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To win the Lady. But alas, the while,

If Hercules and Lychas 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 Rage,

And fo may I, blind Fortune leading me,
Mifs that which one unworthier may attain,
And dye with grieving.

Por. You must take your Chance,

And either not attempt to chufe at all,

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

In way of Marriage; therefore be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; come bring me unto my Chance.
Por. First forward to the Temple, after Dinner

Your hazard fhall be made.

Mor. Good Fortune then,

To make me bleft or curfed'ft among Men,

SCENE II. Venice.

Enter Launcelot alone.

[Cornets [Exeunt

Laun. Certainly, my Confcience will ferve me to run from this Few my Mafter: The Fiend is at my Elbow, and attempts me, faying to me, Job, Launcelot Job, good Launcelot, or good Job, or good Launcelot Job, ufe your Legs, take the ftart, run away: My Confcience fays no; take heed, honeft Launcelot, take heed, honeft Job, or as aforefaid, honeft Launcelot Job, do not run, fcorn running with thy Heels: Well, the moft couragious Fiend bids me pack, Via fays the Fiend, away fays the Fiend, for the Heav'ns roufe up a brave Mind, fays the Fiend, and run. Well, my Con fcience hanging about the Neck of my Heart, fays very wifely to me, My honeft Friend Launcelot, being an honeft Man's Son, or rather an honeft Woman's Son for in deed my Father did fomething fmack, fomething grow too; he had a kind of tafte-Well, my Confcience fays, Laun celot budge not; budge, fays the Fiend; budge not, fays my Confcience; Confcience, fay I, you counsel well; Fiend, fay I, you counsel well; to be rul'd by my Confci


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ence I fhould ftay with the Jew my Mafter, who, God bless the Mark, is a kind of Devil; and to run away from the Jew I fhould be ruled by the Fiend, who, faving your Reverence, is the Devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very Devil Incarnation, and in my Confcience, my Confcience is a kind of hard Confcience, to offer to counsel me to ftay with the Jew; the Fiend gives the more friendly counfel; I will run, Fiend, my Heels are at your Commandment, I will run.

Enter Old Gobbo with a Basket.

Gob. Mafter Young-man, you, I pray you, which is the way to Mafter Jew's!

Laun. O Heav'ns, this is my true begotten Father, who being more than fand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try Confufions with him.

Gob. Mafter young Gentleman, I pray you which is the way to Mafter Jew's?

Laun. Turn upon your Right-hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your Left; marry at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's House.

Gob. By God's fonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit; can you tell me whither one Launcelot that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

Laun. Talk you of young Mafter Launcelot? Mark me now, now will I raife the Waters; talk you of young Mafter

Launcelot ?

Gob, No Mafter, Sir, but a poor Man's Son, his Father, tho' I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor Man, and God be thanked well to live.

Laun. Well, let his Father be what a will, we talk of young Mafter Launcelot.

Gob. Your Worship's Friend and Launcelot.

Laun. But I pray you Ergo, old Man, Ergo I befeech talk you of young Mafter Launcelot ?


Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your Mastership. Laun. Ergo Mafter Launcelot, talk not of Mafter Launcelot Father, for the young Gentleman according to Fates and Deftinies, and fuch odd Sayings, the Sifters three, and fuch Branches of Learning, is indeed deceafed, or as you would fay in plain terms, gone to Heaven.


Gob. Marry God forbid, the Boy was the very Staff of my Age, my very Prop.

Laun. Do I look like a Cudgel or a Hovel-poft, a Staff or a Prop? Do you know me, Father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young Gentleman; but I pray you tell me, is my Boy, God reft his Soul, alive or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, Father?

Gob. Alack Sir, I am fand-blind, I know you not.


Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your Eyes you might fail of the knowing me: It is a wife Father that knows his own Child. Well, old Man, I will tell you News of Son, give me your Bleffing, Truth will come to light, Murder cannot be hid long, a Man's Son may, but in the end Truth will not.

Gob. Pray you Sir stand up, I am fure you are not Launcelot my Boy.

Laun. Pray you let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your Bleffing; I am Launcelot, your Boy that was, your Son that is, your Child that fhall be.

Gob. I cannot think you are my Son.

Laun. I know not what I fhall think of that: But I am Launcelot the Jew's Man, and I am fure Margery your Wife is my Mother.

Gob. Her Name is Margery indeed, I'll be fworn if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own Flesh and Blood: Lord worship'd might he be! what a Beard haft thou got; thou haft got more hair on thy Chin, than Dobbin my Phil-horse has on his Tail.

Laun. It should seem then that Dobbin's Tail grows backward. I am fure he had more Hair on his Tail than I have on my Face when I laft faw him.

Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy Mafter agree? I have brought him a Prefent; how gree you now?

Laun. Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have set up my reft to run away, fo I will not reft 'till I have run fome ground: My Master's a very Jew: Give him a Present! give him a Halter: I am famish'd in his Service. You may tell every Finger I have with my Ribs. Father I am glad you are come, give me your Prefent to one Mafter Baffanio,


who indeed gives rare new Liveries; If I ferve him not, I will run as far as God has any Ground. O rare Fortune, here comes the Man; to him Father, for I am a Few if I ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Baffanio with a Follower or two.

Ball. You may do fo, but let it be fo hafted, that Supper be ready at the fartheft by five of the Clock: See these Letters deliver'd, put the Liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my Lodging.

Laun. To him, Father.

Gob. God bless your Worship.

Baff. Gramercy, would'ft thou ought with me?
Gob. Here's my Son, Sir, a poor Boy.

Laun. Not a poor Boy, Sir, but the Rich Jew's Man that would, Sir, as my Father thall specifie.

Gob. He hath a great Infection, Sir, as one would fay, to ferve.

Laun. Indeed the short and the long is, I ferve the Jew, and have a defire as my Father fhall fpecifie.

Gob. His Mafter and he, faving your Worship's Reverence, are scarce Catercoufins.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth caufe me, as my Father, being I hope an old Man, fhall frutifie unto you.

Gob. I have here a Dish of Doves that I would beftow upon your Worship, and my Suit is

Laun. In very brief, the Suit is impertinent to my self, as your Worship fhall know by this honeft old Man; and, though I fay it, though old Man, yet poor Man my Father.

Baff. One fpeak for both, what would you?

- Laun. Serve you, Sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, Sir.

Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy Suit; Shylock, thy Mafter, fpoke 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 fo poor a Gentleman.

Lann. The old Proverb is very well parted between my Mafter Shylock and you, Sir, you have the Grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough.

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Baff. Thou fpeak'ft it well; go Father with thy Son,
Take leave of thy old Mafter, and enquire
My Lodging out; give him a Livery,

More guarded than his Fellows: See it done.

Laun. Father in, I cannot get a Service, no; I have neʼer a Tongue in my Head; well, if any Man in Italy have a fairer Table which doth offer to fwear upon a Book, I fhall have good Fortune; go too, here's a fimple Line of Life, here's fmall trifle of Wives, alas, fifteen Wives is nothing, eleven Widows and nine Maids is a fimple coming in for one Man, and then to 'fcape Drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my Life with the edge of a Feather Bead, here are fimple 'fcapes: Well, if Fortune be a Woman, she's a good Wench for this gere. Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling Exit Laun. and Gob. Baff. I pray thee, good Leonardo,, think on this, These things being bought and orderly bestowed, Return in hafte, for I do feaft to night

My beft efteem'd Acquaintance, hie thee, gone.
Leon. My beft Endeavours fhall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Where's your Master?

Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks.

Gra. Signior Baffanio.

Ball. Gratiano.

Gra. I have a Suit to you.

Baff. You have obtain'd it.

Gra. You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont

Baff. Why then you muft: But hear thee, Gratiano,
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of Voice,
Parts that become thee happily enough,

And in fuch Eyes as ours appear not Faults;

But where they are not known, why there they fhew
Something too liberal, pray thee take pain

To allay with fome cold drops of Modefty

Thy skipping Spirit, left through thy wild Behaviour
I be mifconftru'd in the Place I go to,
And lofe my Hopes.


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