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William Shakespeare. All works - - The Merchant Of Venice

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William Shakespeare. The Merchant Of Venice

THE DUKE OF VENICE THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia THE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, " " " ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia SOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio SALERIO, " " " " " GRATIANO, " " " " " LORENZO, in love with Jessica SHYLOCK, a rich Jew TUBAL, a Jew, his friend LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelot LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio BALTHASAR, servant to Portia STEPHANO, " " "
PORTIA, a rich heiress NERISSA, her waiting-maid JESSICA, daughter to Shylock
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,

     Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants
SCENE: Venice, and PORTIA'S house at Belmont
ACT I. SCENE I. Venice. A street
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. SALERIO. 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. SOLANIO. 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. SALERIO. My wind, cooling my broth,

     Would blow me to an ague when I thought

     What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

     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 bechanc'd 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. SOLANIO. Why then you are in love. ANTONIO. Fie, fie! SOLANIO. 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 fram'd 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.


     Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,

     Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;

     We leave you now with better company. SALERIO. 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 th' occasion to depart. SALERIO. Good morrow, my good lords. BASSANIO. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when.

     You grow exceeding strange; must it be so? SALERIO. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

     Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO 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 chang'd. 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 'tis 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. Fare you well; 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 anything 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 promis'd 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 abridg'd

     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 gag'd. 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 assur'd

     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 undervalu'd

     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' strond,

     And many Jasons come in quest of her.

     O my Antonio, had I but the means

     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. PORTIA'S house
Enter PORTIA with her waiting-woman, 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 come sooner by white hairs, but

     competency lives longer. PORTIA. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd. 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 to 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 who I would nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a

     living daughter curb'd 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 lott'ry that he hath

     devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead- whereof

     who chooses his meaning chooses you- will no doubt never be

     chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. 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 afear'd my lady his

     mother play'd false with a smith. NERISSA. Then is there the County Palatine. PORTIA. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'An 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-cap'ring; 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 behaviour everywhere. 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 seal'd 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. An 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 anything, Nerissa, ere I will 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, so was he call'd. NERISSA. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes

     look'd upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. PORTIA. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy


     Enter a SERVINGMAN

     How now! what news? SERVINGMAN. 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 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 gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the

     door. Exeunt
SCENE III. Venice. A public place
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. Ho, no, no, no, no; my meaning in saying he is a good man

     is to have you understand me that he is sufficient; yet his means

     are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another

     to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a

     third at Mexico, a fourth for England- and other ventures he

     hath, squand'red 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 assur'd you may. SHYLOCK. I will be assur'd 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, albeit I neither lend nor borrow

     By taking nor by giving of excess,

     Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,

     I'll break a custom. [To BASSANIO] 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,

     Methoughts you said you neither lend nor borrow

     Upon advantage. ANTONIO. I do never use it. SHYLOCK. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep-

     This Jacob from our holy Abram was,

     As his wise mother 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 int'rest; mark what Jacob did:

     When Laban and himself were compromis'd

     That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied

     Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,

     In end of autumn turned to the rams;

     And when the work of generation was

     Between these woolly breeders in the act,

     The skilful shepherd pill'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 serv'd 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. [Aside] 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 suff'rance 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 whisp'ring 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, in 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'll 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. PORTIA'S house
Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, a tawny Moor all in white, and three or four FOLLOWERS accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA, and train
PRINCE OF Morocco. Mislike me not for my complexion,

     The shadowed 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 lov'd 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 lott'ry of my destiny

     Bars me the right of voluntary choosing.

     But, if my father had not scanted me,

     And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself

     His wife who wins me by that means I told you,

     Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair

     As any comer I have look'd on yet

     For my affection. PRINCE OF 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 o'erstare 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 'a 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 band.

     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 advis'd. PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. PORTIA. First, forward to the temple. After dinner

     Your hazard shall be made. PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Good fortune then,

     To make me blest or cursed'st among men!

     [Cornets, and exeunt]
SCENE II. Venice. A street
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 rul'd 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 incarnation; 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 commandment; 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, which 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


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Она: НАДО УЖИН ПРИГОТОВИТЬ УСТАЛА С РАБОТЫ ПОЙДЕШЬ КУПИ КУРИЦУ ПЛИЗ ПОУЖИНАЕМ ВМЕСТЕ. Он ей в ответ: ХОРОШО спустя некоторой время ей на телефон приходит СМС от него: ЦЕЛУЮ Она в шоке - 8 лет в браке страсть уже прошла а тут такие слова Пишет ему ответ: МИЛЫЙ Я ТЕБЯ ТОЖЕ ОЧЕНЬ ЛЮБЛЮ И НЕЖНО ЦЕЛУЮ ТЕБЯ В ГУБКИ Он перезванивает: ОЛЯ,ДУРА БЛЯ Курицу спрашиваю ЦЕЛУЮ брать?
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