The Merchant of Venice

I pray you, which is the way to master Jew’s? Launcelot Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house. Gobbo By God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no? Launcelot Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Aside. Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? Gobbo No master, sir, but a poor man’s son: his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man and, God be thanked, well to live. Launcelot Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of young Master Launcelot. Gobbo Your worship’s friend and Launcelot, sir. Launcelot But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot? Gobbo Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership. Launcelot Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. Gobbo Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Launcelot Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? Gobbo Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead? Launcelot Do you not know me, father? Gobbo Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. Launcelot Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man’s son may, but at the length truth will out. Gobbo Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy. Launcelot Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gobbo I cannot think you are my son. Launcelot I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother. Gobbo Her name is Margery, indeed: I’ll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail. Launcelot It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face when I last saw him. Gobbo Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How ’gree you now? Launcelot Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and other followers. Bassanio You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Exit a Servant. Launcelot To him, father. Gobbo God bless your worship! Bassanio Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me? Gobbo Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,⁠— Launcelot Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify⁠— Gobbo He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve⁠— Launcelot Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify⁠— Gobbo His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence, are scarce cater-cousins⁠— Launcelot To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you⁠— Gobbo I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is⁠— Launcelot In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father. Bassanio One speak for both. What would you? Launcelot Serve you, sir. Gobbo That is the very defect of the matter, sir. Bassanio

I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit:
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew’s service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.

Launcelot The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. Bassanio

Thou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
Take leave of thy old master and inquire
My lodging out. Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows’: see it done.

Launcelot Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have ne’er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune.