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The Merchant of Venice

Act II, Scene 2

Venice. A street.
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 incarnation; and in my conscience, my conscience is 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 commandment, I will run.
[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]
Master young man, you I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?
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.
Master young gentleman, I pray you which is the way to master Jew's.
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.
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?
Talk you of young Master Launcelot, mark me now, now will I raise the waters; talk you of young Master Launcelot?
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.
Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelot.
Your worship's friend and Launcelot.
But I pray you ergo old man, ergo I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot.
Of Launcelot, and it please your mastership.
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.
Marry God forbid, the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.
Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop: do you know me father.
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.
Do you not know me father.
Alack sir I am sand-blind, I know you not.
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.
Pray you sir stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelot my boy.
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.
I cannot think you are my son.
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.
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.
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.
Lord how art thou changed: How dost thou and thy master agree, I have brought him a present; How gree you now?
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]
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.
To him father.
God bless your worship.
Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me.
Here's my son sir, a poor boy.
Not a poor boy sir, but the rich Jew's man that would sir as my father shall specify.
He hath a great infection sir, as one would say to serve.
Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire as my father shall specify.
His master and he (saving your worship's reverence) are scarce cater-cousins.
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.
I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is.
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.
       T    T    .    T           ,
      One speak for both,| what would | you?
                                               ,          ,
                                             Serve | you sir.
            ,        ,     ,   ,    2         x
      That is | the ver|y de|fect of the | matter sir.
          ,           ,           ,         ,           ,
      I know | thee well,| thou hast | obtained | thy suit,
       T   T   .   T        ,           ,         ,
      Shylock thy mast|er spoke | with me | this^day,
            ,          ,       ,     2      ,      ,
      And hath | preferred | thee, if it | be pre|ferment
           ,     .   T    T     T        ,       ,
      To leave | a rich Jew's serv|ice, to | become
           ,    2         ,   ,        ,     ,
      The fol|lower of / so poor | a gent|leman.
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.
              ,           ,     ,   ,                 ,
      Thou speakst | it well;| Go fath/er with | thy son,
        ,    ,               ,   ,                 ,
      Take leave / of thy | old mas/ter, and | inquire
           ,       ,      ,           ,    ,
      My lodg|ing out,| give him | a liv|ery
        ,    ,                  ,         ,         ,
      More guar/ded than | his fel|lows: see | it done.
Father in, I cannot get a service, no, I have nere a tongue in my head, well: if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune; Go to, here's a simple line of life, here's a small trifle of wives, alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man, and then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed, here are simple scapes: well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear: Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.
[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]
          ,           ,     2  ,       ,          ,
      I pray | thee good | Leonar|do think | on this,
               ,       2      ,          ,     ,        ,
      These^things | being bought | and ord|erly | bestowed
          ,         ,         ,        ,         ,
      Return | in haste,| for I | do feast | tonight
           ,       ,          ,           ,          ,
      My best-|esteemed | acquaint|ance, hie | thee go.
           ,        ,        ,          ,        ,
      My best | endeav|ors shall | be done | herein.
        ,              ,
      Where is | your mast|er.
                                ,       ,         ,
                               Yond|er sir | he walks.
           ,        ,   ,
      Signior | Bassan|io.
                            ,    ,
      ,     2      ,        ,
      I have a | suit to | you.
                                 ,               ,
                                You / have ob|tained it.
You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.
            ,          ,          ,      ,       x
      Why then | you must:| But hear | thee Gra|tiano,
            ,          ,          ,          ,         ,
      Thou art | too wild,| too rude,| and bold | of voice,
        ,              ,          ,     ,      ,
      Parts that | become | thee hap|pily | enough,
           ,          ,         ,     .  T   T     T
      And in | such^eyes | as ours | appear not faults:
            ,                 ,    ,           ,            ,
      But where | thou art / not known,| why there | they show
        ,                ,         ,      T    T    T
      Something | too* libe|ral, Pray | thee take pain
            ,                  ,    ,         ,    ,
      To allay | with some / cold drops | of mod|esty
            ,          x         2         ,      ,      ,
      Thy skip|ping spirit,| lest through thy | wild be|havior
      ,       ,        ,     2        ,        ,
      I be | miscon|strued in the | place I | go to,
            ,         ,
      And lose | my hopes.
                           ,     2     ,  2     ,
                          Signior Bas|sanio,| hear me,
         ,       ,         ,      ,       x
      If I | do not | put on | a sob|er habit,
        ,             ,           ,          ,          ,
      Talk with | respect,| and swear | but now | and then,
        T     T     T       2      x       ,       ,
      Wear prayer-books | in my pocket,| look de|murely,
             ,            ,         ,        ,           ,
      Nay* more,| while grace | is say|ing hood | mine eyes
        ,             ,          ,         ,      ,
      Thus with | my hat,| and sigh | and say | amen:
           ,       2   ,         ,      ,    ,
      Use^all | the observ|ance of | civil|ity
        T   T    T      ,         2   ,        ,
      Like one well | studied | in a sad | ostent
            ,           ,   T     Tx    T          ,
      To please | his gran|dam, never trust | me more.
       __     ,          ,           ,       oo
      Well,| we shall | see your | bearing.|
       ,     2     ,        ,                ,      ,
      Nay but I | bar ton|ight, you | shall not | gauge me
           ,        ,       ,
      By what | we do | tonight.
                                      ,          ,    ->
                                 No that | were pit||y,
      ,        2    ,           ,           ,   ,
      I | would entreat | you rath|er to / put on
             ,        ,         ,          ,           ,
      Your bold|est suit | of mirth,| for we | have friends
            ,        ,      ,          ,          ,
      That pur|pose mer|riment:| But fare | you well,
          ,          ,
      I have | some bus|iness.  \\
          ,         ,      ,      ,          ,
      And I | must to | Loren|zo and | the rest,
           ,         ,      ,        ,       ,
      But we | will vis|it you | at sup|pertime.

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