1, 1600)
Not Peer Reviewed
2325
Enter Lorenzo and Iessica.
¶Troylus me thinks mounted the Troian walls,
¶did Thisbie fearefully ore-trip the dewe,
2335and ranne dismayed away.
¶stoode Dido with a willow in her hand
¶vpon the wilde sea banks, and waft her Loue
¶to come againe to Carthage.
¶Medea gathered the inchanted hearbs
¶that did renew old Eson.
2345and with an vnthrift loue did runne from Venice,
¶as farre as Belmont.
¶did young Lorenzo sweare he loued her well,
2350and nere a true one.
¶slaunder her Loue, and he forgaue it her.
¶Iessi. I would out-night you did no body come:
2355But harke, I heare the footing of a man.
¶
Enter a Messenger.
¶Messen. A friend?
¶Loren. A friend, what friend, your name I pray you friend?
2360Mess. Stephano is my name, and I bring word
¶my Mistres will before the breake of day
¶for happy wedlock houres.
2365Loren. Who comes with her?
¶Mess. None but a holy Hermit and her mayd:
¶I pray you is my Maister yet returnd?
¶Loren. He is not, nor we haue not heard from him,
2370and ceremoniously let vs prepare
Enter Clowne.
¶Loren. Who calls?
2375Loren. Leaue hollowing man, heere.
¶Clowne. Sola, where, where?
¶Loren. Heere?
¶horne full of good newes, my Maister will be heere ere morning
¶Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming.
¶And yet no matter: why should we goe in.
¶My friend Stephen, signifie I pray you
2385and bring your musique foorth into the ayre.
¶become the tutches of sweet harmonie:
¶is thick inlayed with pattens of bright gold,
¶but in his motion like an Angell sings,
¶still quiring to the young eyde Cherubins;
¶Come hoe, and wake Diana with a himne,
2400and draw her home with musique.
play Musique.
¶for doe but note a wild and wanton heard
¶or race of youthfull and vnhandled colts
2405fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neghing loude,
¶vvhich is the hote condition of their blood,
¶if they but heare perchance a trumpet sound,
¶or any ayre of musique touch their eares,
¶did faine that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods.
¶but musique for the time doth change his nature,
¶the motions of his spirit are dull as night,
¶and his affections darke as Terebus:
¶
Enter Portia and Nerrissa.
¶how farre that little candell throwes his beames,
¶vntill a King be by, and then his state
¶empties it selfe, as doth an inland brooke
2430into the maine of waters: musique harke.
¶vvhen neither is attended: and I thinke
¶no better a Musition then the Renne?
¶to their right prayse, and true perfection:
¶Peace, how the moone sleepes with Endimion,
¶and would not be awak'd.
¶Loren. That is the voyce,
2445or I am much deceau'd of Portia.
¶Por. He knowes me as the blind man knowes the Cuckoe
¶by the bad voyce?
¶Loren. Deere Lady welcome home?
¶are they return'd?
¶Loren. Madam, they are not yet:
¶to signifie their comming?
¶Giue order to my seruants, that they take
¶no note at all of our being absent hence,
2460vve are no tell-tales Madame, feare you not.
¶it lookes a little paler, tis a day,
¶
Enter Bassanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their
2465 followers.
¶Por. Let me giue light, but let me not be light,
¶for a light wife doth make a heauie husband,
¶but God sort all: you are welcome home my Lord.
¶Bass. I thank you Madam, giue welcome to my friend,
¶this is the man, this is Anthonio,
¶to whom I am so infinitely bound.
¶for as I heare he was much bound for you.
¶Anth. No more then I am well acquitted of.
¶it must appeare in other wayes then words,
¶infaith I gaue it to the Iudges Clarke,
¶vvould he were gelt that had it for my part,
2485Por. A quarrell hoe already, what's the matter?
¶Grati. About a hoope of gold, a paltry ring
¶for all the world like Cutlers poetry
¶vpon a knife, Loue me, and leaue me not.
¶You swore to me when I did giue you,
¶that you would weare it till your houre of death,
¶and that it should lie with you in your graue,
¶though not for me, yet for your vehement oathes,
¶Gaue it a Iudges Clarke: no Gods my Iudge
¶the Clarke will nere weare haire ons face that had it.
¶Gra. He will, and if he liue to be a man.
¶Nerrissa. I, if a woman liue to be a man.
2500Gra. Now by this hand I gaue it to a youth,
¶a kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
¶no higher then thy selfe, the Iudges Clarke,
¶a prating boy that begd it as a fee,
¶I could not for my hart deny it him.
¶a thing stuck on with oaths vpon your finger,
¶I gaue my Loue a ring, and made him sweare
2510neuer to part with it, and heere he stands:
¶I dare be sworne for him he would not leaue it,
¶nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
¶that the world maisters. Now in faith Gratiano
¶you giue your wife too vnkind a cause of griefe,
2515and twere to me I should be mad at it.
¶vnto the Iudge that begd it, and indeede
2520deseru'd it to: and then the boy his Clarke
¶that tooke some paines in writing, he begd mine,
¶and neither man nor maister would take ought
¶but the two rings.
¶Por. What ring gaue you my Lord?
2525Not that I hope which you receau'd of me.
¶Bass. If I could add a lie vnto a fault,
¶I would deny it: but you see my finger
¶hath not the ring vpon it, it is gone.
2530By heauen I will nere come in your bed
¶vntill I see the ring?
¶Ner. Nor I in yours
¶till I againe see mine?
¶Bass. Sweet Portia,
2535if you did know to whom I gaue the ring,
¶if you did know for whom I gaue the ring,
¶and would conceaue for what I gaue the ring,
¶and how vnwillingly I left the ring,
¶vvhen naught would be accepted but the ring,
¶Por. If you had knowne the vertue of the ring,
¶or halfe her worthines that gaue the ring,
¶or your owne honour to containe the ring,
¶you would not then haue parted with the ring:
¶if you had pleasd to haue defended it
¶to vrge the thing held as a ceremonie:
2550ile die for't, but some woman had the ring?
¶no woman had it, but a ciuill Doctor,
¶and begd the ring, the which I did denie him,
¶euen he that had held vp the very life
¶I was inforc'd to send it after him,
2560my honour would not let ingratitude
¶had you been there, I think you would haue begd
¶the ring of me to giue the worthy Doctor?
¶since he hath got the iewell that I loued,
¶and that which you did sweare to keepe for me,
¶I will become as liberall as you,
¶Ile not deny him any thing I haue,
2570no, not my body, nor my husbands bed:
¶Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argos,
¶if you doe not, if I be left alone,
¶now by mine honour which is yet mine owne,
2575ile haue that Doctor for mine bedfellow.
¶how you doe leaue me to mine owne protection.
¶for if I doe, ile mar the young Clarks pen.
¶Bass. Portia, forgiue me this enforced wrong,
¶and in the hearing of these many friends
¶I sweare to thee, euen by thine owne faire eyes
¶Por. Marke you but that?
¶and there's an oath of credite.
2590Bass. Nay, but heare me.
¶I neuer more will breake an oath with thee.
¶Anth. I once did lend my body for his wealth,
2595had quite miscaried. I dare be bound againe,
¶my soule vpon the forfet, that your Lord
¶and bid him keepe it better then the other.
¶for by this ring the Doctor lay with me.
¶Nerrissa. And pardon me my gentle Gratiano,
¶in liew of this, last night did lie with me.
¶Grati. Why this is like the mending of high wayes
¶in Sommer where the wayes are faire enough?
¶What, are we cuckolds ere we haue deseru'd it.
¶Heere is a letter, reade it at your leasure,
¶It comes from Padua from Bellario,
¶there you shall finde that Portia was the Doctor,
¶and euen but now returnd: I haue not yet
¶enterd my house. Anthonio you are welcome,
¶and I haue better newes in store for you
¶are richly come to harbour sodainly.
¶I chaunced on this letter.
¶Antho. I am dumb?
2625Bass. Were you the Doctor, and I knew you not?
¶Gra. Were you the Clark that is to make me cuckold.
¶Ner. I but the Clarke that neuer meanes to doe it,
¶An. (Sweet Lady) you haue giuen me life and lyuing;
¶for heere I reade for certaine that my ships
¶are safely come to Rode.
¶Por. How now Lorenzo?
2635my Clarke hath some good comforts to for you.
¶Ner I, and ile giue them him without a fee.
¶from the rich Iewe, a speciall deede of gift
2640Loren. Faire Ladies, you drop Manna in the way
¶of starued people.
¶of these euents at full. Let vs goe in,
2645and charge vs there vpon intergotories,
¶and we will aunswer all things faithfully.
2650or goe to bed now being two houres to day:
¶till I were couching with the Doctors Clarke.
¶Well, while I liue, ile feare no other thing
2655
Exeunt.
