Fear not their sale, for they’ll be quickly bought.
Every one’s price is written on his back,
And so much must they yield, or not be sold.
Here comes the Jew; had not his goods been seized,
He’d give us present money for them all.
In spite of these swine-eating Christians—
Unchosen nation, never circumcised,
Such as (poor villains!) such were ne’er thought upon
Till Titus and Vespasian conquered us—
Am I become as wealthy as I was:
They hoped my daughter would ha’ been a nun;
But she’s at home, and I have bought a house
As great and fair as is the governor’s;
And there, in spite of Malta, will I dwell,
Having Ferneze’s hand; whose heart I’ll have,
Ay, and his son’s too, or it shall go hard.
I am not of the tribe of Levi, I,
That can so soon forget an injury.
We Jews can fawn like spaniels when we please:
And when we grin we bite; yet are our looks
As innocent and harmless as a lamb’s.
I learned in Florence how to kiss my hand,
Heave up my shoulders when they call me dog,34
And duck as low as any barefoot friar;
Hoping to see them starve upon a stall,
Or else be gathered for in our synagogue,
That, when the offering-basin comes to me,
Even for charity I may spit into’t.—
Here comes Don Lodowick, the governor’s son,
One that I love for his good father’s sake.
I hear the wealthy Jew walked this way:
I’ll seek him out, and so insinuate,
That I may have a sight of Abigail;
For Don Mathias tells me she is fair.
Now will I show myself
To have more of the serpent than the dove;
That is, more knave than fool. Aside.
Yond’ walks the Jew; now for fair Abigail.
Ay, ay, no doubt but she’s at your command. Aside.
Barabas, thou know’st I am the governor’s son.
I would you were his father, too, sir;
That’s all the harm I wish you.—The slave looks
Like a hog’s cheek new singed. Aside.
Whither walk’st thou, Barabas?
No further: ’tis a custom held with us,
That when we speak with Gentiles like to you,
We turn into the air to purge ourselves:
For unto us the promise doth belong.
Well, Barabas, canst help me to a diamond?
O, sir, your father had my diamonds.
Yet I have one left that will serve your turn:—
I mean my daughter: but ere he shall have her
I’ll sacrifice her on a pile of wood.
I ha’ the poison of the city for him,
And the white leprosy. Aside.
What sparkle does it give without a foil?
The diamond that I talk of ne’er was foiled:—35
But, when he touches it, it will be foiled. Aside.
Lord Lodowick, it sparkles bright and fair.
Is it square or pointed? pray, let me know.
Pointed it is, good sir—but not for you. Aside.
I like it much the better.
So do I too.
How shows it by night?
Outshines Cynthia’s rays:
You’ll like it better far o’ nights than days. Aside.
And what’s the price?
Your life, an if you have it. Aside. O my lord,
We will not jar about the price; come to my house
And I will give’t your honour—with a vengeance. Aside.
No, Barabas, I will deserve it first.
Good sir,
Your father has deserved it at my hands,
Who, of mere charity and Christian truth,
To bring me to religious purity,
And as it were in catechising sort,
To make me mindful of my mortal sins,
Against my will, and whether I would or no,
Seized all I had, and thrust me out o’ doors,
And made my house a place for nuns most chaste.
No doubt your soul shall reap the fruit of it.
Ay, but, my lord, the harvest is far off.
And yet I know the prayers of those nuns
And holy friars, having money for their pains,
Are wondrous;—and indeed do no man good: Aside.
And seeing they are not idle, but still doing,
’Tis likely they in time may reap some fruit,
I mean in fullness of perfection.
Good Barabas, glance not at our holy nuns
No, but I do it through a burning zeal—
Hoping ere long to set the house afire;
For though they do a while increase and multiply,
I’ll have a saying to that nunnery. Aside.
As for the diamond, sir, I told you of,
Come home, and there’s no price shall make us part,
Even for your honourable father’s sake—
It shall go hard but I will see your death. Aside.
But now I must be gone to buy a slave.
And, Barabas, I’ll bear thee company.
Come, then—here’s the market-place.—
What’s the price of this slave? Two hundred crowns!
Do the Turks weigh so much?
Sir, that’s his price.
What, can he steal, that you demand so much?
Belike he has some new trick for a purse;
An if he has, he is worth three hundred plates,36
So that, being bought, the town-seal might be got
To keep him for his lifetime from the gallows:
The sessions day is critical to thieves,
And few or none ’scape but by being purged.
Rat’st thou this Moor but at two hundred plates?
No more, my lord.
Why should this Turk be dearer than that Moor?
Because he is young, and has more qualities.
What, hast the philosopher’s stone? an thou hast, break my head with it, I’ll forgive thee.
No, sir; I can cut and shave
Let me see, sirrah; are you not an old shaver?
Alas, sir, I am a very youth.
A youth! I’ll buy you, and marry you to Lady Vanity,37 if you do well.
I will serve you, sir.
Some wicked trick or other. It may be, under colour of shaving, thou’lt cut my throat for my goods. Tell me, hast thou thy health well?
