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Baff. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. Anth. Come on, in this there can be no dismay; My fhips come home a month before the day. [Exe.





Enter Morochius, a Tawny-Moor, all in white; and three or four Followers accordingly; with Portia, Nerissa, and her train. Flourish Cornets.


ISLIKE me not for my complexion,

M The mhadow'd livery of the burnish'd fun,

To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phabus' fire fcarce thaws the ificles,
And let us make incifion for your love,
To prove whose blood is reddeft, his or mine,
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine

Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I fwear,
The best regarded virgins of our clime

Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to fteal your thoughts, my gentle Queen.
Por. In terms of choice I am not folely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Befides, the lottery of my deftiny

Bars me the right of voluntary chufing.

But if my father had not scanted me,

And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself

His wife, who wins me by that means I told you; Yourself, renowned Prince, then flood as fair, comer I have look'd on yet,

As any

For my affection.

Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you ;


Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,
That flew the Sophy and a Perfian Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solymon,
I would out-ftare the fterneft eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart moft daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice

Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;

And fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Mifs that, which one unworthier may attain;
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance,

And either not attempt to chuse at all,

Or fwear, before you chufe, if you chufe wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; therefore, bring me to my


Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard fhall be made.

Mor. Good fortune then,


To make me bleft, or curfed'ft among men! [Exeunt.

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Changes to Venice.

Enter Launcelot alone.

ERTAINLY, my confcience will ferve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, faying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start,

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run away. My confcience fays, no; take heed, honeft Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforefaid, honeft Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; fcorn running with thy heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! fays the fiend; away! says the fiend; for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, fays the fiend, and run. Well, my confcience, hanging about the neck of my heart, fays very wifely to me, my honeft friend Launcelot, being an honeft man's fon, or rather an honeft woman's fon-(for, indeed, my father did fomething fmack, something grow to: he had a kind of taste.). -well, my confcience fays, budge not; budge, fays the fiend; budge not, fays my confcience; confcience, fay I, you counsel ill; fiend, fay I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd by my confcience, I fhould ftay with the Jew my mafter, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil'; and to run away from the Jew, I should be rul'd by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himfelf. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my confcience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counsel me to ftay 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.

Gob. Mafter young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to mafter 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 confufions with him.

Gob. Mafter young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to mafter 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 fonties, '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 mafter Launcelot?

Gob. No mafter, Sir, but a poor man's fon. His father, though I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young mafter Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But, I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I befeech you, talk you of young mafter Launcelot?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't pleafe your mastership.

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and deftinies, and fuch odd sayings, the fifters three, and fuch 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 ftaff of my age, my very prop.

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a ftaff 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 reft 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 wife father, that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your bleffing, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but in the end, truth will


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Gob. Pray you, Sir, ftand up; I am fure, you are not Launcelot my boy.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your bleffing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your fon that is, your child that shall


Gob. I cannot think, you are my fon.

Laun. I know not, what I fhall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be fworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horfe has on his tail.

Laun. It fhould feem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I laft faw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy mafter agree? I have brought him a prefent; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but for mine own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, fo I will not reft 'till I have run fome ground. My mafter's a very Jew give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am famith'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one mafter Baffanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I ferve 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 ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Baffanio with Leonardo, and a follower or two



Baff. You may do fo; but let it be so hafted, that fupper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock:


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