It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps

Macbeth: Entire Play The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage - Macbeth - Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls.

Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.

MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art.

The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell.

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes!

So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.

Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me.

First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine.

Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you?

First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair?

I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate.

First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor?

the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind.

Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death.

As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!

For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him.

MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor.

But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps.

Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not.

BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten.

Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them.

Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.

DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay.

MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour.

DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart.

BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers.

From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman.

Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge.

When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee.

Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.

Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements.

Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty!

make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis!

worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence?

MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me.

Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate.

Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.

LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor?

We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us.

Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him.

By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come.

But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.

Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other.

Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?

And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.

LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.

Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail.

When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan?

what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males.

Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!

Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content.

MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth.

MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you.

BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?

Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost.

Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.

Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.

MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?

MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber?

LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.

Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean?

MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things.

Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps eye of childhood That fears a painted devil.

If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here?

ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red.

Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then!

Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same.

Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't.

Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet!

What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.

MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service.

Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake.

MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason!

Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.

Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell.

Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them.

MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment?

No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho!

MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion.

BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice.

MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim.

Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?

Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other.

ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed.

ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!

Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres.

The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings.

If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming.

MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.

Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly.

Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure?

ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety.

There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding.

If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together?

First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us.

MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever?

First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition.

from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect.

Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.

First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons.

Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour.

Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps Banquo gone from court?

Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done.

MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.

Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are.

LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note.

LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.

Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch.

Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about.

Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome.

Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round.

Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd?

First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped.

MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.

But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present.

Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both!

LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise.

Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.

LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan.

O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces?

When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.

GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is.

LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here!

to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl.

Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder?

You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.

LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood.

What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd.

I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed.

Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art?

And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.

Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.

But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war.

LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed!

Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron.

ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in.

Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you.

First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth!

Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth.

Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty?

ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements!

good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show!

Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay.

Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters?

LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.

And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line.

No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land?

ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly?

He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season.

I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird!

thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband?

LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies.

Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men.

Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.

LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly?

I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg!

Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour.

MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god.

MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking?

I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot.

MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed.

MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms.

MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign.

MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.

We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined.

MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. MACDUFF This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.

Of your mere own: all these are portable, With other graces weigh'd. MALCOLM But I have none: the king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways.

Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. MACDUFF O Scotland, Scotland! MALCOLM If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken.

MACDUFF Fit to govern! No, not to live. O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed?

Thy royal father Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived.

Fare thee well! These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself Have banish'd me from It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps. O my breast, Thy hope ends here! MALCOLM Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste: but God above Deal between thee and me!

for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, At no time broke my faith, would not betray The devil to his fellow and delight No less in truth than life: my first false speaking Was this upon myself: what I am truly, Is thine and my poor country's to command: Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, Already at a point, was setting forth.

Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? MACDUFF Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor MALCOLM Well; more anon.--Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doctor Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but at his touch-- Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand-- They presently amend. MALCOLM I thank you, doctor. Exit Doctor MACDUFF What's the disease he means? MALCOLM 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do.

How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction.

With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace.

Enter ROSS MACDUFF See, who comes here? MALCOLM My countryman; but yet I know him not. MACDUFF My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. MALCOLM I know him now. Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! ROSS Sir, amen. MACDUFF Stands Scotland where it did? ROSS Alas, poor country! Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying or ere they sicken.

MACDUFF O, relation Too nice, and yet too true! MALCOLM What's the newest grief? ROSS That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker: Each minute teems a new one.

MACDUFF How does my wife? ROSS Why, well. MACDUFF And all my children? ROSS Well too. MACDUFF The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? ROSS No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. MACDUFF But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't?

ROSS When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. MALCOLM Be't their comfort We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; An older and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out.

ROSS Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. MACDUFF What concern they? The general cause? or is it a fee-grief Due to some single breast? ROSS No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone.

MACDUFF If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. ROSS Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. MACDUFF Hum! I guess at it. ROSS Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you. MALCOLM Merciful heaven! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

MACDUFF My children too? ROSS Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. MACDUFF And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too? ROSS I have said. MALCOLM Be comforted: Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. MACDUFF He has no children.

All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop? MALCOLM Dispute it like a man. MACDUFF I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls.

Heaven rest them now! MALCOLM Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. MACDUFF O, I could play the woman with mine eyes And braggart with my tongue!

But, gentle heavens, Cut short all intermission; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too! MALCOLM This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may: The night is long that never finds the day.

Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman Doctor I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report.

When was it she last walked? Gentlewoman Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doctor A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doctor You may to me: and 'tis most meet you should. Gentlewoman Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doctor How came she by that light? Gentlewoman Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. Doctor You see, her eyes are open.

Gentlewoman Ay, but their sense is shut. Doctor What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands. Gentlewoman It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. LADY MACBETH Yet here's a spot. Doctor Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. LADY MACBETH Out, damned spot!

out, I say!--One: two: why, then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?--Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.

Doctor Do you mark that? LADY MACBETH The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?-- What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.

Doctor Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. Gentlewoman She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what she has known. LADY MACBETH Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Oh, oh, oh! Doctor What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gentlewoman I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body. Doctor Well, well, well,-- Gentlewoman Pray God it be, sir. Doctor This disease is beyond my practise: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.

LADY MACBETH Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale.--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave. Doctor Even so? LADY MACBETH To bed, to bed!

there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed! Exit Doctor Will she go now to bed? Gentlewoman Directly. Doctor Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets: More needs she the divine than the physician.

God, God forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night: My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight. I think, but dare not speak. Gentlewoman Good night, good doctor. Exeunt SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colours. Enter MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, and Soldiers MENTEITH The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward and the good Macduff: Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man.

ANGUS Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. CAITHNESS Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? LENNOX For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son, And many unrough youths that even now Protest their first of manhood.

MENTEITH What does the tyrant? CAITHNESS Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule. ANGUS Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love: now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

MENTEITH Who then shall blame His pester'd senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself for being there?

CAITHNESS Well, march we on, To give obedience where 'tis truly owed: Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, And with him pour we in our country's purge Each drop of us. LENNOX Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam. Exeunt, marching SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle.

Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants MACBETH Bring me no more reports; let them fly all: Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus: 'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false thanes, And mingle with the English epicures: The mind I sway by and the heart I bear Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

Enter a Servant The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! Where got'st thou that goose look? Servant There is ten thousand-- MACBETH Geese, villain!

Servant Soldiers, sir. MACBETH Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? Servant The English force, so please you. MACBETH Take thy face hence. Exit Servant Seyton!--I am sick at heart, When I behold--Seyton, I say!--This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.

I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton! Enter SEYTON SEYTON What it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps your gracious pleasure? MACBETH What news more? SEYTON All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

MACBETH I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour. SEYTON 'Tis not needed yet. MACBETH I'll put it on. Send out more horses; skirr the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.

Give me mine armour. How does your patient, doctor? Doctor Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. MACBETH Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?

Doctor Therein the patient Must minister to himself. MACBETH Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it. Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff. Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me. Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.--Pull't off, I say.-- What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence?

Hear'st thou of them? Doctor Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. MACBETH Bring it after me. I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. Doctor [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. Exeunt SCENE IV. Country near Birnam wood. Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD and YOUNG SIWARD, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, ROSS, and Soldiers, marching MALCOLM Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe.

MENTEITH We doubt it nothing. SIWARD What wood is this before us? MENTEITH The wood of Birnam. MALCOLM Let every soldier hew him down a bough And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host and make discovery Err in report of us.

Soldiers It shall be done. SIWARD We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before 't. MALCOLM 'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt, And none serve with him but constrained things Whose hearts are absent too. MACDUFF Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.

SIWARD The time approaches That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: Towards which advance the war. Exeunt, marching SCENE V.

Dunsinane. Within the castle. Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum and colours MACBETH Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still 'They come:' our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie Till famine and the ague eat them up: Were they not forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. A cry of women within What is that noise? SEYTON It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Exit MACBETH I have almost forgot the taste of fears; The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me.

Re-enter SEYTON Wherefore was that cry? SEYTON The queen, my lord, is dead. MACBETH She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. Enter a Messenger Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Messenger Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. MACBETH Well, say, sir. Messenger As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.

MACBETH Liar and slave! Messenger Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove. MACBETH If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane.

Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind!

come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. Exeunt SCENE VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle. Drum and colours.

Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD, MACDUFF, and their Army, with boughs MALCOLM Now near enough: your leafy screens throw down. And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, According to our order. SIWARD Fare you well. Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

MACDUFF Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. Exeunt SCENE VII. Another part of the field. Alarums. Enter MACBETH MACBETH They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter YOUNG SIWARD YOUNG SIWARD What is thy name? MACBETH Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

YOUNG SIWARD No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell. MACBETH My name's Macbeth. YOUNG SIWARD The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. MACBETH No, nor more fearful. YOUNG SIWARD Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

They fight and YOUNG SIWARD is slain MACBETH Thou wast born of woman But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. Exit Alarums. Enter MACDUFF MACDUFF That way the noise is.

Tyrant, show thy face! If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms Are hired to bear their staves: either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge I sheathe again undeeded.

There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not. Exit. Alarums Enter MALCOLM and SIWARD SIWARD This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd: The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; The noble thanes do bravely in the war; The day almost itself professes yours, And little is to do.

MALCOLM We have met with foes That strike beside us. SIWARD Enter, sir, the castle. Exeunt. Alarums SCENE VIII. Another part of the field. Enter MACBETH MACBETH Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.

Enter MACDUFF MACDUFF Turn, hell-hound, turn! MACBETH Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. MACDUFF I have no words: My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! They fight MACBETH Thou losest labour: As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield, To one of woman born.

MACDUFF Despair thy charm; And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. MACBETH Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man!

And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee. MACDUFF Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted on a pole, and underwrit, 'Here may you see the tyrant.' MACBETH I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse.

Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!' Exeunt, fighting. Alarums Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, SIWARD, ROSS, the other Thanes, and Soldiers MALCOLM I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.

SIWARD Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. MALCOLM Macduff is missing, and your noble son. ROSS Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only lived but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.

SIWARD Then he is dead? ROSS Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end. SIWARD Had he his hurts before? ROSS Ay, on the front. SIWARD Why then, God's soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so, his knell is knoll'd. MALCOLM He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him.

SIWARD He's worth no more They say he parted well, and paid his score: And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head MACDUFF Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: Hail, King of Scotland!

ALL Hail, King of Scotland! Flourish MALCOLM We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time and place: So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

Flourish. Exeunt Merchant of Venice: Entire Play The Merchant of Venice Shakespeare homepage - Merchant of Venice - Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO ANTONIO In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: 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; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINO Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There, where your argosies with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. SALANIO 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, Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads; And every object that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me sad.

SALARINO My wind cooling my broth Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great at sea might do. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs To kiss her burial.

Should I go to church And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream, Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing?

Shall I have the thought To think on this, and shall I lack the thought That such a thing bechanced would make me sad? But tell not me; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. SALARINO Why, then you are in love. ANTONIO Fie, fie! SALARINO Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, Because you are not sad.

Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper, And other of such vinegar aspect That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO SALANIO Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo.

Fare ye well: We leave you now with better company. SALARINO I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. ANTONIO Your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it, your own business calls on you And you embrace the occasion to depart. SALARINO Good morrow, my good lords. BASSANIO Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? SALARINO We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. Exeunt Salarino and Salanio LORENZO My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you: but at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO I will not fail you. GRATIANO You look not well, Signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it that do buy it with much care: Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

ANTONIO I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. GRATIANO Let me play the fool: 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? Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio-- I love thee, and it is my love that speaks-- There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd 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!' O my Antonio, I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing; when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.

I'll tell thee more of this another time: But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile: I'll end my exhortation after dinner. LORENZO Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. GRATIANO Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. GRATIANO Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO ANTONIO Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO Well, tell me now what lady is the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promised to tell me of? BASSANIO '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: Nor do I now make moan to be abridged From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts Wherein my time something too prodigal Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money and in love, And from your love I have a warranty To unburden all my plots and purposes How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assured, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. BASSANIO In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow of the self-same flight The self-same 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 wilful youth, That which I owe is lost; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both Or bring your latter hazard back again And thankfully rest debtor for the first. ANTONIO You know me well, and herein spend but time To wind about my love with circumstance; And out of doubt 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 That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO In Belmont is a lady richly left; And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages: Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia: Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, For the four winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her.

O my Antonio, had I but the it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps To hold a rival place with one of them, I have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIO 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 rack'd, even to the uttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go, presently inquire, and so will I, Where money is, and I no question make To have it of my trust or for my sake. Exeunt SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA PORTIA By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

NERISSA You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

PORTIA Good sentences and well pronounced. NERISSA They would be better, if well followed. PORTIA If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cottages princes' palaces.

It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. 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 it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none? NERISSA 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 it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps, whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly but one who shall rightly love.

But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIA I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection. NERISSA First, there is the Neapolitan prince. PORTIA Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother played false with a smith.

NERISSA Then there is the County Palatine. PORTIA He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If you will not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth.

I had rather be married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these two! NERISSA How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIA God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands.

If he would despise me I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. NERISSA What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron of England? PORTIA You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.

He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his behavior every where. NERISSA What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? PORTIA That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and swore he would pay him again when he was able: I think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed under for another.

NERISSA How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew? PORTIA Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast: and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

NERISSA 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. PORTIA Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSA You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition depending on the caskets.

PORTIA 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. 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.

NERISSA 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 of Montferrat? PORTIA Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called. NERISSA True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. PORTIA I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

Enter a Serving-man How now! what news? Servant 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 the prince his master will be here to-night. PORTIA If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.

Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. Exeunt SCENE III. Venice. A public place. Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats; well. BASSANIO Ay, sir, for three months. SHYLOCK For three months; well.

BASSANIO For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. SHYLOCK Antonio shall become bound; well. BASSANIO May you stead me?

will you pleasure me? shall I know your answer? SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound. BASSANIO Your answer to that. SHYLOCK Antonio is a good man. BASSANIO Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCK Oh, 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.

The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may take his bond. BASSANIO Be assured you may. SHYLOCK I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? BASSANIO If it please you to dine with us. SHYLOCK Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into.

I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk 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? Enter ANTONIO BASSANIO This is Signior Antonio. SHYLOCK [Aside] 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.

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 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.

Cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him! BASSANIO Shylock, do you hear? SHYLOCK 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? To ANTONIO Rest you fair, good signior; Your worship was the last man in our mouths. ANTONIO Shylock, although 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 possess'd How much ye would? SHYLOCK Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. ANTONIO And for three months. SHYLOCK I had forgot; three months; 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. ANTONIO I do never use it. SHYLOCK When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep-- This Jacob from our holy Abram was, As his wise it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps wrought in his behalf, The third possessor; ay, he was the third-- ANTONIO And what of him?

did he take interest? SHYLOCK No, 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 streak'd and pied Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank, In the end of autumn turned to the rams, And, when the work of generation was Between these woolly breeders in the act, The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, And, in the doing of the deed of kind, He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, Who then conceiving did in eaning time Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.

This was a way to thrive, and he was blest: And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. ANTONIO This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for; A thing not in his power to bring to pass, But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.

Was this inserted to make interest good? Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? SHYLOCK I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast: But note me, signior. ANTONIO 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: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! SHYLOCK Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum. Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate-- ANTONIO Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances: Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit 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, and 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; 'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn'd me such a day; another time You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys'? ANTONIO I am as like to call thee so again, To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.

If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends; for when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? But lend it rather to thine enemy, Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face Exact the penalty. SHYLOCK Why, look you, how you storm!

I would be friends with you and have your love, Forget the shames that you have stain'd 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. BASSANIO This were kindness. SHYLOCK 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 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO Content, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond And say there is much kindness in the Jew. BASSANIO You shall not seal to such a bond for me: I'll rather dwell in my necessity. ANTONIO 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.

SHYLOCK O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others! 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 favour, I extend this friendship: If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIO Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. SHYLOCK Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; Give him direction for this merry bond, And I will go and purse the ducats straight, See to my house, left in the fearful guard Of an unthrifty knave, and presently I will be with you.

ANTONIO Hie thee, gentle Jew. Exit Shylock The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind. BASSANIO I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. ANTONIO Come on: in this there can be no dismay; My ships come home a month before the day. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. Flourish of cornets.

Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others attending MOROCCO Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.

Bring me the fairest creature northward born, Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, And let us make incision for your love, To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine Hath fear'd 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.

PORTIA 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 And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself His wife who wins me by that means I told you, Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair As any comer I have look'd on yet For my affection.

MOROCCO 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 outstare the sternest eyes that look, Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking 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 so may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain, And die with grieving. PORTIA 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.

MOROCCO Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. PORTIA First, forward to the temple: after dinner Your hazard shall be made. MOROCCO Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men. Cornets, and exeunt SCENE II. Venice. A street. Enter LAUNCELOT LAUNCELOT Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.

My conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the fiend.

'Budge not,' says my conscience. 'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,' say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil 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 fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your command; I will run. Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket GOBBO Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT [Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBO Master young gentleman, I pray you, it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps is the way to master Jew's? LAUNCELOT 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. GOBBO 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? LAUNCELOT Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Aside Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man and, God be thanked, well to live. LAUNCELOT Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young Master Launcelot. GOBBO Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. LAUNCELOT But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot? GOBBO Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. LAUNCELOT Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.

GOBBO Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. LAUNCELOT Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? GOBBO Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOT Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. LAUNCELOT Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child.

Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may, but at the length truth will out. GOBBO Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. LAUNCELOT Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. GOBBO I cannot think you are my son. LAUNCELOT I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.

GOBBO Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail. LAUNCELOT It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face when I last saw him.

GOBBO Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How 'gree you now? LAUNCELOT Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a present!

give him a halter: I am famished in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers BASSANIO You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Exit a Servant LAUNCELOT To him, father. GOBBO God bless your worship! BASSANIO Gramercy!

wouldst thou aught with me? GOBBO Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,-- LAUNCELOT Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify-- GOBBO He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve-- LAUNCELOT Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify-- GOBBO His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, are scarce cater-cousins-- LAUNCELOT 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-- GOBBO I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is-- LAUNCELOT In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

BASSANIO One speak for both. What would you? LAUNCELOT Serve you, sir. GOBBO That is the very defect of the matter, sir. BASSANIO I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit: Shylock thy master spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment To leave a rich Jew's service, to become The follower of so poor a gentleman.

LAUNCELOT The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. BASSANIO Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son. Take leave of thy old master and inquire My lodging out.

Give him a livery More guarded than his fellows': see it done. LAUNCELOT 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 offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple scapes.

Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo BASSANIO I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this: These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, Return in haste, for I do feast to-night My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

LEONARDO My best endeavours shall be done herein. Enter GRATIANO GRATIANO Where is your master? LEONARDO Yonder, sir, he walks. Exit GRATIANO Signior Bassanio! BASSANIO Gratiano! GRATIANO I have a suit to you.

BASSANIO You have obtain'd it. GRATIANO You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont. BASSANIO Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano; Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice; Parts that become thee happily enough And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; But where thou art not known, why, there they show Something too liberal.

Pray thee, take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior I be misconstrued in the place I go to, And lose my hopes. GRATIANO Signior 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, Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,' Use all the observance of civility, Like one well studied in a sad ostent To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO Well, we shall see your bearing. GRATIANO Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me By what we do to-night. BASSANIO No, that were pity: I would entreat you rather to put on Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends That purpose merriment. But fare you well: I have some business. GRATIANO And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: But we will visit you at supper-time. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house. Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT JESSICA I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so: Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.

But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee: And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: Give him this letter; do it secretly; And so farewell: I would not have my father See me in talk with thee. LAUNCELOT Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.

But, adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit: adieu. JESSICA Farewell, good Launcelot. Exit Launcelot 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. Exit SCENE IV.

The same. A street. Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO LORENZO Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging and return, All in an hour. GRATIANO We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers. SALANIO 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, And better in my mind not undertook. LORENZO 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours To furnish us. Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter Friend Launcelot, what's the news? LAUNCELOT An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. LORENZO I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO Love-news, in faith. LAUNCELOT By your leave, sir. LORENZO Whither goest thou? LAUNCELOT Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. LORENZO Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica I will not fail her; speak it privately.

Go, gentlemen, Exit Launcelot Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? I am provided of a torch-bearer. SALANIO Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. SALANIO And so will I. LORENZO Meet me and Gratiano At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. SALARINO 'Tis good we do so. Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO GRATIANO Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed How I shall take her from her father's house, What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with, What page's suit she hath in readiness. If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: And never dare misfortune cross her foot, Unless she do it under this excuse, That she is issue to a faithless Jew.

Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: Fair Jessica shall be my torch-beare r. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Before SHYLOCK'S house. Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT SHYLOCK Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:-- What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise, As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!-- And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;-- Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT Why, Jessica! SHYLOCK Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. LAUNCELOT Your worship was wont to tell me that I could do nothing without bidding. Enter Jessica JESSICA Call you? what is your will? SHYLOCK I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love; they flatter me: But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian. Jessica, it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps girl, Look to my house.

I am right loath to go: There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags to-night. LAUNCELOT I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach. SHYLOCK So do I his. LAUNCELOT An they have conspired together, I will not say you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon. SHYLOCK 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-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, But 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 to-night: But I will go.

Go you before me, sirrah; Say I will come. LAUNCELOT I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window, for all this, There will come a Christian boy, will be worth a Jewess' eye. Exit SHYLOCK What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? JESSICA His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

SHYLOCK The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder; Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me; Therefore I part with him, and part with him To one that would have him help to waste His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in; Perhaps I will return immediately: Do as I bid you; shut doors after you: Fast bind, fast find; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. Exit JESSICA Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

Exit SCENE VI. The same. Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued GRATIANO This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo Desired us to make stand.

SALARINO His hour is almost past. GRATIANO And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock. SALARINO O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO That ever it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down? Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!

How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! SALARINO Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter. Enter LORENZO LORENZO Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait: When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, I'll watch as long for you then. Approach; Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within? Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes JESSICA Who are you?

Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit I'll swear that I do know it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps tongue. LORENZO Lorenzo, and thy love. JESSICA Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, For who love I so much? And now who knows But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? LORENZO Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much ashamed of my exchange: But love is blind and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO Descend, for you must be my torchbearer. JESSICA What, must I hold a candle to my shames? They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light. Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love; And I should be obscured. LORENZO So are you, sweet, Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once; For the close night doth play the runaway, And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. JESSICA I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight. Exit above GRATIANO Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. LORENZO Beshrew me but I love her heartily; For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath proved herself, And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter JESSICA, below What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away! Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. Exit with Jessica and Salarino Enter ANTONIO ANTONIO Who's there? GRATIANO Signior Antonio! ANTONIO Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you. No masque to-night: the wind is come about; Bassanio presently will go aboard: I have sent twenty out to seek for you. GRATIANO I am glad on't: I desire no more delight Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

Exeunt SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains PORTIA Go draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince.

Now make your choice. MOROCCO The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;' The second, silver, which this promise carries, 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;' This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, 'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' How shall I know if It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps do choose the right?

PORTIA The one of them contains my picture, prince: If you choose that, then I am yours withal. MOROCCO Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; I will survey the inscriptions back again. What says this leaden casket? 'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead? This casket threatens. Men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.

What says the silver with her virgin hue? 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand: If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady: And yet to be afeard of my deserving Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve! Why, 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 stray'd 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: The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia: The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits, but they come, As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.

One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation To think so base a thought: it were too gross To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think in silver she's immured, Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin that bears the figure of an angel Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon; But here an angel in a golden bed Lies all within.

Deliver me the key: Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! PORTIA There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. He unlocks the golden casket MOROCCO O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll!

I'll read the writing. Reads All that glitters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscroll'd: Fare you well; your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed; and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets PORTIA A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt SCENE VIII.

Venice. A street. Enter SALARINO and SALANIO SALARINO Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail: With him is Gratiano gone along; And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke, Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. SALARINO He came too late, the ship was under sail: But there the duke was given to understand That in a gondola were seen together Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica: Besides, Antonio certified the duke They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIO I never heard a passion so confused, So strange, outrageous, and so variable, As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: 'My daughter!

It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice!

the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter! And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stolen by my daughter!

Justice! find the girl; She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' SALARINO Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this. SALARINO Marry, well remember'd. I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, Who told me, in the narrow seas that part The French and English, there miscarried A vessel of our country richly fraught: I thought upon Antonio when he told me; And wish'd in silence that it were not his. SALANIO You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. SALARINO A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.

I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: Bassanio told him he would make some speed Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so; Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio But stay the very riping of the time; And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me, Let it not enter in your mind of love: Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there:' And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SALANIO I think he only loves the world for him. I pray thee, let us go and find him out And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other. SALARINO Do we so. Exeunt SCENE IX. Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. Enter NERISSA with a Servitor NERISSA Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight: The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their trains PORTIA Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince: If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized: But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately. ARRAGON I am enjoin'd 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, 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.

PORTIA To these injunctions every one doth swear That comes to hazard for my worthless self. ARRAGON And so have I address'd me. Fortune now To it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps 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.

What says the golden chest? ha! let me see: 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' What many men desire! that 'many' may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; Which pries not to the 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 It is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps rank me with the barbarous multitudes.

Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:' And well said too; for who shall go about To cozen fortune and be honourable Without the stamp of merit?

Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O, that estates, degrees and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchased by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover that stand bare! How many be commanded that command! How much low peasantry would then be glean'd From the true seed of honour!

and how much honour Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times To be new-varnish'd! Well, but to my choice: 'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' I will assume desert.

Give me a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. He opens the silver casket PORTIA Too long a pause for that which you find there. ARRAGON 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.' Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? PORTIA To offend, and judge, are distinct offices And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON What is here? Reads The fire seven times tried this: Seven times tried that judgment is, That did never choose amiss. Some there be that shadows kiss; Such have but a shadow's bliss: There be fools alive, I wis, Silver'd o'er; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head: So be gone: you are sped. Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here With one 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. Exeunt Arragon and train PORTIA Thus hath the candle singed the moth. O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. NERISSA The ancient saying is no heresy, Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. PORTIA Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Servant Servant Where is my lady? PORTIA Here: what would my lord? Servant Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord; From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, Gifts of rich value.

Yet I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love: A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. PORTIA No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, Thou 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. NERISSA Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter SALANIO and SALARINO SALANIO Now, what news on the Rialto? SALARINO Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word.

SALANIO I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,--O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!-- SALARINO Come, the full stop.

SALANIO Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship. SALARINO I would it might prove the end of his losses. SALANIO Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. Enter SHYLOCK How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCK You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight. SALARINO That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. SALANIO And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. SHYLOCK She is damned for it. SALANIO That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. SHYLOCK My own flesh and blood to rebel! SALANIO Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years? SHYLOCK I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods than there is between red wine and rhenish.

But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no? SHYLOCK There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon the mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond.

SALARINO Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh: what's that good for? SHYLOCK 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 in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

Enter a Servant Servant Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and desires to speak with you both. SALARINO We have been up and down to seek him. Enter TUBAL SALANIO Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant SHYLOCK How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa?

hast thou found my daughter? TUBAL I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. SHYLOCK Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter 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 spent 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 in luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears but of my shedding.

TUBAL Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in Genoa,-- SHYLOCK What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? TUBAL Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. SHYLOCK I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true? TUBAL I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. SHYLOCK I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news! ha, ha! where? in Genoa? TUBAL Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one night fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCK Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting! fourscore ducats! TUBAL There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. SHYLOCK I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture him: I am glad of it. TUBAL One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCK 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.

TUBAL But Antonio is certainly undone. SHYLOCK Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal. Exeunt SCENE II. Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and Attendants PORTIA 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 should 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 I am then 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 have o'erlook'd me it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps divided me; One half of me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

O, 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. I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time, To eke it and to draw it out in length, To stay you from election.

BASSANIO Let me choose For as I am, I live upon the rack. PORTIA Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess What treason there is mingled with your love. BASSANIO None but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: There may as well be amity and life 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. PORTIA Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, Where men enforced do speak anything. BASSANIO Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIA Well then, confess and live. BASSANIO 'Confess' and 'love' Had been the very sum of my confession: O happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance! But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

PORTIA Away, then! I am lock'd 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 lose, he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music: that the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream And watery death-bed for him. He may win; And what is music then? Then music is Even as the flourish when true subjects bow To a new-crowned monarch: such it is As are those dulcet sounds in break of day That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, And summon him to marriage.

Now he goes, With no less presence, but with much more love, Than young Alcides, when he did redeem The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, With bleared visages, come forth to view The issue of the exploit.

Go, Hercules! Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay I view the fight than thou that makest the fray. Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself SONG. Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell I'll begin it,--Ding, dong, bell.

ALL Ding, dong, bell. BASSANIO 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? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts: How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; And these assume but valour's excrement To render them redoubted!

Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it: So are those crisped snaky golden locks Which make 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 sepulchre.

Thus ornament is but the guiled shore To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. Therefore, 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 meagre lead, Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence; And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA [Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love, Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy, In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. I feel too much thy blessing: make it less, For fear I surfeit. BASSANIO What find I here? Opening the leaden casket Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god Hath come so near creation?

Move these eyes? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,-- How could he see to do them? having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his And leave itself unfurnish'd.

Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune.

Reads You that choose not by the view, Chance as fair and choose as true! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new, If you be well pleased with this And hold your fortune for your bliss, 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 pearls of praise be his or no; So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

PORTIA 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; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich; That only to stand high in your account, I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account; but the full sum of me Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; 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.

Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted: but now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o'er myself: 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 it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps from, lose, or give away, Let it presage the ruin of your love And be my vantage it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps exclaim on you.

BASSANIO Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; And there is such confusion in my powers, As after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude; Where every something, being blent together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, Express'd and not express'd.

But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence: O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead! NERISSA My lord and lady, it is now our time, That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady! GRATIANO 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 honours mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, Even at that time I may be married too.

BASSANIO With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. GRATIANO 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, And sweating until my very roof was dry With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, I got a promise of this fair one here To have her love, provided that your fortune Achieved her mistress. PORTIA Is this true, Nerissa? NERISSA Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. BASSANIO And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? GRATIANO Yes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIO Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. GRATIANO We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats. NERISSA What, and stake down? GRATIANO 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?

Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice BASSANIO Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither; If that the youth of my new interest here Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIA So do I, my lord: They are entirely welcome. LORENZO I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, 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. SALERIO I did, my lord; And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio Commends him to you. Gives Bassanio a letter BASSANIO Ere I ope his letter, I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. SALERIO Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there Will show you his estate.

GRATIANO Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? I know he will be glad of our success; We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

SALERIO I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost. PORTIA There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper, That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek: Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man. What, worse and worse! With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of anything That this same paper brings you. BASSANIO 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 lady, 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 fail'd? 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? SALERIO Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, He would not take it. Never did I know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen and greedy to confound a man: He plies the duke at morning and at night, And doth impeach the freedom of the state, If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, The duke himself, and the magnificoes Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond.

JESSICA When I was with him I have heard him swear To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio's flesh Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him: and I know, my lord, If law, authority and power deny not, It will go hard with poor Antonio.

PORTIA Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? BASSANIO The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies, and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears Than any that draws breath in Italy. PORTIA What sum owes he the Jew? BASSANIO For me three thousand ducats. PORTIA 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; For never shall you lie by Portia's side With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold To pay the petty debt twenty times over: 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 friends welcome, show a merry cheer: Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.

PORTIA O love, dispatch all business, and be gone! BASSANIO Since I have your good leave to go away, I will make haste: but, till I come again, No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. Exeunt SCENE III. Venice. A street. Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler SHYLOCK Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy; This is the fool that lent out money gratis: Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO Hear me yet, good Shylock. SHYLOCK I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond: I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.

Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause; But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs: The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder, Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond To come abroad with him at his request. ANTONIO I pray thee, hear me speak. SHYLOCK I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: I'll 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. Follow not; I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond. Exit SALARINO It is the most impenetrable cur That ever kept with men. ANTONIO Let him alone: I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. He seeks my life; his reason well I know: I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures Many that have at times made moan to me; Therefore he hates me.

SALARINO I am sure the duke Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. ANTONIO The duke cannot deny the course of law: For the commodity that strangers have With us in Venice, if it be denied, Will much impeach the justice of his state; Since that the trade and profit of the city Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: These griefs and losses have so bated me, That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh To-morrow to my bloody creditor.

Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come To see me pay his debt, and then I care not! Exeunt SCENE IV. Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR LORENZO Madam, although I speak it in your presence, You have a noble and a true conceit Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly In bearing thus the absence of your lord. But if you knew to whom you show this honour, How true a gentleman you send relief, How dear a lover of my lord your husband, I know you would be prouder of the work Than customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIA I never did repent for doing good, Nor shall not now: for in companions That do converse and waste the time together, Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love, There must be needs a like proportion Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit; Which makes me think that this Antonio, Being the bosom lover of my lord, Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, How little is the cost I have bestow'd In purchasing the semblance of my soul From out the state of hellish misery!

This comes too near the praising of myself; Therefore no more of it: hear other things. 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.

I do desire you Not to deny this imposition; The which my love and some necessity Now lays upon you. LORENZO Madam, with all my heart; I shall obey you in it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps fair commands.

PORTIA My people do already know my mind, And will acknowledge you and Jessica In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZO Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you! JESSICA I wish your ladyship all heart's content. PORTIA I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica. Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO Now, Balthasar, As I have ever found thee honest-true, So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, And use thou all the endeavour of a man In speed to Padua: see thou render this Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed Unto the tranect, to the common ferry Which trades to Venice.

Waste no time in words, But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee. BALTHASAR Madam, I go with all convenient speed. Exit PORTIA Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands Before they think of us. NERISSA Shall they see us? PORTIA They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit, That they shall think we are accomplished With that 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, And wear my dagger with the braver grace, And speak between the change of man and boy With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps Into a manly stride, and speak of frays Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies, How honourable ladies sought my love, Which I denying, they fell sick and died; I could not do withal; then I'll repent, And wish for all that, that I had not killed them; And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, That men shall swear I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth.

I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, Which I will practise. NERISSA Why, shall we turn to men? PORTIA Fie, what a question's that, If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!

But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device When I am in my coach, which stays for us At the park gate; and therefore haste away, For we must measure twenty miles to-day. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A garden. Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA LAUNCELOT Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think you are damned.

There is but one hope in it that can do you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. JESSICA And what hope is that, I pray thee? LAUNCELOT Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. JESSICA That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. LAUNCELOT Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone both ways.

JESSICA I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a Christian. LAUNCELOT Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians enow before; e'en as many as could well live, one by another. This making Christians will raise the price of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

Enter LORENZO JESSICA I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes. LORENZO I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners. JESSICA 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: and he says, you are no good member of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price of pork.

LORENZO I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. LAUNCELOT It is much that the Moor should be more than reason: but if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for. LORENZO How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.

Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. LAUNCELOT That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. LORENZO Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid them prepare dinner. LAUNCELOT That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word. LORENZO Will you cover then, sir? LAUNCELOT Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. LORENZO Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

LAUNCELOT For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. Exit LORENZO O dear discretion, how his words are suited! The fool hath planted in his memory An army of good words; and I do know A many fools, that stand in better place, Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word Defy the matter.

How cheerest thou, Jessica? And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICA Past all expressing. It is very meet The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; For, having such a blessing in his lady, He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; And if on earth he do not mean it, then In reason he should never come to heaven Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match And on the wager lay two earthly women, And Portia one, there must be something else Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world Hath not her fellow.

LORENZO Even such a husband Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. JESSICA Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. LORENZO I will anon: first, let us go to dinner. JESSICA Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. LORENZO No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; ' Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things I shall digest it. JESSICA Well, I'll set you forth.

Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Venice. A court of justice. Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others DUKE What, is Antonio here? ANTONIO Ready, so please your grace. DUKE 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. ANTONIO I have heard Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.

DUKE Go one, and call the Jew into the court. SALERIO He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord. Enter SHYLOCK DUKE 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 thy mercy and remorse more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; And where thou now exact'st the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, But, touch'd 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, Enow to press a royal merchant down And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd To offices of tender courtesy.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. SHYLOCK I have possess'd 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 humour: is it answer'd?

What if my house be troubled with a rat And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet? Some men there are love not a gaping pig; Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, Cannot contain their urine: for affection, Mistress 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 render'd, Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; Why he, a harmless necessary cat; Why he, a woollen 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 answer'd? BASSANIO This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. SHYLOCK I am not bound to please thee with my answers. BASSANIO Do all men kill the things they do not love? SHYLOCK Hates any man the thing he would not kill? BASSANIO Every offence is not a hate at first. SHYLOCK What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? ANTONIO 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 use question with the wolf Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops and to make no noise, When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; 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, Make no more offers, use no farther means, But with all brief and plain conveniency Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIO For thy three thousand ducats here is six. SHYLOCK What judgment shall I dread, doing Were in six parts and every part a ducat, I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKE How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? SHYLOCK 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, marry them to your heirs? Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds Be made as soft as yours and let their palates Be season'd with such viands?

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? DUKE Upon my power I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here to-day.

SALERIO My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. DUKE Bring us the letter; call the messenger. BASSANIO Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIO 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 employ'd, Bassanio, Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk DUKE Came you from Padua, from Bellario? NERISSA From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

Presenting a letter BASSANIO Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? SHYLOCK To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANO Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can, No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? SHYLOCK No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. GRATIANO O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog! And for thy life let justice be accused. Thou almost makest it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps waver in my faith To hold opinion with Pythagoras, That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, Infused itself in thee; for thy desires Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

SHYLOCK 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. DUKE This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court. Where is he? NERISSA He attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKE With all my heart. Some three or four of you Go give him courteous conduct to this place. Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

Clerk [Reads] 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 Balthasar. 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.

I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation. DUKE You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes: And here, I take it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps, is the doctor come. Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIA I did, my lord. DUKE You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? PORTIA I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? DUKE Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. PORTIA Is your name Shylock? SHYLOCK Shylock is my name. PORTIA 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?

ANTONIO Ay, so he says. PORTIA Do you confess the bond? ANTONIO I do. PORTIA Then must the Jew be merciful. SHYLOCK On what compulsion must I? tell me that. PORTIA The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre 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 sceptred 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. SHYLOCK My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA Is he not able to discharge the money? BASSANIO 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, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. 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. PORTIA 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.

SHYLOCK A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!

O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! PORTIA I pray you, let me look upon the bond. SHYLOCK Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. PORTIA Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. SHYLOCK An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?

No, not for Venice. PORTIA 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. SHYLOCK 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.

ANTONIO Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. PORTIA Why then, thus it is: You must prepare your bosom for his knife. SHYLOCK O noble judge! O excellent young man! PORTIA For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! How much more elder art thou than thy looks! PORTIA Therefore lay bare your bosom. SHYLOCK Ay, his breast: So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?

'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words. PORTIA It is so. Are there balance here to weigh The flesh? SHYLOCK I have them ready. PORTIA Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. SHYLOCK Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA It is not so express'd: but what of that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. SHYLOCK I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. PORTIA You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIO But little: I am arm'd and well prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; For herein Fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such misery doth she cut me off.

Commend me to your honourable 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 presently with all my heart. BASSANIO Antonio, I am it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps 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 esteem'd above thy life: I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you.

PORTIA Your wife would give you little thanks for that, If she were by, to hear you make the offer. GRATIANO 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. NERISSA 'Tis well you offer it behind her back; The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCK These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter; Would any of the stock of Barrabas Had been her husband rather than a Christian! Aside We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence. PORTIA A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: The court awards it, and the law doth give it. SHYLOCK Most rightful judge! PORTIA And you must cut this flesh from off his breast: The law allows it, and the court awards it. SHYLOCK Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare! PORTIA 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 it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps 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.

GRATIANO O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge! SHYLOCK Is that the law? PORTIA Thyself shalt see the act: For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. GRATIANO O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge! SHYLOCK I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice And let the Christian go. BASSANIO Here is the money. PORTIA Soft! The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste: He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! PORTIA Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more Or less than a just pound, be it but so much As makes it light or heavy in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. PORTIA Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. SHYLOCK Give me my principal, and let me go. BASSANIO I have it ready for thee; here it is. PORTIA He hath refused it in the open court: He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANO A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. SHYLOCK Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. SHYLOCK Why, then the devil give him good of it! I'll stay no longer question. PORTIA 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; For it appears, by manifest proceeding, That indirectly and directly too Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd The danger formerly by me rehearsed.

Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. GRATIANO Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

DUKE That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits, 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. PORTIA Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCK 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. PORTIA What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANO A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. ANTONIO 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 will 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 favour, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

DUKE He shall do this, or else I do recant The pardon that I late pronounced here. PORTIA Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCK I am content. PORTIA Clerk, draw a deed of gift. SHYLOCK I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; I am not well: send the deed after me, And I will sign it. DUKE Get thee gone, but do it. GRATIANO In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers: Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. Exit SHYLOCK DUKE Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. PORTIA I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: I must away this night toward Padua, And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKE I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. Antonio, gratify this gentleman, For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

Exeunt Duke it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps his train BASSANIO Most worthy gentleman, 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. ANTONIO And stand indebted, over and above, In love and service to you evermore. PORTIA He is well paid that is well satisfied; And I, delivering you, am satisfied And therein do account myself well paid: My mind was never yet more mercenary.

I pray you, know me when we meet again: I wish you well, and so I take my leave. BASSANIO 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. PORTIA You press me far, and therefore I will yield. To ANTONIO Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake; To BASSANIO 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.

BASSANIO This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle! I will not shame myself to give you this. PORTIA I will have nothing else but only this; And now methinks I have a mind to it. BASSANIO There's more depends on this than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, And find it out by proclamation: Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIA 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 answer'd. BASSANIO Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; And when she put it on, she made me vow That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. PORTIA That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. An if your wife be not a mad-woman, And know how well I have deserved the ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me.

Well, peace be with you! Exeunt Portia and Nerissa ANTONIO My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: Let his deservings and my love withal Be valued against your wife's commandment. BASSANIO Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst, Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste. Exit Gratiano Come, you and I will thither presently; And in the morning early will we both Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street.

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA PORTIA Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed And let him sign it: we'll away to-night And be a day before our husbands home: This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. Enter GRATIANO GRATIANO Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en My Lord Bassanio upon more advice Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat Your company at dinner. PORTIA That cannot be: His ring I do accept most thankfully: And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANO That will I do. NERISSA Sir, I would speak with you. Aside to PORTIA I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. PORTIA [Aside to NERISSA] 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. Aloud Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSA Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Belmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house. Enter LORENZO and JESSICA LORENZO 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 Troyan walls And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA In such a night Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew And saw the lion's shadow ere himself And ran dismay'd away. LORENZO 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.

JESSICA In such a night Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs That did renew old AEson. LORENZO In such a night Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew And with an unthrift love did run from Venice As far as Belmont. JESSICA 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. LORENZO In such a night Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICA I would out-night you, did no body come; But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter STEPHANO LORENZO Who comes so fast in silence of the night? STEPHANO A friend. LORENZO A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO Stephano is my name; and I bring word My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. LORENZO Who comes with her? STEPHANO None but a holy hermit and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? LORENZO He is not, nor we have not heard from him. But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

Enter LAUNCELOT LAUNCELOT Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! LORENZO Who calls? LAUNCELOT Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! LORENZO Leave hollaing, man: here. LAUNCELOT Sola! where? where? LORENZO Here. LAUNCELOT Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news: my master will be here ere morning. Exit LORENZO Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.

And yet no matter: why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand; And bring your music forth into the air. Exit Stephano 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 patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

Enter Musicians Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn! With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. Music JESSICA I am never merry when I hear sweet music. LORENZO 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 but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA PORTIA 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.

NERISSA When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. PORTIA So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Unto the king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark! NERISSA It is your music, madam, of the house. PORTIA Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. PORTIA 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 season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion And would not be awaked. Music ceases LORENZO That is the voice, Or I am much deceived, of Portia. PORTIA He knows me as it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice.

LORENZO Dear lady, welcome home. PORTIA We have been praying for our husbands' healths, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd? LORENZO Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, To signify their coming. PORTIA 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.

A tucket sounds LORENZO Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. PORTIA This night methinks is but the daylight sick; It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers BASSANIO We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. PORTIA Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me: But God sort all!

You are welcome home, my lord. BASSANIO I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. PORTIA You should in all sense be much bound to him. For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. ANTONIO No more than I am well acquitted of. PORTIA Sir, you are very welcome to our house: It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. GRATIANO [To NERISSA] 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.

PORTIA A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? GRATIANO 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.' NERISSA 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 And that it should lie with you in your grave: 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. GRATIANO He will, an if he live to be a man. NERISSA Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANO 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 begg'd it as a fee: I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIA 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 should be mad at it. BASSANIO [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off And swear I lost the ring defending it. GRATIANO My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; And neither man nor master would take aught But the two rings.

PORTIA What ring gave you my lord? Not that, I hope, which you received of me. BASSANIO 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. PORTIA Even so void is your false heart of truth.

By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed Until I see the ring. NERISSA Nor I in yours Till I again see mine. BASSANIO 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 nought would be accepted but the ring, You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

PORTIA If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour 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 it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps 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. BASSANIO No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him And suffer'd him to go displeased away; Even he that did uphold the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?

I was enforced to send it after him; I was beset with shame and courtesy; My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it.

Pardon me, good lady; For, by these blessed candles of the night, Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. PORTIA Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you; I'll not deny him any thing I have, No, not my body nor my husband's bed: Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus: If you do not, if I be left alone, Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSA And I his clerk; therefore be well advised How you do leave me to mine own protection. GRATIANO Well, do you so; let not me take him, then; For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. ANTONIO I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. PORTIA Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. BASSANIO Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; And, in the hearing of these many friends, I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself-- PORTIA Mark you but that!

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; In each eye, one: swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit. BASSANIO Nay, but hear me: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear I never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIO 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.

PORTIA Then you shall be his surety. Give him this And bid him keep it better than the other. ANTONIO Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. BASSANIO By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! PORTIA I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. NERISSA 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. GRATIANO 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?

PORTIA Speak not so grossly. You are all 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 I set forth as soon as you And even but now return'd; I have not yet Enter'd 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 harbour suddenly: You shall not know by what strange accident I chanced on this letter.

ANTONIO I am dumb. BASSANIO Were you the doctor and I knew you not? GRATIANO Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold? NERISSA Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, Unless he live until he be a man.

BASSANIO Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow: When I am absent, then lie with my wife. ANTONIO Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; For here I read for certain that my ships Are safely come to road. PORTIA How now, Lorenzo! My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. NERISSA Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. There do I give to you and Jessica, From the rich Jew, a special it is half past nine at night he does not forget to pray before he sleeps of gift, After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

LORENZO Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people. PORTIA It is almost morning, And yet I am sure you are not satisfied Of these events at full. Let us go in; And charge us there upon inter'gatories, And we will answer all things faithfully. GRATIANO Let it be so: the first inter'gatory 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. Exeunt

Sugar: The Bitter Truth