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The Merchant of Venice, Act V

Act V, Scene 1

                        [Belmont.  Avenue to Portia's house.] 

[LORENZO and JESSICA enter.]

 

                                    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 gain 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.

 

                        [STEPHANO enters.]

 

                                    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.

 

                        [LAUNCELOT enters.]

 

                                    LAUNCELOT GOBBO

            Sola! sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

 

                                    LORENZO

            Who calls?

 

                                    LAUNCELOT GOBBO

            Sola!‑ did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo!‑ sola, sola!

 

                                    LORENZO

            Leave hollaing, man:‑ here.

 

                                    LAUNCELOT GOBBO

            Sola!‑ where? where?

 

                                    LORENZO

            Here.

 

                                    LAUNCELOT GOBBO

            Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn

            full of good news: my master will be here ere morning.

 

                        [LAUNCELOT exits.]

 

                                    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.

 

                        [STEPHANO exits.]

 

            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.

 

                        [MUSICIANS enter.]

 

            Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn!

            With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,

            And draw her home with music.

 

                        [Music plays.]

 

                                    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 naught 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.

 

                        [PORTIA and NERISSA enter.]

 

                                    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,

            Until a 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 stops.]

 

                                    LORENZO

                                                That is the voice,

            Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

 

                                    PORTIA

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

            By the bad voice.

 

                                    LORENZO

                                    Dear lady, welcome home.

 

                                    PORTIA

            We have been praying for our husbands' health,

            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 orders 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.

 

                        [BASSANIO enters with 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're 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 to 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 naught 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 of zeal, wanted the modesty

            To urge the thing held as a ceremony?

            Nerissa teaches me what to believe:

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

 

                                    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 bedfellow:

            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 deed 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.

 

                        [EVERYONE exits.]

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