Original subtitles

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[ Music playing ]

[ Horse hooves clopping ]

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.

Your mind is tossing on the ocean,

there, where your argosies with portly sail, like,

signors and rich burghers on the flood.

Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,

do over peer the petty traffickers

that curtsy to them, do them reverence

as they fly by them with their woven wings

Believe me, sir,

had I such ventures 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.

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 hourglass run,

but I should think of shallows and of flats

and see my wealthy Andrew docked in sand,

vailing her high top lower than her ribs

to kiss her burial.

Should I go to church to 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?

[ Clearing throat ]

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.

Believe me, no.

I thank my fortune for it.

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted

or to one place.

Or is my whole estate upon the fortunes

of this present year.

Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad.

Why, then, you are in love.

Oh, fie.

Oh. 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 bagpiper

and others of such vinegar aspect,

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.

SALARINO: I should have stayed till I made you merry

if worthier friends had not prevented me.

But your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it your own business calls on you,

and you embrace the occasion to depart.

-Good morrow, my good lords. -Good signors 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.

[ Laughter ]

My Lord Bassanio, since you found Antonio,

we two will leave you, but at dinnertime,

I pray you have in mind where we must meet.

-I will not fail you. -You look not well,

Signor Antonio.

You have too much respect upon the world.

They lose it that do buy it with much care.

Believe me, you are marvelously changed.

I hold the world

but as the world, Gratiano,

a stage where every man

must play a part,

and mine a sad one.

Well, 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 willful stillness entertain

with purpose to be dressed in an opinion

of wisdom, gravity,

profound conceit,

and as who should say, "I am Sir Oracle.

And when I open 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's gudgeon, this opinion.

Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile.

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime.

I must be one of these same dumb wise men,

for Gratiano never lets me speak.

No, keep me company but two years more.

Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO: Farewell.

I'll grow a talker for this gear.

Thanks, i'faith,

for silence is only commendable

in a neat's tongue dried

and a maid not vendible.

[ Laughter ]

[ Groaning ]

Is that anything now?

Well, 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're not worth the search.

[ Groaning ]

Well,

tell me now

what lady is the same to whom

you swore a secret pilgrimage

that you today promised to tell me of?

It is 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 those 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.

I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it.

And if it stand, as you yourself still do,

within the eye of honor,

be assured my purse, my person,

my extremest means

lie all unlocked to your occasions.

In my school days,

when I had lost one shaft,

I shot his fellow of a selfsame flight

the selfsame way with more advised watch

to find the other forth and by adventuring both,

I oft found both.

I urge this childhood proof

for what follows is pure innocence.

I owe you much.

And like a willful 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 shall watch the aim

or to find both or bring your latter hazard back again,

and thankfully rest debtor for the first.

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 pressed unto it.

Therefore, speak.

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 make her seat 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 presages me such thrift

that I should questionless be fortunate.

Hmm.

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 racked even to the uttermost

to furnish thee to Belmont,

to fair Portia.

Now 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.

[ Music playing ]

[ Door closing ]

By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary

of this great world.

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.

Good sentences and well pronounced.

They would be better if well followed.

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 instruction.

I can easier teach 20 what were good to be done

than be one of the 20 to follow mine own teaching.

The brain may devise laws for the blood

but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

But this reasoning is not in the fashion

to choose me a husband.

Oh, me, the word "choose".

I may neither choose whom I would

nor refuse whom I dislike.

So is the will of a living daughter

curbed by the will of a dead father.

[ Paper crumpling ]

Is it not hard, Nerissa,

that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

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 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 affections towards any of these princely suitors

that are already come?

I pray thee, overname them.

And as thou namest them, I will describe them.

And according to my description,

level at my affection.

First,

there is the Neapolitan prince.

Oh, aye, there'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 much afeard my lady his mother

played false with a smith.

Then, there is the County Palatine.

No. He doth nothing but frown,

as who should say, "And you will not have me, choose."

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.

How say you by the French lord,

Monsieur le Bon?

God made him and therefore let him pass for a man.

Oh, in truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker but he,

he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's,

a better bad habit of frowning

than the count of Palatine.

He's 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 20 husbands.

If he would despise me, I would forgive him,

for if he love me to madness,

I will never requite him.

What say you then to Falconbridge,

the young baron of England?

You know I say nothing to him,

for he understands not me nor I him.

He hath neither French, Latin nor Italian

and you will come into the court

and swear I have a poor pennyworth

of the English.

Hmm. He is a proper man's picture.

But, alas, who can converse with a dumb show?

And how oddly he is suited.

-How like you the young German? -Hmm?

The Duke of Saxony's nephew?

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's little better than a beast.

And the worst fall that ever fell,

I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

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.

Well, 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. -Madam.

I will do anything, Nerissa,

ere I will be married to a sponge.

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.

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'm glad this parcel of wooers is 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.

Do you not remember, lady,

in your father's time

a young Venetian,

a scholar and a soldier

that came hither in the company

of the Marquess of Montferrat?

Yes,

yes, it was Bassanio...

as I think so was he called.

True, madam.

He of all men that ever my foolish eyes

looked upon was the best

deserving a fair lady.

I remember him well,

and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

How now, what news?

The four strangers seek for you, ma'am,

to take their leave.

And there is a forerunner come from a fifth,

-the Prince of Morocco... -NERISSA: Oh.

...who brings word the prince

his master will be here tonight.

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.

-NERISSA: Shh. -Come, Nerissa.

Sirrah, go before.

Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer,

another knocks at the door.

Three thousand ducats.

Well...

Aye, sir, for three months.

For three months.

-Well... -For the which, as I told you,

Antonio shall be bound.

Antonio is to become bound.

Well...

May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?

Shall I know your answer?

Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

Your answer to that?

Antonio is a good man.

Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

[ Chuckling ]

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 for Tripolis,

another for 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,

land thieves and water thieves,

I mean pirates.

And then there is the peril

of waters, winds and rocks.

The man is notwithstanding sufficient.

Three thousand ducats, hmm...

I think I may take his bond.

Be assured you may.

Oh, I will be assured I may.

And that I may be assured, I will bethink me.

May I speak with Antonio?

If it please you to dine with us.

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,

walk with you, talk with you and so following.

But I will not eat with you,

drink with you nor pray with you.

Humph.

What news on the Rialto?

But who is he comes here?

This is Signor Antonio.

Shylock.

I'm 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?

Rest you fair, good signor.

Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

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.

Is he yet possessed how much ye would?

Aye, aye, 3000 ducats.

And for three months.

For three months, I had forgot. You told me so.

Well, then, your bond and let me see.

But soft. You-- me thoughts you said

you neither lend nor borrow upon advantage.

ANTONIO: I do never use it.

When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep,

this Jacob from our holy Abram

was as his wise mother wrought in his behalf,

the third possessor.

He was the third.

ANTONIO: And what of him?

Did he take interest?

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 streaked

and pied should fall as Jacob's hire,

the ewes, being rank in the end of autumn

turnèd to the rams.

And when the work of generation

was between these woolly breeders in the act,

the skillful shepherd peeled 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-colored lambs

and those were Jacob's.

This was a way to thrive and he was blessed

for thrifty 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 swayed and befashioned by the hand of heaven.

Was this inserted to make interest good?

Or is your gold and silver

ewes and rams?

I cannot tell, I make it breed as fast.

But note me, signor.

Mark 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.

Ugh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath.

The 3000 ducats, tis a good round sum.

Three months from twelve, then let me see.

The rate...

Well, Shylock,

shall we be beholding to you?

Signor Antonio,

many a time and often the Rialto,

you have rated me

about my moneys and my usances

and still have I borne it with a patient shrug

for sufferance is the badge

of all our tribe.

You call me misbeliever,

cutthroat dog

and spit upon my Jewish gabardine

and all for use of that which is mine own.

Well, then, now it 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

3000 ducats?"

Or should I bend low under the bondman's key

with bated breath and whispering humbleness,

say this, "Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last,

you spurned me such a time, another day you called me 'dog'

and for these courtesies, I'll lend you thus much money?"

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 a friend?

No, lend it rather to thine enemy.

Well, if he break,

thou mayst with better face exact, the penalty.

Why, look you how you storm.

I would be friends with you and have your love,

forget the shames that you have stained 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. -These were kindness?

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 expressed 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: [ Laughs ]

Content in faith,

I'll seal to such a bond

and to say there is much kindness in the Jew.

You shall not seal to such a bond for me.

I'd rather dwell in my necessity.

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 the bond.

Oh, Father Abraham, 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 favor I extend this friendship

if he will take it so. If not, adieu.

And for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

Then, go we forthwith to the notary.

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.

The Hebrew will turn Christian.

He grows kind.

I like not fair terms

and a villain's mind.

Oh, come on.

In this there can be no dismay.

My ships come home a month before the day.

Signor Bassanio.

-BASSANIO: Gratiano. -I have suit to you.

-You have obtained it. -You must not deny me.

I must go with you to Belmont.

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 appear something too liberal.

I pray thee, take pains 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.

My Lord Bassanio, hear me.

If I do not put on a sober habit,

talk with respect and swear

but now and then,

wear prayer books with my pocket,

look demurely, name more,

while grace is saying, hood mine eyes thus with my hat

and sigh and say, "Amen",

it was only observance of civility

like one well studied in this sad ostent

to please his grandam,

-never trust me more. -Hmm.

Well, we shall see your bearing.

Nay, but I bar tonight.

You shall not gauge me by what we do tonight.

No, that were pity. I would rather entreat you

to put on your boldest suit of mirth

for we have friends that purpose merriment.

But fare thee well, I have some business.

And I must to Lorenzo and the rest.

But we will visit you at suppertime.

Launcelot,

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 thou shalt see Lorenzo

who is our new master, Lord Bassanio's guest,

-give him this letter. -Oh.

Ssh. Do it secretly.

And so farewell, I would not have my father see me

-in talk with thee. -Adieu.

Tears exhibit my tongue.

Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew.

If a Christian do not play the knave and get thee,

I am much deceived.

But adieu.

These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit.

Adieu.

Farewell, good 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.

Nay, we will slink away in suppertime,

disguise us at my lodging,

and return all in an hour.

We have not made good preparation.

We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

It is vile unless it may be quaintly ordered

and better in my mind not undertook.

It is now but 4:00, we have two hours to furnish us.

Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

And it shall please you to break up this,

it shall seem to signify.

I know the hand in faith,

'tis a fair hand

and whiter than the paper it writ on

is the fair hand that writ.

Love news, in faith?

-By your leave, sir. -Whither goes thou?

Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew

to supper tonight with my new master the Christian.

Hold. Here, take this,

tell gentle Jessica I will not fail her.

Oh, and speak it privately.

Go.

Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this masque tonight?

I am provided of a torchbearer.

Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

-And so will I. -Meet me and Gratiano

at Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

It's good we do so.

Is not this letter from fair Jessica?

I must need tell thee all.

She hath directed how I shall take her

from her father's house.

What gold and jewels she is furnished with.

What page's suit she hath in readiness.

If ever the Jew her father come to heaven,

it'll be for his gentle daughter's sake.

Come, go with me.

Peruse this as thou goest.

Fair Jessica shall be my torchbearer.

Well, thou shalt see,

thy eyes shall be thy judge,

the difference of old Shylock

and Bassanio.

What, Jessica?

Thou shalt not gormandize as thou hast done with me.

What, Jessica? And sleep and snore

and rend apparel out.

-Why, Jessica, I say? -Why, Jessica?

Who bids thee call?

I do not bid thee call.

Oh, you worship was won't and tell me

I could do nothing without bidding.

Call you? What is your will?

I am bid forth to supper, Jessica.

Here are my keys.

But wherefore should I go?

I'm not bid for love.

They flatter me.

But yet I'll go in hate

and feed upon the prodigal Christian.

Jessica, my girl, Look to my house.

I'm right loath to go.

There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest

for I did dream of money bags tonight.

LAUNCELOT: I beseech you, sir, go.

My young master doth expect your reproach.

And so do I his.

And 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 6:00 in the morning. Falling out that year

on Ash Wednesday was four year in the afternoon.

-Are there masques? -Hear you me, Jessica.

Lock up my doors,

and when you hear the drum

and the vile squealing of the wry-necked fife,

clamber you not out to the casements then

nor thrust your head into the public streets

to gaze on Christian fools with varnished 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 tonight.

Yet I will go. Go you before, sirrah.

-Say I will come. -I will go before, sir.

Mistress,

look out that window for all this.

There will come a Christian by, will be worth a Jewess' eye.

What said that fool of Hagar's offspring, huh?

His words were, "Farewell, mistress."

Nothing else.

The patch is kind enough

but a huge feeder,

snail-slow in profit

and he sleeps by day more than the wildcat.

Drones hive not with me

and therefore I part with him.

And part with him to one that would have him help

to waste his borrowed 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.

Farewell,

and if my fortune be not crost,

I have a father,

you a daughter, lost.

[ Music playing ]

[ Sniffing ]

Mislike me not for my complexion.

The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,

to whom I am a neighbor

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 feared the valiant.

By my love, I swear the best-regarded virgins

of our clan have loved it too.

I would not change this hue

except to steal your thoughts,

my gentle queen.

[ Kissing ]

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 looked on yet for my affection.

Even for that,

I thank you.

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 cub from the she-bear.

Yea, mock the lion when he roar for prey

to win the lady.

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 afterwards

in way of marriage. Therefore be advised.

MOROCCO: Nor will not.

Come, bring me unto my chance.

Go, make your choice.

Hmm,

the first, of gold,

which this inscription bears,

"Who chooseth me shall gain

what many men desire."

The second, silver,

which this promise carry,

"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."

The third, dull lead,

with warning all as blunt,

"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath."

Hmm,

how shall I know

if I do choose the right?

The one of them contains my picture, Prince.

If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Some god direct my judgment.

Let me see.

I will survey...

the inscriptions back again.

[ Laughing ]

What says this leaden casket?

"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath."

Must give? For what? For lead?

Hazard all 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.

Therefore I'll give nor hazard

aught for lead.

Silver.

Silver.

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 beest 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...

[ Indistinct ]

As much as I deserve.

Why, that's the lady.

I do in birth deserve her,

and in fortunes, graces,

qualities of breeding.

But more than these,

in love I do deserve.

What if I strayed no further,

but chose here?

Oh.

Let's see once more

this saying graved in gold,

"Who chooseth me

shall gain what many men desire."

Why, that's the lady.

Deliver me the key.

Here do I choose,

and thrive I as I may.

There, take it, Prince.

And if my form lie there then I am yours.

Oh, hell,

what have we here?

A carrion death,

within whose empty eye there is a written scroll.

I'll read the writing.

All that glisters is not gold.

Often have you heard that told.

Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

Fare you well. Your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed, and labor lost.

Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost.

Portia, adieu.

I have too grieved a heart

to take a tedious leave.

Thus losers part.

[ Music playing ]

A gentle riddance.

Go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so.

[ Music playing ]

Quick, quick, I pray thee.

The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath

and comes to his election presently.

[ Music playing ]

Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince.

If you choose that wherein I am contained,

straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized.

But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,

you must be gone from hence immediately.

I am enjoined by oath

to observe...

[ Blowing ]

...three things.

-First... -But to these injunctions

every one doth swear that comes

to hazard for my worthless self.

And so have I addressed me.

Fortune now

to my heart's hope.

Gold,

[ Chuckling ]

silver,

and base lead.

"Who chooseth me

"must give and hazard

all he hath."

You shall look fairer

ere I give or hazard.

[ Chuckling ]

What says the golden casket?

Let me see.

"Who chooseth me"--

who chooseth me--

[ Laughs ]

chooseth me.

"Who chooseth me shall gain

what many men desire."

What many men desire.

By that "many"

may be meant the fool multitude

that choose by show,

not knowing 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 ready force and road of casualty.

I will--

I will not choose what many men desire

because I will not jump

with common spirits,

nor rank me with the barbarous multitude.

Why then, to thee,

thou silver treasure house.

[ Laughs ]

Tell me once more

what title thou dost bear.

"Who chooseth me."

Who chooseth me.

"Shall get as much as he deserves."

Shall get and well said, too.

For who shall go about

to cozen fortune and be honorable

without the stamp of merit?

Let none presume to wear an undeserved dignity.

Oh, the degrees, estates and offices

were not derived corruptly,

and that pure honor 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 gleaned from the true seed of honor,

and how much honor picked from the chaff

and ruin of the times to be new varnished?

But to my choice.

"Who chooseth me,"

who chooseth,

"Who chooseth me

shall have as much as he deserves."

I will assume desert.

Give me the key for this,

and instantly unlock

my fortunes here.

What's this?

[ Laughs ]

The portrait of a blinking idiot is here.

"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?

To offend and judge

are distinct offices

and of opposèd natures.

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.

[ Laughs ]

Thus hath the candle singed the moth.

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 forespurrer comes before his lord.

No more, I pray thee.

I am half afeard thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,

thou spend such high-day wit in praising him.

Come, come, Nerissa,

for I long to see quick cupid's post

that comes so mannerly.

Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be.

Now,

what news on the Rialto?

Yet it lives there unchecked

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.

I would she were as lying a gossip in that

as ever knapped ginger or made her neighbors 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--oh, that I had a title good enough

-to keep his name company. -Come, come.

-What sayest thou? -The full stop.

Why?

The end is he hath lost a ship.

And it would might prove the end of his losses.

Let me say "Amen" betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer,

for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

How now, Shylock?

What news among the merchants?

You knew,

none so well,

none so well as you

of my daughter's flight.

That's certain.

I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings

she flew withal.

And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged,

and then it is the complexion of them all

to leave the dam.

She is damned for it.

That's certain if the devil may be her judge.

My own flesh and blood

to revolt.

SOLANIO: Out upon it, old carrion.

Revolts it at these years?

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... -There I have another

bad match! A bankrupt, a prodigal

that dare scarce show his head on the Rialto,

a beggar that was used to come so smug

upon the mart.

[ Scoffs ]

[ Bell ringing ]

Let him look to his bond.

He was wont to call me usurer.

Let him look to his bond.

He was used to lend out monies for Christian courtesy.

Let him look to his bond.

SALARINO: I am sure if he forfeit

thou wilt not take his flesh.

[ Laughs ]

What's that good for?

To bait fish withal.

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 is his reason?

I'm a Jew.

[ Scoffs ]

Hath not a Jew eyes?

Hath not a Jew hands,

organs, dimensions,

senses,

affections,

passions?

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

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?

Why, revenge.

If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance

be by Christian example?

Why...

villainy. You teach me,

I will execute,

and it shall go hard

but I will better the instruction.

MAN: Gentlemen, my master, Antonio,

is at his house and desires to speak with you both.

We have been up and down to seek him.

Well, here comes another of the tribe.

A third cannot be matched

unless the devil himself turned Jew.

Why, how now, Tubal?

What news from Genoa?

Hast thou found my daughter?

I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

Why, there,

there, there, there.

[ Jingling ]

A diamond gone

cost me 2000 ducats

in Frankfurt.

The curse never fell

upon our nation till now.

I never felt it till now,

2000 ducats in that and other

precious, precious jewels.

I would my daughter were dead

at my foot and the jewels in her ear.

I 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 lost in the search.

Why thou, loss upon loss.

The thief gone with so much,

so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction,

no revenge, nor no ill luck stirring,

but what lights of my shoulders, no sighs but of my breathing,

no tears but of my shedding.

Yes, other men have ill luck too.

-Antonio... -What?

-...as I heard in Genoa. -What?

Ill luck?

Ill luck?

Hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.

[ Laughs ]

I thank God.

I thank God.

[ Laughs ]

And is it true?

Is it true?

I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

Yes. Thank you, good Tubal.

Good news, good news.

But what about else

didst thou hear in Genoa?

Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard.

One night, fourscore ducats.

Thou stickest a dagger in me.

I shall never see my gold again,

fourscore ducats at a sitting.

Fourscore ducats.

There came divers of Antonio's creditors

in my company to Venice that swear

he cannot choose but break.

I am very glad if it plagued him,

torture him.

I am glad of it.

One of them showed me a ring

that he had of your daughter,

for a monkey?

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.

[ Crying ]

TUBAL: But Antonio

is certainly undone.

Naye, that is 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.

Go, Tubal.

Meet me

at our synagogue.

Go, good Tubal,

at our synagogue,

Tubal.

[ Birds chirping ]

And I pray you tarry.

Pause a day or two before you hazard

for in choosing wrong, I lose your company.

Therefore, forebear 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 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 then I am forsworn,

so will I never be.

So may you miss me,

and if you do, you'll make me wish a sin

that I hadn't been forsworn.

Oh, beshrew your eyes.

The have overlooked me and 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.

Oh, 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 it is to peize the time.

To eke it and to draw it out in length,

to stay you from election.

Let me choose.

For as I am, I live upon the rack.

Upon the rack, Bassanio?

Then confess what treason there is mingled

-with your love. -None but that ugly treason

of mistrust which makes me fear the enjoying of my love.

There may as well be amity and life

between snow and fire as treason and my love.

Aye, but I fear you speak upon the rack where men,

enforcèd, do speak anything.

Promise me life and I'll confess the truth.

Well, then, confess and live...

Confess and love

had been the very sum of my confession.

Oh, happy torment.

When my torturer doth teach me answers for deliverance.

But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

Away, then.

I am locked 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 swanlike end

fading in music.

That the comparison may stand more proper.

My eye shall be the stream

and watery deathbed for him.

He may win

and what is music then?

Then music is even as the flourish

when true subjects bow to a new crownèd 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.

Go, Hercules.

Live thou, I live.

With much, much more dismay, I view the fight than thou

that makest the fray.

[ Music playing ]

BOTH: ♪ Tell me♪

♪ Tell mewhere ♪

♪ Is fancy bred♪

♪ Or in the heart?♪

♪ Or in the head?♪

BOTH: ♪ How begot♪

♪ How nourishèd?♪

[ Music playing ]

♪ Or in the heart?♪

♪ Or in the head?♪

♪ How begot?♪

♪ How nourishèd?♪

BOTH: ♪ Reply♪

♪ Reply♪

♪ It is engendered in the eyes♪

BOTH: ♪ With gazing fed♪

♪ And fancy dies♪

♪ In the cradle♪

♪ Where it lies♪

♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell♪

♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪ -WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪ -WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin...♪ -WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin...♪

WOMAN: ♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

BOTH: ♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

[ Music playing ]

[ Clapping ]

The world is still deceived with ornament.

Look on beauty, and you shall see

it is purchased by the weight, which therein works

a miracle in nature, making them lightest

that wear most of it.

Now, there's no vice so simple but assumes

some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Thus ornament is but the guilèd 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 between man and man.

But thou, thou meagre lead,

which rather threaten'st than dost promise aught,

thy plainness moves me

more than eloquence,

and here choose I.

Joy be the consequence.

What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit.

What demigod hath come so near creation?

Move these eyes?

Or whether, riding on the balls of mine seem they in motion?

Here are severed 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 unfurnished.

Here is the scroll, the summary, and continent of my fortune.

"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."

Fair lady, by your leave,

I come by note to give and to receive.

As doubtful whether what I see be true

until confirmed, signed, ratified by you.

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 virtues, beauties,

livings, friends exceed account.

Perhaps the full sum of me is sum of something

which to term in gross is an unlessoned girl,

unschooled, unpracticed.

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,

and 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's.

I give them with this ring,

which when you part from, lose, or give away,

let it presage the ruin of your love

and be my vantage to exclaim on you.

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 expressed

and not expressed.

But when this ring parts from this finger,

then parts life from hence.

O, then be bold to say

"Bassanio's dead".

[ Clears throat ]

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."

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 honors 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.

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 caskets there,

and so did mine too, as the matter falls.

For swearing till 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,

and provided your fortune achieved her mistress.

-Is this true, Nerissa? -Madam, it is,

so you stand pleased withal.

And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

Oh yes, faith, my lord.

A feast shall be much honored by your marriage.

We'll play with them the first boy

-for a thousand ducats. -What, and stake down?

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?

BASSANIO: Lorenzo and Salerio,

welcome hither. If that the youth

of my new interest have power to bid them welcome.

By your leave, I bid my friends and very countrymen,

-sweet Portia, welcome. -So do I, my Lord.

They are entirely welcome.

I thank your honor.

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.

Signor Antonio commends him to you.

Ere I open his letter, tell me how my good friend doth.

Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind,

nor well, unless in mind.

His letter there will show you his estate.

GRATIANO: Go 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 pleased with our success.

We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper

that steals the color from Bassanio's cheek.

With leave, Bassanio,

I am half yourself,

and I must freely have the half of anything

that this same paper brings you.

Sweet Portia, here are a few

of the unpleasant'st words

that ever blotted paper.

Gentle lady,

I have engaged myself to my 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's blood.

But is it true, Salerio?

Have all his ventures failed?

What, not one hit?

From Tripolis, Mexico, England, from Lisbon,

Barbary, and India?

And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch

of merchant-marring rocks?

Not one, my lord.

Besides, it should appear 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.

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.

Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,

the best conditioned and unwearied spirit

in doing courtesies,

one in whom the ancient Roman honor

doth more appear than any that draws breath in Italy.

What sum owes he the Jew?

For me, three thousand ducats.

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.

And 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.

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 is impossible I should live,

all debts are cleared between you and I

if I might but see you at my death.

SHYLOCK: Jailer, look to him.

Tell me not of mercy.

This is the fool that lent out money gratis.

Jailer, 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 calledst 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 jailer,

that thou art so fond to come abroad

with him at his request.

-I pray thee, hear me speak. -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.

It is the most impenetrable cur that ever kept with men.

Let him alone.

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.

He seeks my life.

His reason well I know.

I oft delivered from his forfeitures

many that have at times made moan to me.

Therefore he hates me.

I'm sure the duke will never grant this forfeiture

-to hold. -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 the 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 tomorrow

to my bloody creditor.

Well, jailer, on.

Pray God Bassanio come

to see me pay my debt,

and then I care not.

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 honor,

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.

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 bestowed

in purchasing the semblance of my soul

from out the state of hellish cruelty.

That 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--a monastery two miles off,

and there we will abide.

I do desire you not to deny this imposition,

the which my love and some necessity

-now lays upon you. -Madam, with all my heart.

I shall obey you in all fair commands.

Now, my people do already know my mind

and will acknowledge you,

-and... -Jessica

in place of Lord Bassanio and myself.

So fare you well till we shall meet again.

Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.

I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

Thank you for your wish, and am well pleased

to wish it back on you. Fare you well...

-Jessica. -...Jessica.

Now, Balthazar,

as I have ever found thee honest true,

so let me find thee still.

Take this same letter,

and use thou all th' 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

that trades to Venice.

Waste no time in words, but get thee gone.

I shall be there before thee.

Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

Come on, Nerissa,

for I have work in hand that you yet know not of.

We'll see our husbands

before they think of us.

NERISSA: What?

Therefore haste away,

for we must measure 20 miles today.

[ Music playing ]

DUKE: What?

Is Antonio here?

ANTONIO: Ready, so please your grace.

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.

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 armed to suffer with a quietness of spirit

the very tyranny and rage of his.

DUKE: Go, one, and call the Jew into the court.

He is ready at the door.

He comes, my lord.

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 exacts the penalty

which is a pound

of this poor merchant's flesh.

Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture

but touched with human gentleness and love,

forgive a moiety of the principal,

glancing an eye of pity on his losses

which he have of late so huddled on his back.

And now 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 trained to offices of tender courtesy.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

I have possessed 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 3,000 ducats.

I'll not answer that but say it is my humour.

Is it answered?

Hmm, what if my house be troubled with a rat

and I be pleased to give 10,000 ducats

to have it baned?

What, are you answered yet?

Some men there are love not a gaping pig,

some that are mad if they behold a cat,

others, when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose,

cannot contain their urine.

For affection, master of passion,

sways it to the mood

of what it likes or loathes.

And now, for your answer, as there is no firm reason

to be rendered why he cannot abide

a gaping pig, why he, a harmless necessary cat,

why he, a woollen bagpipe,

but of force must yield to that 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 answered?

This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,

to excuse the current of thy cruelty.

I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

Do all men kill the things they do not love?

Hates every man the thing he would not kill?

Every offense is not a hate at first.

What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

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 plain and brief conveniency

let me have judgment

and the Jew his will.

For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

If every ducat in six thousand ducats

were in six parts, and every part a ducat,

I would not draw them. I would have my bond.

How shalt thou hope for mercy,

rendering none?

[ Laughs ]

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 burdens?

"Let their beds be made as soft as yours

and let their palates be seasoned 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 it, fie upon your law.

There is no force in the decrees of Venice.

I stand here for judgment.

Answer, shall I have it?

Upon my power I may dismiss this court,

unless Bellario, a learned doctor,

whom I have sent for to determine this, come here today.

My lord, here stays without a messenger with letters

from the doctor, new come from Padua.

Bring us the letters. Call in the messenger.

[ Doors opening ]

[ Doors closing ]

-Hmm. -Good cheer, Antonio.

What, man, courage yet.

The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all.

Ere thou shalt lose for me one jot of blood.

No.

I am a tainted wether of the flock...

[ Scoffs ]

...meetest for death.

The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground,

and so let me.

You cannot better be employed, Bassanio,

than to live still and write mine epitaph.

Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

[ Knife sharpening ]

Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

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?

No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

O, be thou damned, inexecrable dog,

and for thy life let justice be accused.

Thou almost makes me waver in my faith to hold opinion

with Pythagoras that souls of animals infuse themselves

into the trunks of men.

Thy currish spirit governed a wolf

who hanged for human slaughter,

even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,

and whilst thou layest in thy unhallow'd dam

infused itself in thee, for thy desires are wolvish,

bloody, starved, and ravenous.

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.

This letter from Bellario doth commend a young

and learned doctor to our court. Where is he?

He attendeth here hard by to know your answer

whether you'll admit him.

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.

"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 Balthazar.

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."

You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes.

And here I take it is the doctor come.

Give me your hand.

-Came you from old Bellario? -I did, my lord.

You are welcome.

Take your place.

Are you acquainted with difference

that holds this present question in the court?

I am informèd thoroughly of the cause.

Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

Is your name Shylock?

Shylock is my name.

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?

Ay, so he says.

Do you confess the bond?

I do.

Then must the Jew be merciful.

On what compulsion must I?

Tell me that.

The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

upon the place beneath.

It is twice blessed.

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.

It becomes the thronèd monarch

better than his crown.

His scepter 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 sceptered sway.

It is enthronèd 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.

My deeds upon my head.

I crave the law, the penalty, and forfeit of my bond.

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 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 into your authority.

To do a great right, do a little wrong,

and curb this cruel devil of his will.

It must not be.

There is no power in Venice

can alter a decree establishèd.

'Twill be recorded as a precedent,

and many an error by the same example

will rush into the state. It cannot be.

A Daniel come to judgment,

yea, a Daniel.

O wise young judge, how I do honor thee.

I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

'Tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee.

An oath, an oath,

I have an oath in heaven.

Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?

No, not for Venice.

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.

O noble judge. O excellent young man.

Be merciful.

Take thrice thy money.

Bid me tear the bond.

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.

Most heartily I do beseech the court

to give the judgment.

PORTIA: Why then, thus it is,

for the intent and purpose of the law

hath full relation to the penalty,

which here appeareth due upon the bond.

'Tis very true. O wise and upright judge

how much more elder art thou than thy looks.

You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

Ay, his breast. So says the bond.

Doth it not, noble judge?

"Nearest his heart," those are the very words.

It is so.

Are there balance here to weigh the flesh?

-I have them ready. -Have by some surgeon,

Shylock, on your charge, to stop his wounds

lest he do bleed to death?

Is it so nominated in the bond?

It is not so expressed, but what of that?

'Twere good you do so much for charity.

I cannot find it. 'Tis not in the bond.

You, merchant, have you anything to say?

Hmm?

But little.

I am armed and well-prepared.

Give me your hand, Bassanio.

Fare you well.

Grieve not that I am fall'n 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.

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 instantly with all my heart.

Commend me to your honorable 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.

Antonio, I am married 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

esteemed above thy life.

I would lose all--ay, sacrifice them all here

to this devil--to deliver you.

Your wife would give you little thanks for that

if she were by to hear you make the offer.

I have a wife, whom I protest I love.

I would she were in heaven that she might entreat

some power to change this currish Jew.

'Tis well you offer it behind her back.

The wish would make else an unquiet house.

These be the Christian husbands.

I have a daughter.

Would any of the stock of Barabbas

had been her husband rather than a Christian.

We trifle time.

I pray thee, pursue sentence.

A pound of this same merchant's flesh is thine.

The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

Most noble judge.

And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.

The law allows it, and the court awards it.

Most learned judge, your 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 the 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.

O upright judge.

Mark, Jew. A learnèd judge.

Is that the law?

Thyself shalt see the act.

For as thou urgest justice, be assurèd,

thou shalt have justice more than thou desirest.

A learned judge. Mark, Jew, a learned judge.

I take this offer then.

Pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go.

-Here is the money. -Soft.

The Jew shall have all justice.

Soft, no haste.

He shall have nothing but the penalty.

O Jew.

An upright judge, a learned judge.

And 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 takest 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.

A second Daniel. A Daniel, Jew.

Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

Why doth the Jew pause?

Take thy forfeiture.

Give me my principal, and let me go.

I have it ready for thee. Here it is.

He hath refused it in the open court.

He shall have merely justice and his bond.

A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel.

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

And shall I not have barely my principal?

Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture

to be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

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 attempt he seek

the life of any citizen,

the party against the which he doth contrive

shall seize one half his goods.

The other half comes to the privy coffer of the state,

and that 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 incurred the danger

formerly by me rehearsed.

Down, therefore,

and beg mercy of the Duke.

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 hanged at the state's charge.

That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,

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 into a fine.

Aye, for the state, not for Antonio.

Nay, take my life and all.

Pardon not that.

You take my house if you do take the prop

that doth sustain my house.

You take my life if you do take the means

whereby I live.

What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

A halter gratis, nothing else, for God's sake.

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 favor

he presently become a Christian.

The other, that he do record a gift here in this court of all

he dies possessed, unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

He shall do this, or else I do recant the pardon

that I late pronouncèd here.

Art thou contented, Jew?

What dost thou say?

I am content.

PORTIA: Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

I pray you, give me leave

to part from hence.

I am not well.

Send the deed after me

and I will sign it.

DUKE: Get thee gone, but do it.

In christening shalt thou have two godfathers.

Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had 10 more

to bring thee to the gallows,

not the font.

[ Footsteps echoing ]

[ Crying ]

Sir, I entreat you home

with me to dinner.

I humbly do desire your grace of pardon.

I must away this night toward Padua,

and it is meet I presently set forth.

I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.

-Antonio? -Hmm?

Gratify this gentleman,

for in my mind you are much bound to him.

Most worthy gentleman,

I and my friend have by your wisdom

been this day acquitted of grievous penalties,

in lieu whereof 3,000 ducats due unto the Jew

we freely cope your courteous pains withal.

And stand indebted, over and above, in love

and service to you evermore.

Well, 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.

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.

You press me far and therefore I will yield.

Now give me your gloves.

I'll wear them for your sake.

And for your love, I'll take this ring.

Do not draw back your hand.

I'll take no more,

and you in love shall not deny me this.

This ring, alas could say it is a trifle.

I will not shame myself to give you this.

I will have nothing else but only this.

And now methinks I have a mind to it.

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.

But for this, I pray you, pardon me.

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 answered.

Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife.

And when she put it on she made me vow

neither sell nor give nor lose it.

That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.

And your wife be not a madwoman and know how well

I have deserved this ring.

She would not hold out enemy forever for giving it to me.

Well, peace be with you.

I tell you Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.

Let his deserving and my love withal be valued

against your wife's commandment.

Gratiano, go,

run and overtake him.

Give him the ring

and persuade him if thou canst to come anon

unto Antonio's lodging.

Away, make haste!

Come, you and I will thither presently.

And in the morning early

we will both fly toward Belmont.

Come, Antonio.

Inquire the Jew's house out.

Give him this deed and let him sign it.

And we'll away tonight and be a day before our husbands home.

This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en.

My Lord Bassanio upon more advice

-hath sent you here this ring. -Oh.

And doth entreat your company at dinner.

That cannot be.

His ring I do accept most thankfully

and so I bid you tell him.

Furthermore, I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house.

Of that I will do.

Sir, I would speak with you.

I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,

which I did make him swear to keep forever.

Thou mayst, I warrant.

We shall have them swearing

that they did give these rings away to men.

Away, make haste.

Thou know'st where I will tarry.

NERISSA: Come, good sir.

Will you show me to this house?

[ Music playing ]

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 sighed 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 dismayed away.

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.

In such a night Medea gathered

the enchanted herbs that did renew old Aeson.

In such a night did Jessica

steal from the wealthy Jew,

and with an unthrift love

did run from Venice

as far as Belmont.

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.

In such a night

did pretty Jessica,

like a little shrew,

slander her love,

and he forgave it her.

I would outnight you but, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

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: And who comes with her?

None but a holy hermit and her maid.

I pray you, is my master yet returned?

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.

Sweet soul,

let's in, and there expect their coming, hmm?

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.

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 choiring 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.

[ Music playing ]

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

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 turned 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.

[ Birds chirping ]

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.

When the moon shone we did not see the candle.

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.

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' welfare,

which speed, we hope, the better for our words.

Are they returned?

LORENZO: Madam, they are not yet,

but there is come a messenger before to signify their coming.

PORTIA: Go in, Nerissa and give order to my servants

that they take no note at all of our being absent hence.

Nor you, Lorenzo, Jessica, nor you.

LORENZO: We are no tell-tales, madam.

Fear you not.

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: We should hold day with the Antipodes,

and you would walk in absence of the sun.

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.

God sort all, you are welcome home, my lord.

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.

No more than I am well acquitted of.

Sir, you are very welcome to our house.

It must appear in other ways than words,

therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

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.

A quarrel, ho, already? What's the matter?

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.

He will, an if he live to be a man.

Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,

a kind of boy, a little scrubbèd boy

no higher than thyself, the judge's clerk.

A prating boy who begged it as a fee.

I could not for my heart deny it him.

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 lose 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 for grief.

An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away

unto the judge that begged it and indeed deserved it too.

And then the boy, his clerk,

who took some pains in writing, begged mine.

And neither man nor master would take aught but the two rings.

What ring gave you my lord?

Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

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.

Even so void is your false heart of truth.

By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed until I see that ring.

NERISSA: Nor I in yours 'til 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 how unwillingly I parted

with the ring when naught would be accepted

but the ring, you would abate the strength

of your displeasure.

If you had known the virtue of the ring,

or half her worthiness that gave the ring

or your own honor 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 it but some woman had that ring.

No, upon my honor, upon my soul,

no woman had it but a civil doctor...

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 anything 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 honor, which is yet mine own,

I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

And I his clerk.

Therefore be well advised how you do leave me

to mine own protection.

Well, do you so, let not me take him then.

For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

Oh.

I am the unhappy subject of this quarrel.

Oh, sir, grieve not you.

You are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIO: Sweet Portia, pardon me, but upon my soul,

I swear I never more will break an oath with thee.

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.

Then you shall be his surety.

Oh.

Give him this

and bid him keep it better than the other.

Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.

By heaven, it is the one I gave the doctor.

I had it of him.

Pardon me, Bassanio,

for by this ring, that doctor lay with me.

And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano.

That same scrubbèd boy, the doctor's clerk,

in lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

Why, this is like the mending of highways in summer

where the ways are fair enough.

What, are we cuckolds ere we've deserved it?

PORTIA: Oh, 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 have but now returned.

I have not yet entered 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 harbor suddenly.

And you shall not know by what strange accident

I chanced upon this letter.

But I am dumb.

Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

Aye, but the clerk that never means to do it

unless he live until he be a man.

Sweet doctor, you should be my bedfellow.

And when I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Sweet lady, you have given me life and living.

For here I read for certain that my ships

are safely come to road.

How now, Lorenzo?

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

Aye, 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 possessed of.

LORENZO: Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way

of starvèd people.

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 interr'gatories

and we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANO: Let it be so.

The first interrogatory that my Nerissa shall be sworn on

is whether until the next night she'd 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.

While I live, I'll fear no other thing so sore

as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

[ Laughing ]

[ Music playing ]

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