Masterpiece Classic (1971–…): Season 31, Episode 1 - The Merchant of Venice - full transcript

(upbeat music)

(slow music)

- In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.

(slow music)

It wearies me; you say it wearies you.

But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,

What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,

I am to learn.

- Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,

the better part of my affections would

be with my hopes abroad.



I should be still plucking the grass

to know where sits the wind.

And every object that might make me fear

misfortune to my ventures out of doubt,

would make me sad.

- My wind cooling my broth

would blow me to an ague when I thought

what harm a wind too great might do at sea.

But tell not me,

I know Antonio is sad to think upon his merchandise.

- Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it.

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

- Why then, you are in love.



- Fuck, fie.

- Not in love neither?

Then let us say you are sad because

you are not merry.

(laughs)

- [Solanio] Fare ye well.

We leave you now with better company.

- [Salerio] I would have stayed till I had made you merry.

Good morrow, good gentlemen.

- Good signors both, when shall we laugh?

Say, when?

You grow exceedingly strange, must it be so?

- We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

- You look not well, Signor Antonio.

Believe me, you are marvelously changed.

- I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano.

A stage where every man must play a part,

And mine a sad one.

- Let me play the fool.

(laughs)

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

And let my liver rather heat with wine

than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man whose blood is warm within

sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster.

(laughs)

I tell thee what, Antonio,

I love thee, and 'tis my love that speaks.

There are a sort of men who visages

do cream and mantle like a standing pond,

and do a willful stillness entertain

with purpose to be dressed in an opinion

of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,

as who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,

"and when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!"

(laughs)

O my Antonio.

Come, good Lorenzo.

Fare ye well awhile.

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

- Farewell, I'll grow a talker for this gear.

- Thanks, i'faith, for silence is only commendable

in a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

(laughs)

- Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing.

- Well, tell me now what lady is the same

that you today promised to tell me of?

- 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,

how much I have disabled mine estate,

by something showing a more swelling port

than my faint means would grant continuance.

To you, Antonio,

I owe the most in money and in love.

- I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it.

And if it stand, as you yourself still do,

within the eye of honor, be assured

my purse, my person, my extremest means

lie all unlocked to your occasions.

- In my school days, when I had lost one shaft,

I shot his of the selfsame flight

the selfsame way with more advised watch

to find the other forth, and by adventuring both,

I oft found both.

I urge this childhood proof

because what follows is pure innocence.

I owe you much, and like a willful youth,

that which I owe is lost.

But, if you please to shoot another arrow that self way.

- You do me now more wrong

in making question of my uttermost

than if you had made waste of all I have.

Then do but say to me what I should do.

- In Belmont is a lady richly left,

and she is fair and fairer than that word

of wondrous virtues.

And her name is Portia.

Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth

for the four winds blow in from every coast

renowned suitors come in quest of her.

O my Antonio, had I but the means

to hold a rival place with one of them.

- Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea.

Neither have I money nor commodity

to raise a present sum.

Therefore go forth,

try what my credit can in Venice do.

That shall be racked even to the uttermost

to furnish thee to Belmont,

to fair Portia.

Go presently inquire, where money is.

- By my troth, Nerissa, my little body

is aweary of this great world.

- You would be, sweet madam,

if your miseries were in the same abundance

as your good fortunes are.

- It's a good divine that follows his own instruction.

I can easier teach twenty

what were good to be done

than be one of the twenty to follow

mine own teaching.

But this reasoning is not in the fashion

to choose me a husband.

O me, the word choose,

I may neither choose whom I would

nor refuse whom I dislike

so is the will of a living daughter curbed by

the will of a dead father.

- Your father was ever virtuous,

and holy men at their death have good inspirations.

Therefore, the lottery that he hath devised

in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead,

whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you

will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly

but one who you shall rightly love.

- The brain may devise laws for the blood,

but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

- But what warmth is there in your affection towards any

of these princely suitors that are already come?

First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

- Ay, there's a colt indeed,

for he doth nothing but talk of his horse.

- How say you by the French lord, Monsieur le Bon?

- God made him, therefore let him pass for a man.

In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he?

Why he is every man in no man.

If I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands.

- What say you then to Falconbridge,

the young baron of England?

- You know I say nothing to him,

for he understands not me, nor I him.

He hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian.

He is a proper man's picture, but alas, who can converse

with a dumb show?

- How like you the young German,

the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

- Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober,

and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk.

- If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket,

you should refuse to perform your father's will

if you should refuse to accept him.

- Therefore, for fear of the worst,

I pray thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine

on the contrary casket.

If the devil be within and that temptation without,

I know he will choose it.

I will do anything, Nerissa,

ere I will be married to a sponge.

- You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords.

- They have acquainted me with their determinations,

which are indeed to return to their homes

and to trouble you no more with suit.

- I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable,

for there is not one among them

but I dote on his very absence.

And I pray God grant them a fair departure.

If I live to be as old as Sibylla,

I will die as chaste as Diana,

unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will.

- Do you not remember, lady,

in your father's time,

a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier,

that came hither in company of the Marquis de Montferrat?

- Yes, yes, it was Bassanio,

as I think he so was he called.

- True, madam.

He of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon

was the best deserving a fair lady.

- I remember him well,

and I remember him worthy of your praise.

- The four strangers seek for you, madam,

to take their leave.

And there is a forerunner come from a fifth,

the Prince of Morocco,

who brings word that the prince, his master,

will be here tonight.

- Come, Nerissa.

Sirrah, go before.

Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer,

another knocks at the door.

- Three thousand ducats?

- Ay, sir, for three months.

- For three months?

- For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

- Antonio shall become bound, well.

- May you stead me?

Will you pleasure me?

Shall I know your answer?

- Three thousand ducats for three months,

and Antonio will be bound.

- Your answer to that?

- Antonio is a good man.

- Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

- Ho, no, no, no, no.

My meaning in saying he is a good man

is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.

Yet his means are in supposition.

He hath an argosy bound to Tripolis,

another to the Indies.

I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third

at Mexico, a fourth for England,

and other ventures he hath squandered abroad.

But ships are but boards,

sailors but men.

There be land rats, and water rats,

water thieves, and land thieves.

I mean pirates.

And then there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks.

But the man is notwithstanding sufficient.

Three thousand ducats.

- Yes.

- I think I may take his bond.

- Be assured you may.

- I will be assured I may, and that I may be assured.

I will bethink me.

May I speak with Antonio?

- If it please you to dine with us.

- Yes, to smell pork, to eat of that habitation

which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into.

I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,

and so following, but I will not eat with you,

drink with you, nor pray with you.

What news on the Rialto?

Who is he comes here?

- This is Signor Antonio.

- How like a fawning publican he looks!

I hate him for he is a Christian.

But more for that in low simplicity

he lends out money gratis

and brings down the rate of usance here with us in Venice.

He hates our sacred nation,

and he rails, even there where merchants most do congregate,

on me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift

which he calls interest.

- Shylock, do you hear?

- I am debating of my present store,

and by the near guess of my memory,

I cannot instantly raise up the gross

of full three thousand ducats.

What of that?

Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe will furnish me.

But soft!

How many months do you desire?

Oh!

Rest you fair, good signor.

Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

- Shylock,

albeit I neither lend nor borrow

by taking nor by giving of excess,

yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,

I'll break a custom.

Is he yet possessed how much ye would?

- Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

- And for three months.

- Oh, for three months, I had forgot,

you told me so.

Well then, your bond, and let me see,

but hear you, methought you said

you neither lend nor borrow upon advantage.

- I do never use it.

- When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep,

this Jacob from our holy Abraham was,

as his wise mother wrought in his behalf,

the third possessor, ay, he was the third.

- And what of him?

Did he take interest?

- Not, not take interest.

Not as you would say directly interest.

Mark what Jacob did,

when Laban and himself were compromised

that all the eanlings which were streaked and pied...

- Mark you this, Bassanio,

the devil can cite scripture for his purpose.

An evil soul producing holy witness is like a villain

with a smiling cheek,

a goodly apple rotten at the heart.

Oh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

- Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good round sum.

Three months from twelve, well, let me see.

- Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

- Signor Antonio, many a time and oft in the Rialto

you have rated me about my moneys and my usances.

Still I have borne it with a patient shrug,

for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.

You call me misbeliever, cutthroat dog

and spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,

and all for use of that which is mine own.

Well then, it now appears you need my help.

Go to, then!

You come to me, you say,

"Shylock, we would have moneys."

You say so!

You, that did void your rheum upon my beard

and foot me as you spurn a stranger cur over your threshold!

Moneys is your suit.

What should I say to you?

Should I not say, "Hath a dog money?

"Is it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats?"

Or shall I bend low and in a bondman's key

with bated breath and whispering humbleness say this,

"Oh fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last,

"you spurned me such a day, another time you called me dog,

and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys?"

- I am as like to call thee so again, to spet on thee again,

to spurn thee too.

If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not as to thy friends,

but lend it rather to thine enemy, who, if he break,

thou mayst with better face exact the penalty.

- Why, look you how you storm!

I would be friends with you and have your love.

Forget the shames that you have stained me with,

supply your present wants, and take no doit of usance

for my moneys, and you'll not hear me!

This is kind I offer.

- This were kindness.

- This kindness will I show.

Go with me to a notary, seal me there your single bond

and in a merry sport, if you repay me not on such a day,

in such a place, such sum or sums as are

expressed in the condition,

let the forfeit be nominated for an equal pound

of your fair flesh to be cut of

and taken in what part of your body pleaseth me.

- Content, in faith, I'll seal to such a bond.

And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

- You shall not seal to such a bond for me!

I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

- Why, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it.

Within these two months, that's a month before

this bond expires, I do expect return of thrice three times

the value of this bond.

- O, Father Abraham, what these Christians are,

whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect the thoughts

of others!

I pray you, tell me this, if he should break his day,

what should I gain by the exaction of the forfeiture?

A pound of man's flesh taken from a man

is not so estimable, profitable neither.

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats.

I say, to buy his favor, I extend this friendship.

If he will take it, so.

If not, adieu.

And for my love I pray you wrong me not.

- Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

- Then meet me forthwith at the notary.

Give him direction for this merry bond.

I will go and purse the ducats straight.

See to my house left in the fearful guard

of an unthrifty knave, and presently I'll be with you.

- Hie thee, gentle Jew.

The Hebrew will turn Christian.

He grows kind.

- I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

- Come on, in this there can be no dismay.

My ships come home a month before the day.

- To ruled by my conscience,

I should stay with the Jew, my master,

God bless the mark, is a kind of devil.

I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

And as I have set up my rest to run away,

so shall I not rest till I have run some ground.

- 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-bling, high-gravel blind

knows me not.

I shall 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, turn 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 Master Launcelot?

Mark me now, now will I raise the waters.

Talk not of Master Launcelot, father.

The young gentleman 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 not know me, father?

- Alack, sir, I am sand-blind,

I know you not.

- Nay, indeed, I will tell you news of your son.

Give me your blessing.

- I cannot think you are my son.

- I'm not sure 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 worshiped 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,

for I am sure he had more hair of his tail

than I had of my face when I last saw him.

- Lord, how art thou changed!

How dost thou and thy master agree?

- Well, well.

- I have brought him a present.

How 'gree you now?

- Give him a present, give him a halter.

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.

- You may do so, but let it be so hasted

that supper be ready at the farthest by ten 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.

- I have here a dish of doves

that I would bestow upon your worship,

and my suit is.

- Indeed, the suit is impertinent to myself.

- One speak for both.

What would you?

- Serve you, sir.

- That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

- I know thee well.

Thou hast obtained thy suit.

Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day

and hath preferred thee.

- Thou hast the grace of God, sir.

- Go father with thy son.

Take leave of thy old master and inquire my lodging out.

- Father, in.

I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.

- I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.

These things being bought and orderly bestowed,

return in haste, for I do feast tonight

my best esteemed acquaintance.

Hie thee, go.

- My best endeavors shall be done herein.

- Signor Bassanio!

- Gratiano!

- I have a suit to you.

- You have obtained it.

- You must not deny me.

I must go with you to Belmont.

- Why, then you must.

But hear thee, Gratiano, thou art too wild,

too rude and bold of voice,

parts that become thee happily enough.

But where thou art not known, why, there show something

too liberal.

Pray thee, take pain to allay

with some cold drops of modesty.

Thy skipping spirit, let through thy wild behavior

I be misconstr'ed...

- Signor Bassanio, hear 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,

while grace is saying sigh and say, "Amen,"

use all the observance of civility like one well studied

in a sad ostent to please his grandam, never trust me more.

- Well, we shall see your bearing.

- Nay, but I bar tonight.

You shall not gauge me by what we do tonight.

- No, that were a pity,

I would entreat you rather

to put on your boldest suit of mirth,

I have some business.

- And I must to Lorenzo and the rest.

But we will visit you at supper time.

- Fare you well.

(yells in foreign language)

(speaks in foreign language)

(yells in foreign language)

(yells in foreign language)

- 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 fare thee well, I would not have my father

see me in talk with thee.

Take this letter to Lorenzo.

Here is a ducat for thee.

- Adieu, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew!

If a Christian did not play the knave and get thee,

I am much deceived.

- [Shylock] Jessica!

- But adieu.

Adieu.

- Farewell, good Launcelot.

- [Shylock] Jessica!

- If he have the condition of a saint and the complexion

of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me

than wive me.

- Mislike me not for my complexion.

The shadowed livery of the burnished sun

to whom I am a neighbor and near bred.

I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine

hath feared the valiant.

By my love I swear the best regarded virgins of our clime

have loved it too.

I would not change this hue except to steal your thoughts,

my gentle queen.

- In terms of choice I am not solely led

by nice direction of a maiden's eyes.

Besides, the lottery of my destiny bars me the right

of voluntary choosing.

But if my father had not scanted me, yourself,

renowned Prince then stood as fair

as any I have looked on yet for my affection.

- Even for that I thank you.

Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets

to try my fortune.

By this scimitar that slew the Sophy and a Persian prince

that won three fields of Sultan Solyman,

I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look,

pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear.

Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey to win the lady.

- You must take your chance,

and either not attempt to choose at all

or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong

never to speak to lady afterward in way of marriage,

therefore be advised.

- Nor will not.

Come, bring me to my chance.

- First, forward to the temple.

After dinner your hazard shall be made.

- Good fortune then!

To make me blessed or cursed'st amongst men.

- Friend, Launcelot, what's the news?

- An it shall please you to break up this,

it shall seem to signify.

- I know the hand.

In faith, 'tis a fair hand,

and whiter than the paper it writ on is the fair hand

that writ.

- Love news, in faith?

- By your leave, sir.

- Whither goest thou?

- Marry, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight

with my new master the Christian.

- Hold here, take this to Jessica.

- Nay, we will slink away in supper time,

disguise us at my lodging and return all in an hour.

- We have not made good preparation.

- We have not spoke as yet of torchbearers.

- 'Tis vile unless it may be quainty ordered.

And better in my mind not undertook.

- 'Tis now but four o'clock.

We have six hours to furnish us.

- Take this, tell gentle Jessica

I'll not fail her.

Speak it privately.

So, gentlemen, will you prepare you for this masque tonight?

I am provided of a torchbearer.

- Ay, marry, we'll we be gone about it straight.

- 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.

- Call you, what is your will?

- I'm bid forth to supper, Jessica.

There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest.

There are my keys.

But wherefore should I go?

I'm not bid for love.

They flatter me.

But yet I'll go, in hate,

to feed upon the prodigal Christian.

Oh Jessica, my girl.

(sings in foreign language)

Look to my house.

I am right loath to go.

- I beseech you, sir, go.

My young master doth expect your reproach.

- So do I his.

- They have conspired together,

I shall not say you shall see masques,

but if you do, it was not for nothing

that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last.

- What, are there masques?

Hear you me, Jessica.

Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum

and the vile squealing of the wry-necked fife,

clamber not you up to the casements then,

nor thrust your head into the public street

to gaze on Christian fools with varnished faces.

But you stop my house's ears.

I mean my casements.

Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter my sober house.

By Jacob's staff, I swear,

I have no mind of feasting forth tonight.

But I will go.

Go you before me, sirrah.

Say I will come.

- 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.

- And Launcelot, so that supper thou shalt see Lorenzo,

who is thy new master's guest.

Give him this letter.

Do it secretly.

- Well, Jessica, go in.

Perhaps I will return immediately.

Do as I bid you, you shut doors after you.

Fast bind, fast...

- Find.

- A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

- Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,

I have a father, you a daughter lost.

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me to be ashamed

to be my father's child!

But though I am a daughter to his blood,

I am not to his manners.

O Lorenzo, if thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,

become a Christian and thy loving wife.

("Everything I have is yours")

- Lorenzo's hour is almost past.

- And it is marvel he outdwells his hour,

for lovers ever run before the clock.

- Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode.

Not I but my affairs have made you wait.

- My master's a very Jew.

I'm famished in his service.

You may tell every finger I have with my ribs.

My conscience will not allow me to run from this Jew,

my master, but the fiend is at mine elbow,

saying to me, "Come, Launcelot, come, take the start,

"run away."

My conscience says, "No, take heed, honest Launcelot,

"do not run, scorn running with thy heels."

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 taste.

My conscience says, "Launcelot, budge not."

- Budge!

- "Budge," said the fiend.

"Budge not," says my conscience.

- Budge!

- The Jew, my master.

(laughs)

Conscience, say I, you counsel well.

Fiend, say I, you counsel well.

The fied gives the more friendly counsel.

I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment.

I will run.

(laughs)

- Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

- I must needs tell thee all.

She hath directed how I shall take her

from her father's house,

what gold and jewels she is furnished with,

what page's suit she hath in readiness.

Come, go with me.

Peruse this as thou goest.

Fair Jessica shall be my torchbearer.

(upbeat music)

Here dwells my father Jew.

Ho, who's within?

- Who are you?

Tell me for more certainty,

albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

- Lorenzo, and thy love.

- Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed,

for who love I so much?

(laughs)

And now who knows but you, Lorenzo,

whether I am yours?

- Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

- Here, catch this casket.

It is worth the pains.

- Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

- What, must I hold a candle to my shames?

- O, come at once.

- I will make fast the doors and guild myself

with some more ducats and be with you straight.

- Now, by my hood, a gentile and no Jew.

- If e'er the Jew, her father, come to heaven,

it shall be for his gentle daughter's sake,

and never dare misfortune cross her foot.

Beshrew me but I love her heartily.

What, art thou come?

On, gentlemen, away!

Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

(upbeat music)

- Hey, who's there?

- Signor Antonio?

- Gratiano, where are all the rest?

'Tis twelve o'clock.

Our friends all stay for you.

No masque tonight.

The wind is come about.

Bassanio will presently go aboard.

I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

- I'm glad on't.

I desire no more delight

than to be under sail and gone tonight.

- Now, make your choice.

(dramatic music)

- How will I know if I do choose the right?

- The one of them contains my picture, Prince.

If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

- Some god direct my judgment!

Let me see.

What says this leaden casket?

"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath."

Must give, 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 for shows of dross.

I'll then nor give not hazard aught for lead.

What says this silver, with her virgin hue?

"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."

As much as he deserves?

Pause there, Morocco, as much as I deserve?

Why, that's the lady.

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 strayed no further but chose here?

Let's see once more this saying graved in gold.

"Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire."

Why, that's the lady.

All the world desires her.

From the four corners of the earth they come

to kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.

One of these three contains her heavenly picture.

Is 't like that lead contains her?

'Twere a damnation to think so base a thought.

Or shall I think in silver she's immured,

being ten times undervalued to tried gold?

O sinful thought!

Never so rich a gem was set in worse than gold.

Deliver me the key.

Here do I choose, thrive I as I may!

- There, take it, Prince.

And if my form lie there, then I am yours.

- O hell, what have we here?

A carrion death, within whose empty eye

there is a written scroll.

I'll read the writing.

"All that glisters is not gold,

"often have you heard that told.

"Many a man his life hath sold but my outside to behold.

"Fare you well, your suit is cold."

Cold indeed, and labor lost.

Then farewell heat, and welcome frost!

Portia, adieu, I have too grieved a heart to take

a tedious leave.

Thus losers part.

- Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail.

With him is Gratiano gone along.

And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

- Th villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke.

- But 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.

- I never heard a passion so confused,

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!"

And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones.

- Why, all the boys in Venice follow him crying,

"His stones, his daughter, and his his ducats!"

(laughs)

- Let good Antonio look he keep his day,

or he shall pay for this.

- Marry, well remembered.

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.

"And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,

let it not enter in your mind of love.

Be merry."

And even there, his eye being big with tears,

he turned his face from him, put his hand behind him

and with affection wondrous sensible

he wrung Bassanio's hand.

And so they parted.

- I think he only loves the world for him.

I pray you, let us go and find him out

and quicken his embraced heaviness

with some delight or other.

- Do we so.

- Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.

The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath

and comes to his election presently.

(upbeat music)

- Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince.

If you choose that wherein I am contained,

straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized.

But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,

you must be gone from hence immediately.

- I am enjoined by oath to observe three things,

first, never to unfold to any one

which casket 'twas I chose,

next, if I fail of the right casket, not this,

never in my life to woo a maid in way of marriage,

lastly, if I do fail in fortune of my choice,

immediately to leave you and be gone.

- To these injunctions every one doth swear

that comes to hazard for my worthless self.

- And so have I addressed me.

Fortune now to my heart's hope!

Gold, silver, and base lead.

"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath."

You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.

No, no, no, no.

What says the golden chest?

Ha, let me see.

"Who..."

- Chooseth.

- "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 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, no!

Why then, to thee, thou silver treasure house.

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.

"Who chooseth me," is that it?

"shall get as much as he deserves."

And this is well said too.

Let none presume to wear an undeserved dignity,

Oh that estates, degrees, and offices

were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor

were purchased by the merit of the wearer!

How much low peasantry would then

be gleaned from the true seed of honor!

But to my choice.

"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."

I will assume desert.

Give me a key for this.

And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

- Too long a pause for that which you find there.

- What's 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 much as he deserves"!

Is that my prize, huh?

Are my deserts no better?

- To offend and judge are distinct offices,

and of opposed natures.

- What's here?

"Take what wife you will to bed.

"I will ever be your head.

"So, be gone, you are sped."

Still more fool shall I appear

by the time I linger here.

With one fool's head I came to woo,

but I go away with two.

Sweet, adieu.

I'll keep my oath patiently to bear my wroth.

- Thus hath the candle singed the moth.

(laughs)

Come, draw the curtains.

- Madam, there is alighted at your gate

a young Venetian, one who comes before

to signify th' approaching of his lord,

from whom he bringeth sensible regreets,

and gifts of rich value.

Yet I have not see so likely

an ambassador of love.

A day in April never came so sweet

to show how costly summer was at hand

as this forespurrer comes before his lord.

- No more, I pray thee.

I am half afeard thou wilt say anon

he is some kin to thee.

Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.

Come, come Nerissa, for I long to see quick cupid's post

that comes so mannerly.

- Now, what news on the Rialto?

- Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath

a ship of rich lading wracked upon the narrow seas.

The Goodwins I think they call the place.

A very dangerous flat, and fatal,

if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word.

- I would she were as lying a gossip in that

as ever knapped ginger.

But it is true.

He hath lost a ship.

- I would it might prove the end of his losses.

- Let me say Amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer,

for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

How now, Shylock?

What news among the merchants?

- You knew, none so well, none so well as you,

of my daughter's flight.

- That's certain.

I, for my, part knew the tailor that made the wings

she flew withal.

- And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged,

and then it the complexion of them all to leave the dam.

- She is damned for it.

My own flesh and blood to rebel!

- Out upon it, old carrion!

Rebels it at these years?

- I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.

- There is more difference between thy flesh and hers

than between jet and ivory.

More between your bloods than between red wine and rhenish.

(laughs)

But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio hath had

any loss at sea or no?

- There I have another bad match!

A bankrupt, a prodigal,

who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto,

a beggar, who was used to come so smug upon the mart.

Let him look to his bond.

- Why, I am sure, if he forfeit

thou wilt not take his flesh.

What's that good for?

- To bait fish withal.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

He hath disgraced me and hindered me half a million,

laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,

scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains,

cooled my friends, heated mine enemies,

and what's 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, 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 and all the rest,

we shall 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.

- Here comes another of the tribe.

A third cannot be matched unless the devil himself turn Jew.

- How now, Tubal?

What news from Genoa?

Hast thou found my daughter?

- I often came where I did hear of her,

but cannot find her.

- Why, there, there, there, there!

A diamond gone cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfurt,

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 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 what's spend in the search.

Why thou, loss upon loss!

The thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief,

and no satisfaction, no revenge.

Nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o' my shoulders,

no sighs but o' my breathing,

no tears but o' my shedding.

- Yes, other men have ill luck too.

Antonio, as I heard in Genoa.

- What, what, what, ill luck, ill luck?

- Hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.

- I thank God, I thank God!

Is 't true, is 't true?

- I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wrack.

- I thank thee, good Tubal, I thank thee.

That's good news.

- One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter

for a monkey.

- Out upon her!

Thou torturest me, Tubal.

It was my turquoise.

I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor.

I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

- But Antonio is certainly undone.

- Nay, that's true, that is very true.

Go, Tubal, fee me an officer.

Bespeak him a fortnight before.

For I will have the heart of him if he forfeit.

Go, Tubal, meet me at our synagogue.

If I can catch him once upon the head,

cursed be my tribe if I forgive him.

(dramatic music)

- I pray you, tarry.

Pause a day or two before you hazard, for in choosing wrong

I lose your company.

Therefore forbear awhile.

There's something tells me, but it is not love,

I would not lose you, and you know yourself

hate counsels not in such a quality.

But lest you could not understand me well,

and yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought

I would detain you here some month or two

before you venture for me.

I could teach you how to choose right,

but then I am forsworn.

So will I never be.

So may you miss me.

But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,

that I had been forsworn.

Beshrew your eyes.

They've o'erlooked me and divided me.

One half of me is yours, the other half yours.

Oh, these naughty times put bars between the owners

and their rights!

And so, though yours, not yours.

Prove it so.

Let Fortune go to hell for it, not I.

- Let me choose,

for as I am, I live upon the rack.

- Away then.

I am locked in one of them.

If you do love me you will find me out.

Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.

Let music sound while he doth make his choice.

Then if he loose he makes a swanlike end,

fading in music.

He may win,

and what is music then?

Then music is as are those dulcet sounds at break of day

that creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear

and summon him to marriage.

Go, Hercules!

Live thou, I live.

With much, much more dismay I view the fight

than thou that makest the fray.

- Tell me where is fancy bred.

In the heart or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?

Reply, reply.

Reply, reply.

It is engendered in the eyes,

with gazing fed, and fancy dies

in the cradle where it lies.

In the cradle where it lies.

Let us all ring fancy's knell

I'll begin it.

Ding, dong, bell.

Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding, dong, bell.

- So may the outward shows be least themselves.

The world is still deceived with ornament.

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt but being seasoned

with a gracious voice,

obscures the show of evil?

In religion, what damned error, but some sober brow

will bless it and approve it with a text,

hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

Look on beauty,

and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight,

so are those crisped snaky golden locks

which maketh such wanton gambols with the wind,

upon supposed fairness, often known

to be the dowry of a second head,

the skull that bred them in the sepulcher.

Thus ornament is but the guiled shore

to a most dangerous sea, and in a word,

the seeming truth which cunning times

put on to entrap the wisest.

Therefore then, thou gaudy gold,

hard food for Midas, I will none of thee.

Nor none of thee,

thou pale and common drudge 'tween man and man.

But thou, thou meager lead,

which rather threaten'st than dost promise aught,

thy paleness moves me more than eloquence,

and here choose I.

Joy be the consequence!

- How all the other passions fleet to air,

as doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair.

O love, be moderate.

Allay thy ecstasy.

I feel too much your blessing.

Make it less, for fear I surfeit.

- What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit!

What demigod hath come so near creation?

But look how far the substance of my praise

doth wrong this shadow in underprizing it.

Here's the scroll, the continent and summary of my fortune.

"You that choose not by the view,

"chance as fair and choose as true.

"Turn you where your lady is,

"and claim her with a loving kiss."

A gentle scroll.

Fair lady, by your leave,

I come by note to give and to receive,

like one of two contending in a prize

that thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,

hearing applause and universal shout,

giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt,

whether these peals of praise be his or no,

so thrice, fair lady, stand I even so,

as doubtful whether what I see be true

until confirmed, signed, ratified by you.

- You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,

such as I am.

Though for myself alone I would not be ambitious in my wish

to wish myself much better, yet for you

I would be trebled twenty times myself.

That only to stand high in your account

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,

exceed account.

But the full sum of me is sum of something which,

to term in gross, is an unlessoned girl,

unschooled, unpracticed.

Happy in this, she is not yet so old, but she may learn.

Happier than this, she is not bred so dull

but she can learn.

Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit

commits itself to yours to be directed,

as from her lord, her governor, her king.

But now I was the lord of this fair mansion,

master of my servants, Queen o'er my self.

And even now, but now,

this house, these servants, and this same myself

are yours, my lord.

I give them with this ring.

Which when you part from, lose, or give away,

let it presage the ruin of your love,

and be my vantage to exclaim on you.

(peaceful music)

- Madam, you have bereft me of all words.

Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

When this ring parts from this finger,

then parts life from hence.

O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

(applause)

- My lord and lady, it is now our time,

that have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,

to cry, "Good joy!"

- Good joy, good joy, good joy!

- My Lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,

I wish you all the joy that you can wish,

for I am sure you can wish none from me.

And when your honors mean to solemnize the bargain

of your faith,

I do beseech you even at that time I may be married too.

- With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

- I thank your lordship, you have got me one.

My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours.

You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.

You loved, I loved.

For intermission, no more pertains to me, my lord than you.

Your fortune stood upon the casket there,

and so did mine too, as the matter falls.

For wooing here until I sweat again,

I got a promise of this fair one here

to have her love provided that your fortune

achieved her mistress.

- Is this true, Nerissa?

- Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

- And do you, Gratiano mean good faith?

- Yes, faith, my lord.

- Our feast shall be much honored in your marriage.

- We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

- What, and stake down?

- No, we shall ne'er win at that sport and stake down.

But who comes here?

Lorenzo and his infidel?

What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio?

- Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither.

- My purpose was not to have seen you here.

But meeting with Salerio by the way,

he did entreat me, past all saying nay,

to come with him along.

- I did, my lord.

And I have reason for it.

Signor Antonio commends him to you.

- But I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.

- His letter there will show you his estate.

- Nerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome.

Your hand, Salerio.

What's the news from Venice?

We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

- There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper

that steals the color form Bassanio's cheek.

Some dear friend dead?

- O sweet Portia,

here are a few of the unpleasant'st words

that ever blotted paper.

Gentle lady,

when I did first impart my love to you, I freely told you

all the wealth I had ran in my veins.

I was a gentleman, and then I told you true.

And yet, dear lead, rating myself at nothing, you shall see

how much I was a braggart.

When I told you my state was nothing,

I should then have told you that I was worse than nothing,

for indeed I have engaged myself to a dear friend,

engaged my friend to his mere enemy

to feed my means.

Here is a letter, lady,

the paper as the body of my friend,

and every word in it a gaping wound issuing life blood.

But is it true, Salerio?

Have all his ventures failed?

What, not one hit?

From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, from Lisbon,

Barbary, and India?

And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch

of merchant-marring rocks?

- Not one, my lord.

Besides, it should appear that if had the present money

to discharge the Jew, he would not take it.

He plies the duke at morning and night,

and doth impeach the freedom of the state

if they deny him justice.

- When I was with him, I so heard him swear.

And thus, I know, my lord, if law, authority, and power

deny not,

it will go hard with poor Antonio.

- Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

- The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,

the best conditioned and unwearied spirit

in doing courtesies.

- What sum owes he the Jew?

- For me, three thousand ducats.

- What, no more?

Pay him six thousand and deface the bond!

Double six thousand, and then treble that,

before a friend of this description shall lose a hair

through Bassanio's fault.

First, go with me to church and call me wife,

and then away to Venice to your friend.

When it is paid, bring your true friend along.

My maid Nerissa and myself meantime

will live as maids and widows.

Come, away!

For you shall hence upon your wedding day.

Bid your good friends welcome, show a merry cheer.

(sad music)

Since you are dear bought,

I will love you dear.

- Jailer, look to him.

Tell me not of mercy.

This is the fool that lent out money gratis.

Jailer, look to him.

- Hear me yet, good Shylock.

- I'll have my bond, speak not against my bond,

I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.

Thou calledst me dog before thou hadst a cause.

But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.

- I pray thee, hear me speak.

- I'll have my bond, I'll not hear thee speak,

I will have my bond, and therefore speak no more.

I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool

to shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield

to Christian intercessors.

I will have my bond.

- It is the most impenetrable cur that kept with men.

- I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.

He seeks my life.

Therefore go, these griefs and losses have so bated me,

that I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh tomorrow

to my bloody creditor.

Well, jailer, on.

Pray God Bassanio come to see me pay his debt,

and then I care not.

- Madam.

- Lorenzo, I commit into your hands the husbandry and manage

of my house until my lord's return.

For mine own part, I have toward heaven

breathed a secret vow

to live in prayer and contemplation,

only attended by Nerissa here

until her husband and my lord's return.

There is a monastery two miles off

and there will we abide.

- Madam, I...

- I do desire you not to deny this imposition,

the which my love and some necessity

now lays upon you.

- Madam, with all my heart, I shall obey you

in all fair commands.

- So fare you well

till we shall meet again.

- Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

- I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

- I thank you for your wish,

and am well pleased to wish it back on you.

Fare you well, Jessica.

- Now, Balthazar,

take this same letter

and use thou all th'endeavour of a man in speed to Padua.

See thou render this into my cousin's hands,

Doctor Bellario.

And look thou what notes and garments he doth give thee,

bring them with imagined speed into the traject,

to the common ferry which trades to Venice.

- Madam...

- Waste no time in words, but get thee gone.

I shall be there before thee.

- Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

- Come on, Nerissa,

for I have work in hand that you yet know not of.

We'll see our husbands before they think of us.

- Shall they see us?

- They shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit

that they shall think we are accomplished with what we lack.

I'll hold thee any wager

when we are both accoutred like young men,

I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two.

- Why, shall we turn to men?

- I'll tell thee all my whole device

when I am in my coach, which stays for us at the park gate.

- Yes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father

are to laid upon the children.

Therefore I promise ye I fear for you.

I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation

of the matter.

Therefore be o'good cheer,

for truly I think you are damned.

There is but one hope in it that can do you any good.

- And what hope is that, I pray thee?

- Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not.

- That were a kind of bastard hope indeed.

So the sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

- Truly then I fear you are damned both by

father and mother.

- I shall be saved by my husband.

He hath made me a Christian.

- Truly, the more to blame he.

We were Christians eno' before.

This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs.

- I shall tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say.

Here he comes.

- I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot,

if you thus get my wife into corners.

- Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo.

Launcelot and I are out.

He tells me flatly there is no mercy for me in heaven

because I am a Jew's daughter.

- Go in, sirrah.

Bid them prepare for dinner.

- How cheerest thou, Jessica?

- What, is Antonio here?

- Ready, so please your grace.

- I am sorry for thee.

Thou art come to answer a stony adversary,

an inhuman wretch uncapable of pity, void and empty

from any dram of mercy.

- I have heard your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify

his rigorous course.

I do oppose my patience to his fury,

and am armed to suffer with a quietness of spirit

to the very tyranny and rage of his.

- Go you and call the Jew into the court.

- He's ready at the door.

He comes, my lord.

- Make room, and let him stand before our face.

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,

that thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice

to the last hour of act, and then 'tis thought

thou'lt show thou mercy and remorse more strange

than is thy strange apparent cruelty,

And were thou now exacts the penalty,

which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,

thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,

but touched with human gentleness and love,

forgive a moiety of the principal,

glancing an eye of pity on his losses

that have of late so huddled on his back

eno' to press a royal merchant down.

(applause)

And pluck commiseration of his state

from brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,

from stubborn Turks and Tartars never trained

to offices of tender courtesy.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

- I have possessed your grace of what I purpose.

And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn to have the due

and forfeit of my bond.

If you deny it, let the danger light upon your charter

and your city's freedom.

You'll ask me why I rather choose to have

a weight of carrion flesh than to receive

three thousand ducats.

I'll not answer that,

but say it is my humor.

Is it answered?

What if my house be troubled with a rat

and I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats

to have it baned?

Are you answered yet?

Some men there are love not a gaping pig,

some that are mad when they behold a cat,

and others when the bagpipe sings i'th'nose,

cannot contain their urine.

For affection, master of passion sways it to the mood

of what it likes or loathes.

Now, for your answer, as there is no firm reason

to be rendered why he cannot abide a gaping pig,

why he, a harmless necessary cat,

why he, a woolen bagpipe,

but of force must yield to such inevitable shame

as to offend, himself being offended,

so can I give no reason, nor I will not.

More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus

a losing suit against him.

Are you answered?

- This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,

to excuse the current of thy cruelty.

- I'm not bound to please thee with my answers.

- Do all men kill the things they do not love?

- Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

- Every offense is not a hate at first.

- What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

- I pray you, think you question with the Jew?

You may as well go stand upon the beach

and bid the main flood bate his usual height.

You may as well do anything most hard,

As seek to soften that, than which what's harder?

His Jewish heart.

Therefore I do beseech you,

with all brief and plain conveniency

let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

- For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

- If every ducat in six thousand ducats

were in six parts, and every part a ducat,

I would not draw them, I would have my bond.

- How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

- What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?

You have among you many a purchased slave,

which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,

you use in abject and in slavish parts

because you bought them.

Shall I say to you, "Let them be free!"

You will answer, "The slaves are ours."

So do I answer you.

The pound of flesh which I demand of him is dearly bought.

'Tis mine and I will have it.

If you deny me, fie upon your law,

there is no force in the decrees of Venice.

I stand for judgment.

Answer, shall I have it?

- Upon my power, I may dismiss this court,

unless Bellario, a learned doctor,

whom I have sent for to determine this come here today.

- My lord, here stays without

a messenger with letters form the doctor,

new come from Padua.

- Bring us the letter.

Call the messenger.

- Good cheer, Antonio!

What, man, courage yet!

- I am a tainted wether of the flock meetest for death.

The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground

and so let me.

You cannot better be employed, Bassanio,

than to live still and write mine epitaph.

- Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

- From both, my lord, Bellario greets your grace.

- Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

- To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

- Not on they sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,

thou makest thy knife keen.

Can no prayers pierce thee?

- No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

- O, be thou damned, inexecrable dog,

and for thy life let justice be accused!

Thou almost makest me waver in my faith

to hold opinion with Pythagoras

that souls of animals infuse themselves

into the trunks of men.

For thy desires are wolvish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.

- Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,

thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud.

Repair thy wit, good youth,

or it will fall to cureless ruin.

I stand here for law.

- This letter from Bellario doth commend

a young and learned doctor to our court, where is he?

- He attendeth here hard by

to know your answer whether you'll admit him.

- With all my heart.

Go give him courteous conduct to this place.

Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

"Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of

"your letter I am very sick, but in the instant

"that your messenger came,

"in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome.

"His name is Balthazar.

"I acquainted him with the cause in controversy

"between the Jew and Antonio the merchant.

"We turned o'er many books together.

"He is furnished with my opinion,

"which-bettered with his own learning,

"the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend,

"comes with him at my importunity to fill up

"your grace's request in my stead.

- You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes.

And here I take it is the doctor come.

Give me your hand.

Come you from old Bellario?

- I did, my lord.

- You are welcome, take your place.

Are you acquainted with the difference

that holds this present question in the court?

- I am informed thoroughly of the cause.

Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

- Antonio, and old Shylock, both stand forth.

- Is your name Shylock?

- Shylock is my name.

- Of a strange nature is the suit you follow.

Yet in such rule that the Venetian law

cannot impugn you as you do proceed.

You stand within his danger, do you not?

- Ay, so he says.

- Do you confess the bond?

- I do.

- Then must the Jew be merciful.

- On what compulsion must I?

Tell me that.

- The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

upon the place beneath.

It is twice blessed,

it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.

It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.

His scepter shows the force of temporal power,

the attribute to awe and majesty

wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,

but mercy is above this sceptered sway.

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings.

It is an attribute to God himself.

And earthly power doth then show likest God's

when mercy seasons justice.

Therefore, Jew, though justice be thy plea,

consider this, that in the course of justice none of us

should see salvation.

We do pray for mercy,

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

the deeds of mercy.

I have spoke thus much to mitigate the justice of thy plea,

which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice

must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

- My deeds upon my head.

I crave the law, the penalty, and forfeit of my bond.

- Is he not able to discharge the money?

- Yes, here I tender it for him in the court,

yea, twice the sum.

If that will not suffice,

I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,

nn forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.

If this will not suffice, it must appear

that malice bears down truth.

(applause)

And I beseech you,

wrest once the law to your authority.

To do a great right, do a little wrong,

And curb this cruel devil of his will.

- It must not be.

There is no power in Venice can alter a decree established.

'Twill be recorded for a precedent,

and many an error by the same example

will rush into the state.

It cannot be.

- A Daniel came to judgment, yea, a Daniel!

O wise young judge, how I do honor thee!

- I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

- Here 'tis, most reverent doctor, here it is.

- Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee.

- An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven.

Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?

No, not for Venice.

- Why, this bond is forfeit!

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim

a pound of flesh to be by him cut off

nearest the merchant's heart.

Be merciful, take thrice thy money.

Bid me tear the bond.

- When it is paid according to the tenor.

It doth appear you are a worthy judge.

You know the law,

your exposition hath been most sound.

I charge you by the law,

whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,

proceed to judgment.

By my soul I swear

there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.

I stay here on my bond.

- Most heartily,

I do beseech the court to give the judgment.

- Why then, thus it is.

You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

- O noble judge, excellent young man!

- For the intent and purpose of the law

hath full relation to the penalty,

which here appeareth due upon the bond.

- 'Tis very true, o wise and upright judge.

How much more elder art thou than thy looks.

- Therefore lay bare your bosom.

- Ay, his breast.

So says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?

Nearest his heart, those are the very words.

- It is so.

Are there balance here to weigh the flesh?

- I have them ready.

- Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,

to stop his wounds lest he do bleed to death.

- Is it so nominated in the bond?

- It is not so expressed, but what of that?

'Twere good you do so much for charity.

- I cannot find it.

'Tis not in the bond.

- You, merchant, have you anything to say?

- But little, I am armed and well prepared.

Give me your hand, Bassanio, fare you well.

Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you,

commend me to your honorable wife.

Tell her the process of Antonio's end.

Say how I loved you.

Speak me fair in death.

And when the tale is told, bid her be judge

whether Bassanio had not once a love.

Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,

And he repents not that he pays your debt.

For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,

I'll pay it instantly with all my heart.

- Antonio, I am married to a wife

which is as dear to me as life itself.

But life itself, my wife, and all the world,

are not with me esteemed above thy life.

I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all

here to this devil to deliver you.

- Your wife would give you little thanks for that

if she were by to hear you with the offer.

- I have a wife, whom I protest I love.

I would she were in heaven, so she could

entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

- 'Tis well you offer it behind her back.

- These be the Christian husbands.

I have a daughter.

Would any of the stock of Barabbas had been her husband

rather than a Christian!

We trifle time.

I pray thee, pursue sentence.

- A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine.

- The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

- Most learned judge!

- And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.

- [Duke] The law allows it, and the court awards it.

- Most rightful judge.

Thy sentence, come, prepare.

- Tarry a little.

There is something else.

This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood.

The words expressly are "a pound of flesh."

Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,

but in the cutting it if thou dost shed

one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods

are by the laws of Venice confiscate

unto the state of Venice.

- O upright judge!

Mark, Jew.

O learned judge.

- Is that the law?

- Thyself shalt see the act.

For as thou urgest justice, be assured

thou shalt have justice more than thou desirest.

- O learned judge!

Mark, Jew, a learned judge!

- I take this offer then,

pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go.

- Here is the money.

- Soft!

The Jew shall have all justice.

Soft, no haste.

He shall have nothing but the penalty.

- A second Daniel!

A Daniel Jew!

- Why doth the Jew pause?

Take thy forfeiture.

- Give me my principal and let me go.

- I have it ready for thee.

Here it is.

- He hath refused it in the open court.

He shall have merely justice and his bond.

- A second Daniel still say I.

A Daniel, Jew, I thank thee for teaching me that word.

- Shall I not have barely my principal?

- You shalt have nothing but the forfeiture

to be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

- Why then, the devil give him good of it!

I'll stay no longer question.

- Tarry, Jew.

The law hath yet another hold on you.

It is enacted in the laws of Venice,

if it be proved against an alien

that by direct or indirect attempts

he seek the life of any citizen,

the party 'gainst the which he doth contrive

shall seize one half his goods.

The other half comes to the privy coffer of the state,

And the offender's life lies in the mercy

of the Duke only 'gainst all other voice.

In which predicament I say thou stand'st.

Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.

- Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself.

- That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,

I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.

For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's.

The other half comes to the general state,

which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

- Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

- Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that.

You take my house when you do take the prop

that doth sustain my house.

You take my life when you do take the means

whereby I live.

- What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

- A halter gratis, nothing else, for God's sake.

- So please my lord the duke and all the court,

to quit the fine for one half of his goods

I am content, so he let me have

the other half in use to render it

upon his death unto the gentleman

that lately stole his daughter.

Two things provided more, that for this favor

he presently become a Christian,

the other, that he do record a gift

here in the court, of all he dies possessed,

unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

- He shall do this, or else I do recant

the pardon that I late pronounced here.

- Art thou contented, Jew?

What dost thou say?

- I am content.

- Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

- I pray thee, give me leave to go from hence.

I am not well.

Send the deed after me, and I will sign it.

- Get thee gone, but do it.

- In christening shalt thou have two godfathers.

Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,

to bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.

- Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

- I humbly do desire your grace of pardon.

I must away this night toward Padua,

and it is meet I presently set forth.

- I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.

Antonio, gratify this gentleman,

for in my mind, you are much bond to him.

(applause)

- Most worthy gentlemen, I and my friend

have by your wisdom been this day acquitted

of grievous penalties, in lieu whereof

three thousand ducats due unto the Jew,

we freely cope your courteous pains withal.

- And stand indebted, over and above,

in love and service to you evermore.

- He is well paid that is well satisfied.

And I, delivering you, am satisfied.

I pray you, know me when we meet again.

I wish you well, so I take my leave.

- Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further,

take some remembrance of us as a tribute, not as a fee.

Grant me two things, I pray you, not to deny me,

and to pardon me.

- You press me far, and therefore I will yield.

And for your love, I'll take this ring from you.

Do not draw back your hand, I'll take no more.

And you in love shall not deny me this.

- This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle.

I will not shame myself to give you this.

- I'll take no more but only this.

And now methinks I have a mind to it.

- There's more depends on this than the value.

The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,

and find it out by proclamation,

and for this, I pray you pardon me.

- I see, sir, you are liberal in offers.

You taught me first to beg,

and now methinks you teach me

how a beggar should be answered.

- Good sir, this ring was given by my wife,

and when she put it on, she made me vow that I should

neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.

- That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.

An if your wife be not a madwoman,

and know how well I deserved the ring,

she would not hold out enemy forever for giving it to me.

Well, peace be with you.

- My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.

Let his deservings and my love withal

be valued against your wife's commandment.

- Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him.

Give him the ring and bring him, if thou canst,

unto Antonio's house.

Away, make haste.

- Come, you and I will thither presently.

And in the morning early will we both fly toward Belmont.

- Inquire the Jew's house out.

Give him this deed, let him sign it.

We'll away tonight.

- Fair sir,

my Lord Bassanio upon more advice

hath sent you here this ring

and doth entreat your company at dinner.

- That cannot be.

His ring I do accept most gratefully.

And so I bid you tell him.

I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house.

- That I will do.

- Sir, I would speak with you.

I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,

which I did make him swear to keep forever.

- Thou mayst, I warrant.

We shall have old swearing that they did give the rings

away to men.

But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

Away, make haste.

Thou know'st where I will tarry.

- Come, good sir.

Will you show me to this house?

- The moon shines bright,

in such a night as this,

when the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees

and they did make no noise,

in such a night,

Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls

and sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents

where Cressid lay that night.

- In such a night

did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew

and saw the lion's shadow ere himself

and ran dismayed away.

- In such a night

stood Dido with a willow in her hand

upon the wild sea banks, and waft her love

to come again to Carthage.

- In such a night,

Medea gathered the enchanted herbs that did renew old Aeson.

- In such a night did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,

and with an unthrift love

did run from Venice as far as Belmont.

- In such a night

did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,

stealing her soul with many vows of faith,

and ne'er a true one.

- In such a night did pretty Jessica,

like a little shrew, slander her love,

and he forgave it her.

- Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

- A friend.

- A friend?

What friend?

Your name, I pray you, friend?

- Stephano is my name, and I bring word my mistress will

before the break of day

be here at Belmont.

- Who comes with her?

- None but a holy hermit and her maid.

I pray you, is my master yet returned?

- His is not, but even now, we have not heard from him.

Sweet soul, let's in and expect their coming.

And yet no matter, why should we go in?

Friend, Stephano, signify, I pray you,

within the house, your mistress is at hand.

And bring your music forth into the air.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Here will we sit and let the sounds of music

creep in our ears.

Soft stillness and the night

become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica, look how the floor of heaven

is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st

but in his motion like an angel sings,

still choiring to the young-eyed cherubins.

(gentle music)

- I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

- The reason is your spirits are attentive.

For do but note a wild and wanton herd,

or race of youthful and unhandled colts,

fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,

which is the hot condition of their blood.

If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,

or any air of music touch their ears,

you shall perceive them make a mutual stand.

Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze

by the sweet power of music.

Mark the music.

- That light we see is burning in my hall.

How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

- When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

- So doth the greater glory dim the less.

A substitute shines brightly as a king

until a king be by, and then his state

empties itself, as doth an inland brook

into the main of waters.

Music, hark.

- It is your music, madam, of the house.

- Nothing is good, I see, without respect.

Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

- Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

- The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark

when neither is attended,

and I think the nightingale, if she should sing by day

when every goose is cackling,

would be thought no better a musician than the wren.

How many things by season, seasoned are

to their right praise and true perfection!

- That is the voice,

or I am much deceived, of Portia.

- He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,

by the bad voice.

- Dear lady, you are welcome home.

- We have been praying for our husbands' welfare,

which speed, we hope, the better for our words.

Are they returned?

- Madam, they are not yet.

But there is come a messenger before

to signify their coming.

Go in, Nerissa.

Give order to my servants that they take

no note at all of our being absent hence.

Nor you, Lorenzo.

Jessica, nor you.

- Madam, your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet.

We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.

- We should hold day with the Antipodes,

if you would walk in absence of the sun.

- You are welcome home, my lord.

- I thank you, madam.

Give welcome to my friend,

this is the man, this is Antonio,

to whom I am so infinitely bound.

- You should in all sense be much bound to him,

for as I hear, he was much bound for you.

- No more than I am well acquitted of.

- Sir, you are welcome to our house.

It must appear in other ways than words,

therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

- By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong,

in faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.

Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,

since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

- A quarrel, ho, already?

- What's the matter?

- About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring

that she did give me, whose posy was

for all the world like cutler's poetry

upon a knife, "Love me and leave me not."

- What talk you of the posy or the value?

You swore to me when I did give it you

that you would wear it till your hour of death.

Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,

you should have been respective and have kept it.

Gave it a judge's clerk!

No, God's my judge.

The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face that had it.

- He will, an if he live to be a man.

- Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

- Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,

a kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy

no higher than thyself, the judge's clerk,

a prating boy that begged it as a fee.

I could not for my heart deny it him.

- You were to blame, I must be plain with you,

To part so slightly with your wife's first gift,

a thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger

and so riveted with faith unto your flesh.

I gave my love a ring and made him swear

never to part with it.

And here he stands.

I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it

nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth

that the world masters.

Now in faith, Gratiano,

you give your wife too unkind a cause of grief.

An 'twere to me, I would be mad at it.

- Why, I were best to cut my left hand off

and swear I lost the ring defending it.

- My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away

unto the judge that begged it and indeed

deserved it too.

- What ring gave you, my lord?

Not that I hope which you received of me.

- If I could add a lie unto a fault

I would deny it, but you see my finger hath not

the ring upon it, it is gone.

- Even so void is your false heart of truth.

By heaven, I will ne'er come into your bed

until I see the ring.

- Nor I in yours till I again see mine.

- Sweet Portia,

If you did know to whom I gave the ring,

if you did know for whom I gave the ring,

and would conceive for what I gave the ring,

And how unwillingly I left the ring

when naught would be accepted but the ring,

you would abate the strength of your displeasure.

- If you had known the virtue of the ring,

or half her worthiness that gave the ring,

or your own honor to contain the ring,

you would not then have parted with the ring.

What man is there so much unreasonable,

if you had pleased to have defended it

with any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty

to urge the thing held as a ceremony?

Nerissa teaches me what to believe.

I'll die for 't but some woman had the ring.

- No, by my honor, madam, by my soul,

no woman had it but a civil doctor,

which did refuse three thousand ducats of me

and begged the ring, the which I did deny him

and suffered him to go displeased away,

even he that did uphold the very life

of my dear friend.

What should I say, sweet lady?

My honor would not let ingratitude

so much besmear it.

Pardon me, good lady.

- Let not that doctor e'er come near my house!

I'll not deny him anything I have,

No, not my body, nor my husband's bed.

Lie not a night from home.

Watch me like Argus.

If you do not, if I be left alone,

Then by mine honor, which is yet mine own,

I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

- And I his clerk.

Therefore be well advised, how you do leave me

to mine own protection.

- Well do you so, let me not take him then.

For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

- I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels.

- Sir, grieve not you.

You are welcome notwithstanding.

- Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong,

and in the hearing of these many friends,

I swear to thee,

even by thine own fair eyes,

pardon this fault,

and by my soul, I swear,

I never more will break an oath with thee.

- I once did lend my body for his wealth,

which but for him that had your husband's ring

had quite miscarried.

I dare be bound again,

my soul upon the forfeit that your lord will never more

break faith advisedly.

- Yourself shall be his surety.

Give him this, and bid him keep it better than the other.

- Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.

- By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor.

- I had it off him.

Pardon me, Bassanio, for by this ring,

the doctor lay with me.

- And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,

for that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,

in lieu of this last night did lie with me.

- Why, this is like the mending of highways

in summer where the ways are fair enough!

What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

- Speak not so grossly.

- You are amazed.

Here is a letter.

Read it at your leisure.

It comes from Padua, from Bellario.

There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,

Nerissa there her clerk.

Lorenzo here shall witness, we set forth as soon as you,

and even but now returned.

I have not yet entered my house.

Antonio, you are welcome.

And I have better news in store for you than you expect.

Unseal this letter soon.

There you shall find three of your argosies

are richly come to harbor.

- I am dumb.

- Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

- Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckhold?

- Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it

unless he live to be a man.

- Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow.

When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

- Sweet lady, you give me life and living,

for here I read for certain that my ships

are safely come to road.

- How now, Lorenzo?

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

- Ay, and I'll them him without a fee.

There do I give to you and Jessica

from Shylock, the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,

after his death of all he dies possessed of.

- Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way of staved people.

- And yet, I am sure you are not satisfied

of these events at full.

Let us go in,

and charge us there upon interr'gatories

and we will answer all things faithfully.

- Let it be so.

The first interrogatory

that my Nerissa shall be sworn on is whether

till the next night she had rather stay,

or go to bed now, being two hours to day.

But were the day come, I should wish it dark,

that I were couching with the doctor's clerk.

Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing

so sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

- This night methinks is but the daylight sick,

it looks a little paler.

'Tis a day such as the day when the sun is hid.

(sings in foreign language)

It is almost morning

(thunder rolls)

(upbeat music)