The Merchant of Venice Read online

  LINGUISTIC MEDIUM: 80% verse, 20% prose.

  DATE: Registered for publication July 1598 and mentioned in Francis Meres’ 1598 list of Shakespeare’s comedies; reference to a ship called the Andrew suggests late 1596 or early 1597, when the Spanish vessel St. Andrew, which had been captured at Cadiz after running aground, was much in the news.

  SOURCES: There are many ancient and medieval folk variations on the motif of a body part demanded as surety for a bond. The setting of the story in Venice, the pursuit of “the lady of Belmonte” as the reason the hero needs the money, the bond being made by a friend rather than the hero himself, the identification of the moneylender as a Jew, and the lady disguising herself as a male lawyer, coming to Venice and arguing that the bond does not allow for the shedding of blood all come from a tale in Ser Giovanni Fiorentino’s collection Il Pecorone (“The Dunce,” in Italian, published 1558—no English translation). A lost English play of the 1570s called The Jew may have been an intervening source. The character of Shylock and the elopement of his daughter with a Christian are strongly shaped by Christopher Marlowe’s highly successful play The Jew of Malta (c.1590). The choice between three caskets as a device to identify a worthy marriage partner is another ancient motif; the closest surviving precedent is a story in the medieval Gesta Romanorum (translated by Richard Robinson, 1577, revised 1595 with use of the rare word “insculpt,” which is echoed in Morocco’s speech).

  TEXT: Quarto 1600: a good quality text, apparently set from a fair copy of the dramatist’s manuscript; reprinted 1619, with some errors and some corrections. Folio text was set from a copy of the first Quarto, making some corrections, introducing some errors, and apparently drawing on a theatrical manuscript for stage directions, including music cues. We follow Folio where it corrects or modernizes Quarto, but restore Quarto where Folio changes appear to be printers’ errors. The only serious textual problem concerns the Venetian gentlemen known in the theatrical profession as the “Salads.” They are initially identified in entry directions and speech headings as “Salarino” and “Solanio” (variously abbreviated, most commonly to “Sal.” and “Sol.”), but never named in the dialogue, so are unidentified from the point of view of a theater audience. Folio reverses their speech headings at the beginning of the opening scene, probably erroneously. In Act 3 Scene 2 “Salerio” arrives in Belmont as “a messenger from Venice”; he is named in the dialogue, so identifiable to the audience. Is this a third character, a composite of the first two, or—more probably—has Shakespeare forgotten that he began with “Salarino”? In the following scene, Quarto has “Salerio” back in Venice with Antonio and Shylock, which must be an error—he has only just exited from Belmont with Bassanio. Folio intelligently corrects the Act 3 Scene 3 entry direction to “Solanio.” In Act 4 Scene 1, “Salerio” has returned with Bassanio. Some editions and productions have retained Salarino, Solanio, and Salerio, but it seems more likely that Salarino and Salerio are intended to be the same character: we have followed this assumption.

  THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

  LIST OF PARTS

  ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice

  BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia

  LORENZO, friend of Antonio and Bassanio, in love with Jessica

  GRATIANO, friend of Antonio and Bassanio

  Friends of Antonio and Bassanio:

  SALERIO

  SOLANIO

  LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio

  PORTIA, an heiress

  NERISSA, her gentlewoman-in-waiting

  BALTHASAR, servant to Portia

  STEPHANO, servant to Portia

  Prince of ARAGON, suitor to Portia

  Prince of MOROCCO, suitor to Portia

  SHYLOCK, a Jew of Venice

  JESSICA, his daughter

  TUBAL, a Jew, Shylock’s friend

  LANCELET GOBBO, the clown, servant to Shylock and later Bassanio

  OLD GOBBO, Lancelet’s father

  DUKE of Venice

  Magnificoes of Venice

  A Jailer, Attendants and Servants

  Act 1 [Scene 1]

  running scene 1

  Location: Venice

  Enter Antonio, Salerio and Solanio

  ANTONIO In sooth1 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 stuff4 ’tis made of, whereof it is born,

  I am to learn5:

  And such a want-wit6 sadness makes of me

  That I have much ado7 to know myself.

  SALERIO Your mind is tossing on8 the ocean,

  There where your argosies9 with portly sail

  Like signiors10 and rich burghers on the flood,

  Or as it were the pageants11 of the sea,

  Do overpeer12 the petty traffickers

  That curtsy13 to them, do them reverence,

  As they fly14 by them with their woven wings.

  SOLANIO Believe me, sir, had I such venture15 forth,

  The better part16 of my affections would

  Be with my hopes17 abroad. I should be still

  Plucking the grass to know where sits18 the wind,

  Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads19,

  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 ague24, when I thought

  What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

  I should26 not see the sandy hour-glass run,

  But I should think of shallows and of flats27,

  And see my wealthy Andrew28 docked in sand,

  Vailing29 her high top lower than her ribs

  To kiss her burial30; should I go to church

  And see the holy edifice of stone,

  And not bethink me straight32 of dang’rous rocks,

  Which touching but33 my gentle vessel’s side,

  Would scatter all her spices on the stream34,

  Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks35,

  And in a word, but even36 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 bechanced39 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 bottom43 trusted,

  Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate44

  Upon45 the fortune of this present year:

  Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

  SALERIO Why, then you are in love.

  ANTONIO Fie48, 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 Janus52,

  Nature hath framed53 strange fellows in her time:

  Some that will evermore peep54 through their eyes

  And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper55,

  And other56 of such vinegar aspect

  That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile,

  Though58 Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

  Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano

  SOLANIO Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,

  Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well,

  We leave you now with better company.

  SALERIO I would have stayed till I had made you merry,

  If worthier friends had not prevented63 me.

  ANTONIO Your worth is very dear64 in my regard.

  I take it your own business calls on you,

  And you embrace66 th’occasion to depart.

  SALERIO Good morrow, my good lords.

  BASSANIO Good signiors both, when
shall we laugh68? Say, when?

  You grow exceeding strange69. Must it be so?

  SALERIO We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours70.

  Exeunt Salerio and Solanio

  LORENZO My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,

  We two will leave you, but at dinnertime

  I pray you have in mind73 where we must meet.

  BASSANIO I will not fail you.

  GRATIANO You look not well, Signior Antonio.

  You have too much respect upon the world76:

  They lose it77 that do buy it with much care.

  Believe me, you are marvellously78 changed.

  ANTONIO I hold79 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 old83 wrinkles come,

  And let my liver84 rather heat with wine

  Than my heart cool with mortifying groans85.

  Why should a man whose blood is warm within,

  Sit like his grandsire87 cut in alabaster?

  Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundices88

  By being peevish89? I tell thee what, Antonio—

  I love thee, and it is my love that speaks—

  There are a sort of men whose visages91

  Do cream and mantle92 like a standing pond,

  And do a wilful93 stillness entertain,

  With purpose to be dressed in an opinion94

  Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit95,

  As who should say96, ‘I am, sir, an oracle,

  And when I ope97 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 fools101.

  I’ll tell thee more of this another time.

  But fish not with this melancholy bait104

  For this fool105 gudgeon, this opinion.

  Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile,

  I’ll end my exhortation107 after dinner.

  LORENZO Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime.

  To Antonio and Bassanio

  I must be one of these same dumb109 wise men,

  For Gratiano never lets me speak.

  GRATIANO Well, keep me company but two years more,

  Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

  ANTONIO Fare you well, I’ll grow113 a talker for this gear.

  GRATIANO Thanks, i’faith, for silence is only commendable

  In a neat’s tongue dried115 and a maid not vendible.

  Exit [Gratiano with Lorenzo]

  ANTONIO Is that anything now?116

  BASSANIO Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more

  than any man in all Venice. His reasons118 are two grains of

  wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere119

  you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth

  the search.

  ANTONIO Well, tell me now, what lady is the same122

  To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage

  That you today promised to tell me of?

  BASSANIO ’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,

  How much I have disabled126 mine estate

  By something127 showing a more swelling port

  Than my faint128 means would grant continuance.

  Nor do I now make moan129 to be abridged

  From such a noble rate130, but my chief care

  Is to come fairly off from131 the great debts

  Wherein my time132 something too prodigal

  Hath left me gaged133. To you, Antonio,

  I owe the most in money and in love,

  And from your love I have a warranty135

  To unburden136 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 honour140, be assured

  My purse, my person, my extremest means,

  Lie all unlocked to your occasions142.

  BASSANIO In my schooldays, when I had lost one shaft143,

  I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight144

  The selfsame way with more advisèd145 watch

  To find the other forth146, and by adventuring both

  I oft found both. I urge147 this childhood proof

  Because what follows is pure innocence148.

  I owe you much and, like a wilful youth,

  That which I owe is lost. But if you please

  To shoot another arrow that self151 way

  Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,

  As I will watch the aim, or153 to find both,

  Or bring your latter hazard154 back again,

  And thankfully rest155 debtor for the first.

  ANTONIO You know me well, and herein spend but156 time

  To wind about my love with circumstance157,

  And out of158 doubt you do me now more wrong

  In making question of my uttermost159

  Than if you had made waste160 of all I have.

  Then do but161 say to me what I should do

  That in your knowledge may by me be done,

  And I am pressed163 unto it: therefore speak.

  BASSANIO In Belmont is a lady richly left164,

  And she is fair and, fairer than that word,

  Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes166 from her eyes

  I did receive fair speechless messages.

  Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued

  To168 Cato169’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia.

  Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,

  For the four winds blow in from every coast

  Renownèd suitors, and her sunny locks

  Hang on her temples like a golden fleece173,

  Which makes her seat174 of Belmont Colchos’ strand,

  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 presages178 me such thrift,

  That I should questionless179 be fortunate.

  ANTONIO Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea,

  Neither have I money, nor commodity181

  To raise a present182 sum: therefore go forth.

  Try183 what my credit can in Venice do,

  That shall be racked184, even to the uttermost,

  To furnish thee185 to Belmont, to fair Portia.

  Go presently186 inquire, and so will I,

  Where money is, and I no question make

  To have it of my trust188 or for my sake.

  Exeunt

  [Act 1 Scene 2]

  running scene 2

  Location: Belmont

  Enter Portia with her waiting woman, Nerissa

  PORTIA By my troth1, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this

  great world.

  NERISSA You would be3, sweet madam, if your miseries were

  in the same abundance as your good fortunes are, and yet,

  for aught5 I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as

  they that starve with nothing; it is no small happiness,

  therefore, to be seated in the mean7. Superfluity comes sooner

  by white hairs, but competency8 lives longer.

  PORTIA Good sentences9 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 divine13 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 blood16, but a hot temper

  leaps o’er a cold decree17—such a hare is madness the youth,

  to skip o’er the meshes18 of good counsel the cripple; but this

  reason is not in fashion19 to choose me a husband. O me, the

  word ‘choose!’ I may neither choose whom I would20, nor

  refuse whom I dislike, so is the will21 of a living daughter

  curbed by the will22 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 lottery25 that

  he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver and lead,

  whereof who27 chooses his meaning chooses you, will no

  doubt never be chosen by any rightly28 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 overname31 them, and as thou namest

  them, I will describe them, and according to my description

  level at33 my affection.

  NERISSA First, there is the Neapolitan34 prince.

  PORTIA Ay, that’s a colt35 indeed, for he doth nothing but talk

  of his horse, and he makes it a great appropriation36 to his

  own good parts37 that he can shoe him himself. I am much

  afraid my lady his mother played false38 with a smith.

  NERISSA Then is there the County39 Palatine.

  PORTIA He doth nothing but frown, as who40 should say, ‘An

  you will not have me, choose41.’ He hears merry tales and

  smiles not. I fear he will prove42 the weeping philosopher when

  he grows old, being so full of unmannerly43 sadness in his

  youth. I had rather to be married to a death’s-head44 with a

  bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me

  from these two!

  NERISSA How47 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 bad50

  habit of frowning than the Count Palatine. He is every man51

  in no man. If a throstle52 sing, he falls straight a capering, he

  will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I