id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000022500 | being an honest mans sonor rather an honest womans son, for indeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste;well, my conscience says Launcelet, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022501 | 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 but a kind of hard conscience, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022502 | 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. GOBBO. Master young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jews? LAUNCELET. [_Aside._] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022503 | who being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not. I will try confusions with him. GOBBO. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jews? LAUNCELET. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022504 | hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jews house. GOBBO. Be Gods sonties, twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no? LAUNCELET. Talk you of young Master Launcelet? [_Aside._] Mark me now, now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet? GOBBO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022505 | No master, sir, but a poor mans son, his father, though I sayt, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. LAUNCELET. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelet. GOBBO. Your worships friend, and Launcelet, sir. LAUNCELET. But I pray you, _ergo_, old man, _ergo_, I beseech you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022506 | talk you of young Master Launcelet? GOBBO. Of Launcelet, ant please your mastership. LAUNCELET. _Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, 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. GOBBO. Marry, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022507 | God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. LAUNCELET. [_Aside._] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? GOBBO. Alack the day! I know you not, young gentleman, but I pray you tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022508 | dead? LAUNCELET. Do you not know me, father? GOBBO. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. LAUNCELET. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022509 | come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a mans son may, but in the end truth will out. GOBBO. Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy. LAUNCELET. Pray you, lets have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022510 | your child that shall be. GOBBO. I cannot think you are my son. LAUNCELET. I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jews man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother. GOBBO. Her name is Margery, indeed. Ill be sworn if thou be Launcelet, thou art mine own flesh and blood. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022511 | 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. LAUNCELET. It should seem, then, that Dobbins tail grows backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him. GOBBO. Lord, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022512 | how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How gree you now? LAUNCELET. 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 masters a very Jew. Give him a present! Give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022513 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022514 | the man! To him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two. BASSANIO. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022515 | Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [_Exit a Servant._] LAUNCELET. To him, father. GOBBO. God bless your worship! BASSANIO. Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me? GOBBO. Heres my son, sir, a poor boy. LAUNCELET. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jews man, that would, sir, as my father shall specify. GOBBO. He hath a great infection, sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022516 | as one would say, to serve. LAUNCELET. Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify. GOBBO. His master and he (saving your worships reverence) are scarce cater-cousins. LAUNCELET. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022517 | being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you. GOBBO. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is LAUNCELET. 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022518 | my father. BASSANIO. One speak for both. What would you? LAUNCELET. Serve you, sir. GOBBO. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. BASSANIO. I know thee well; thou hast obtaind thy suit. Shylock thy master spoke with me this day, And hath preferrd thee, if it be preferment To leave a rich Jews service to become The follower | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022519 | of so poor a gentleman. LAUNCELET. 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. BASSANIO. Thou speakst it well. Go, father, with thy son. Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out. [_To a Servant._] Give him a livery More | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022520 | guarded than his fellows; see it done. LAUNCELET. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have neer a tongue in my head! [_Looking on his palm._] 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, heres a simple line of life. Heres | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022521 | 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, shes a good wench for this gear. Father, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022522 | come; Ill take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling. [_Exeunt Launcelet and Old Gobbo._] BASSANIO. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought and orderly bestowd, Return in haste, for I do feast tonight My best esteemd acquaintance; hie thee, go. LEONARDO. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Enter Gratiano. GRATIANO. Wheres your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022523 | master? LEONARDO. Yonder, sir, he walks. [_Exit._] GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio! BASSANIO. Gratiano! GRATIANO. I have suit to you. BASSANIO. You have obtaind it. GRATIANO. You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont. BASSANIO. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano, Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice, Parts that become thee happily | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022524 | enough, And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; But where thou art not known, why there they show Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour I be misconstred in the place I go to, And lose my hopes. GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio, hear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022525 | me. If I do not put on a sober habit, Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen; Use all the observance of civility Like one well studied in a sad ostent To please | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022526 | his grandam, never trust me more. BASSANIO. Well, we shall see your bearing. GRATIANO. Nay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me By what we do tonight. BASSANIO. No, that were pity. I would entreat you rather to put on Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends That purpose merriment. But fare you well, I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022527 | some business. GRATIANO. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest, But we will visit you at supper-time. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The same. A room in Shylocks house. Enter Jessica and Launcelet. JESSICA. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so. Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022528 | fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee, And, Launcelet, soon at supper shalt thou see Lorenzo, who is thy new masters guest. Give him this letter, do it secretly. And so farewell. I would not have my father See me in talk with thee. LAUNCELET. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! If a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022529 | Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit. Adieu! JESSICA. Farewell, good Launcelet. [_Exit Launcelet._] Alack, what heinous sin is it in me To be ashamed to be my fathers child! But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022530 | his manners. O Lorenzo, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, Become a Christian and thy loving wife. [_Exit._] SCENE IV. The same. A street. Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino and Solanio. LORENZO. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an hour. GRATIANO. We have not made good preparation. SALARINO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022531 | We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. SOLANIO. Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly orderd, And better in my mind not undertook. LORENZO. Tis now but four oclock, we have two hours To furnish us. Enter Launcelet with a letter. Friend Launcelet, whats the news? LAUNCELET. And it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022532 | to signify. LORENZO. I know the hand, in faith tis a fair hand, And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ. GRATIANO. Love news, in faith. LAUNCELET. By your leave, sir. LORENZO. Whither goest thou? LAUNCELET. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight with my new master the Christian. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022533 | LORENZO. Hold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica I will not fail her, speak it privately. Go, gentlemen, [_Exit Launcelet._] Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? I am provided of a torch-bearer. SALARINO. Ay, marry, Ill be gone about it straight. SOLANIO. And so will I. LORENZO. Meet me and Gratiano At Gratianos lodging some hour hence. SALARINO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022534 | Tis good we do so. [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._] GRATIANO. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? LORENZO. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed How I shall take her from her fathers house, What gold and jewels she is furnishd with, What pages suit she hath in readiness. If eer the Jew her father come to heaven, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022535 | It will be for his gentle daughters sake; And never dare misfortune cross her foot, Unless she do it under this excuse, That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Come, go with me, peruse this as thou goest; Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. The same. Before Shylocks house. Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelet his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022536 | man that was the clown. SHYLOCK. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio. What, Jessica!Thou shalt not gormandize As thou hast done with me;What, Jessica! And sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out. Why, Jessica, I say! LAUNCELET. Why, Jessica! SHYLOCK. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022537 | call. LAUNCELET. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding. Enter Jessica. JESSICA. Call you? What is your will? SHYLOCK. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica. There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love, they flatter me. But yet Ill go in hate, to feed upon The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022538 | prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, Look to my house. I am right loath to go; There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags tonight. LAUNCELET. I beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach. SHYLOCK. So do I his. LAUNCELET. And they have conspired together. I will not say you shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022539 | see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six oclock i th morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th afternoon. SHYLOCK. What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica, Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022540 | the vile squealing of the wry-neckd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street To gaze on Christian fools with varnishd faces, But stop my houses ears, I mean my casements. Let not the sound of shallow foppry enter My sober house. By Jacobs staff I swear I have no mind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022541 | of feasting forth tonight. But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah. Say I will come. LAUNCELET. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window for all this. There will come a Christian by Will be worth a Jewess eye. [_Exit Launcelet._] SHYLOCK. What says that fool of Hagars offspring, ha? JESSICA. His words were Farewell, mistress, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022542 | nothing else. SHYLOCK. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder, Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day More than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me, Therefore I part with him, and part with him To one that I would have him help to waste His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in. Perhaps I will return immediately: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022543 | Do as I bid you, shut doors after you, Fast bind, fast find. A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [_Exit._] JESSICA. Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [_Exit._] SCENE VI. The same. Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salarino. GRATIANO. This is the penthouse under which Lorenzo Desired us to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022544 | make stand. SALARINO. His hour is almost past. GRATIANO. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock. SALARINO. O ten times faster Venus pigeons fly To seal loves bonds new-made than they are wont To keep obliged faith unforfeited! GRATIANO. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022545 | he sits down? Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoyd. How like a younger or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Huggd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022546 | prodigal doth she return With over-weatherd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggard by the strumpet wind! Enter Lorenzo. SALARINO. Here comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter. LORENZO. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode. Not I but my affairs have made you wait. When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, Ill watch as long | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022547 | for you then. Approach. Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! whos within? Enter Jessica above, in boys clothes. JESSICA. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit Ill swear that I do know your tongue. LORENZO. Lorenzo, and thy love. JESSICA. Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed, For who love I so much? And now who knows But you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022548 | Lorenzo, whether I am yours? LORENZO. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. JESSICA. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much ashamd of my exchange. But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit, For if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022549 | they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy. LORENZO. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. JESSICA. What! must I hold a candle to my shames? They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. Why, tis an office of discovery, love, And I should be obscurd. LORENZO. So are you, sweet, Even in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022550 | the lovely garnish of a boy. But come at once, For the close night doth play the runaway, And we are stayd for at Bassanios feast. JESSICA. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some moe ducats, and be with you straight. [_Exit above._] GRATIANO. Now, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew. LORENZO. Beshrew me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022551 | but I love her heartily, For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath provd herself. And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul. Enter Jessica. What, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away! Our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022552 | masquing mates by this time for us stay. [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._] Enter Antonio. ANTONIO. Whos there? GRATIANO. Signior Antonio! ANTONIO. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? Tis nine oclock, our friends all stay for you. No masque tonight, the wind is come about; Bassanio presently will go aboard. I have sent twenty out to seek for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022553 | you. GRATIANO. I am glad ont. I desire no more delight Than to be under sail and gone tonight. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portias house. Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both their trains. PORTIA. Go, draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022554 | choice. PRINCE OF MOROCCO. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. The second, silver, which this promise carries, Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. How shall I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022555 | know if I do choose the right? PORTIA. The one of them contains my picture, prince. If you choose that, then I am yours withal. PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see. I will survey the inscriptions back again. What says this leaden casket? Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. Must give, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022556 | for what? For lead? Hazard for lead! This casket threatens; men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross, Ill then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. What says the silver with her virgin hue? Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. As much as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022557 | he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand. If thou best rated by thy estimation Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady. And yet to be afeard of my deserving Were but a weak disabling of myself. As much as I deserve! Why, thats the lady: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022558 | I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding; But more than these, in love I do deserve. What if I strayd no farther, but chose here? Lets see once more this saying gravd in gold: Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. Why, thats the lady, all the world desires | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022559 | her. From the four corners of the earth they come To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia. The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head Spets in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits, but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022560 | they come As oer a brook to see fair Portia. One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Ist like that lead contains her? Twere damnation To think so base a thought. It were too gross To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think in silver shes immurd Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022561 | sinful thought! Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin that bears the figure of an angel Stamped in gold; but thats insculpd upon; But here an angel in a golden bed Lies all within. Deliver me the key. Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may. PORTIA. There, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022562 | take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [_He unlocks the golden casket._] PRINCE OF MOROCCO. O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll. Ill read the writing. _All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told. Many a man his life | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022563 | hath sold But my outside to behold. Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscrolld, Fare you well, your suit is cold._ Cold indeed and labour lost, Then farewell heat, and welcome frost. Portia, adieu! I have too grievd a heart To take a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022564 | tedious leave. Thus losers part. [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._] PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VIII. Venice. A street. Enter Salarino and Solanio. SALARINO. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail; With him is Gratiano gone along; And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022565 | is not. SOLANIO. The villain Jew with outcries raisd the Duke, Who went with him to search Bassanios ship. SALARINO. He came too late, the ship was under sail; But there the Duke was given to understand That in a gondola were seen together Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica. Besides, Antonio certified the Duke They were not with Bassanio in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022566 | his ship. SOLANIO. I never heard a passion so confusd, So strange, outrageous, and so variable As the dog Jew did utter in the streets. My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022567 | stoln from me by my daughter! And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stoln by my daughter! Justice! find the girl, She hath the stones upon her and the ducats. SALARINO. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. SOLANIO. Let good Antonio look he keep his day Or he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022568 | shall pay for this. SALARINO. Marry, well remembred. I reasond with a Frenchman yesterday, Who told me, in the narrow seas that part The French and English, there miscarried A vessel of our country richly fraught. I thought upon Antonio when he told me, And wishd in silence that it were not his. SOLANIO. You were best to tell Antonio | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022569 | what you hear, Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. SALARINO. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. I saw Bassanio and Antonio part, Bassanio told him he would make some speed Of his return. He answered Do not so, Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, But stay the very riping of the time, And for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022570 | Jews bond which he hath of me, Let it not enter in your mind of love: Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship, and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there. And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022571 | He wrung Bassanios hand, and so they parted. SOLANIO. I think he only loves the world for him. I pray thee, let us go and find him out And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other. SALARINO. Do we so. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IX. Belmont. A room in Portias house. Enter Nerissa and a Servitor. NERISSA. Quick, quick, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022572 | pray thee, draw the curtain straight. The Prince of Arragon hath taen his oath, And comes to his election presently. Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and Portia. PORTIA. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince, If you choose that wherein I am containd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnizd. But if you fail, without | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022573 | more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately. ARRAGON. I am enjoind by oath to observe three things: First, never to unfold to anyone Which casket twas I chose; next, if I fail Of the right casket, never in my life To woo a maid in way of marriage; Lastly, If I do fail in fortune of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022574 | my choice, Immediately to leave you and be gone. PORTIA. To these injunctions everyone doth swear That comes to hazard for my worthless self. ARRAGON. And so have I addressd me. Fortune now To my hearts hope! Gold, silver, and base lead. Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. You shall look fairer ere I give or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022575 | hazard. What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see: Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. What many men desire! that many may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th interior, but like the martlet Builds in the weather on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022576 | the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty. I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house, Tell me once more what title thou dost bear. Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022577 | And well said too; for who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honourable Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O that estates, degrees, and offices Were not derivd corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchasd by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover that stand bare? How many | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022578 | be commanded that command? How much low peasantry would then be gleaned From the true seed of honour? And how much honour Pickd from the chaff and ruin of the times, To be new varnishd? Well, but to my choice. Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022579 | And instantly unlock my fortunes here. [_He opens the silver casket._] PORTIA. Too long a pause for that which you find there. ARRAGON. Whats here? The portrait of a blinking idiot Presenting me a schedule! I will read it. How much unlike art thou to Portia! How much unlike my hopes and my deservings! Who chooseth me shall have as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022580 | much as he deserves. Did I deserve no more than a fools head? Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better? PORTIA. To offend and judge are distinct offices, And of opposed natures. ARRAGON. What is here? _The fire seven times tried this; Seven times tried that judgment is That did never choose amiss. Some there be that shadows | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022581 | kiss; Such have but a shadows bliss. There be fools alive, I wis, Silverd oer, and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head: So be gone; you are sped._ Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here. With one fools head I came to woo, But I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022582 | go away with two. Sweet, adieu! Ill keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth. [_Exit Arragon with his train._] PORTIA. Thus hath the candle singd the moth. O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. NERISSA. The ancient saying is no heresy: Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. PORTIA. Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022583 | draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Where is my lady? PORTIA. Here. What would my lord? MESSENGER. Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify th approaching of his lord, From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; To wit (besides commends and courteous breath) Gifts of rich value; yet I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022584 | not seen So likely an ambassador of love. A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. PORTIA. No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, Thou spendst such high-day wit in praising him. Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022585 | come, Nerissa, for I long to see Quick Cupids post that comes so mannerly. NERISSA. Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be! [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter Solanio and Salarino. SOLANIO. Now, what news on the Rialto? SALARINO. Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrackd on the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022586 | narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. SOLANIO. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or made her neighbours believe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022587 | she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company! SALARINO. Come, the full stop. SOLANIO. Ha, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022588 | lost a ship. SALARINO. I would it might prove the end of his losses. SOLANIO. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. Enter Shylock. How now, Shylock, what news among the merchants? SHYLOCK. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughters | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022589 | flight. SALARINO. Thats certain, I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. SOLANIO. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. SHYLOCK. She is damnd for it. SALARINO. Thats certain, if the devil may be her judge. SHYLOCK. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022590 | My own flesh and blood to rebel! SOLANIO. Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years? SHYLOCK. I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood. SALARINO. There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and Rhenish. But tell us, do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022591 | you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no? SHYLOCK. There I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon the mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let him look to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022592 | his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cursy; let him look to his bond. SALARINO. Why, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh! Whats that good for? SHYLOCK. To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgracd me and hindred me half | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022593 | a million, laughd at my losses, mockd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And whats his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022594 | healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022595 | will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. Enter a man from Antonio. SERVANT. Gentlemen, my master | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022596 | Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with you both. SALARINO. We have been up and down to seek him. Enter Tubal. SOLANIO. Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be matchd, unless the devil himself turn Jew. [_Exeunt Solanio, Salarino and the Servant._] SHYLOCK. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022597 | daughter? TUBAL. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. SHYLOCK. Why there, there, there, there! A diamond gone cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022598 | were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear; would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And I know not whats spent in the search. Why, thouloss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000022599 | revenge, nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o my shoulders, no sighs but o my breathing, no tears but o my shedding. TUBAL. Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa SHYLOCK. What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck? TUBAL. hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis. SHYLOCK. I thank God! I | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.