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run away. My conscience fays, no; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforelaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels. Well, the most courageous siend bids me pack; via! fays the siend; away! fays tiie siend; for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, fays the siend, and run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, fays 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 fays, budge not; budge, fays the siend; budge not, fays my conscience; conscience, fay I, you counsel ill; siend, fay I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd by my conscience, I siiould 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 rul'd by die siend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to , stay with the Jew. The siend gives the more friendly counsel; I will run, siend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.
Enter old Gobbo, with a basket.
Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?
Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try consusions with him.
Gob. Master 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 sonties, '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 young master Launcelot? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters;) talk you of young master Launcelot?
Gob. No master, Sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though I fay't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot.
Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir.
Laun. But, I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot?
Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot;. talk not of master Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd fayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning.) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would fay, 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-post, 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 rest his foul, alive or dead?
Laun. Do you not know me, father?
Gob. Alack, Sir, I am fand-blind, I know you not.
Laun. 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 i£> light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but in the end, truth will out.
K 4 Gob.
Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure, you are not Launcelot my boy.
Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your bov that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
Gob. I cannot think, you are my son.
Laun. I know not, what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery your wise is my mother.
Gob. Her name is Margeiy, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: lord worsbip'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horse has on his tail.
Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin s tail grows backward; I am sure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last faw him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?
Laun. 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 famish'd in his service. You may tell every singer I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one master Bajsanio, 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 Bassanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two more.
Bass. You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by sive of the clock:
ee these letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
Laun. To him, father.
Gob. God bless your worship!
Bajs. Gramercy, would'st thou ought with me?
Gob. Here's my son, Sir, a poor boy,
Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father shall specify,
Gob. He hath a great insection, Sir, as one would fay, to serve.
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify,
Gob. His master and he, faving your worship's reverence, are scarce catercousins.
Laun. 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,
Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship; and my suit is
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I fay it, though old man, yet poor man my father.
Bajs. One speak for both, what would you?
Laun. Serve you, Sir.
Gob, This is the very desect of the matter, Sir.
Bajs. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy Suit; Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, And hath preserr'd thee; if it be preserment To leave a rich Jew's service to become The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun. 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. [son:
Bass. Thou speak'st it well; go, father, with thy Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out; give him a livery,
More guarded than his sellows: see it done.
Laun. Father, in; I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, * which doth ****** ofser to swear upon a book. I shall have good fortune; go to, here's a simple line of lise; here's a small trifle of wives; alas, sifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in •for one man! and then 'scape drowning thrice, and to be t in peril of my lise with the edge of a seather-bed, here are simple 'scapes! well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this geer. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the J«w in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt Laun. and Gob.
Bajs. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought and orderly bestowed, Return in haste, for I do seast to night My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano. Gra. TI/HERE is your master?
V V Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks.
* which doih offer ioswear upon a book, See.] This Nonsense seems to have taken its rise from the Accident of a lost Line in transcribing the Play for the Press; so that the Passage, for the suture, should
be printed thus, Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table,
which doth ****** offer to/u/ear upon a boot I Jhall have good fortune. It is impossible to sind, again, the lost Line; but the lost Sense is easy enough if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth [promise good Luck, I am mistaken. I durst almost] offer to swear upon a Book, I shall have good Fortune.
T ra peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed,] A cant Phrase to
signify the Danger of marrying. A certain French Writer uses the
fame Kind of Figure, 0 mon Ami, faimerois mieux etre tombe,, fur la jjointe d'un Oreiller, & m etre rompu le Cou.