The Merchant of Venice
Act 2, Scene 2
Launcelot
Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
tempts me saying to me “Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,” or “good Gobbo,” or good Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My
conscience says “No; take heed, honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo,” or, as aforesaid, “honest
Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
pack: “Via!” says the fiend; “away!” says the
fiend; “for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,”
says the fiend, “and run.” Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
to me “My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
man’s son,” or rather an honest woman’s son; for,
indeed, my father did something smack, something
grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
says “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the
fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience.
“Conscience,” say I, “you counsel well;” “Fiend,”
say I, “you counsel well:” to be ruled by my
conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
at your command; I will run.
this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
tempts me saying to me “Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,” or “good Gobbo,” or good Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My
conscience says “No; take heed, honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo,” or, as aforesaid, “honest
Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
pack: “Via!” says the fiend; “away!” says the
fiend; “for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,”
says the fiend, “and run.” Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
to me “My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
man’s son,” or rather an honest woman’s son; for,
indeed, my father did something smack, something
grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
says “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the
fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience.
“Conscience,” say I, “you counsel well;” “Fiend,”
say I, “you counsel well:” to be ruled by my
conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
at your command; I will run.
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.
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.
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. Go to,
here’s a simple line of life: here’s a small trifle
of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
man: and then to ‘scape drowning thrice, and to be
in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
woman, she’s a good wench for this gear. Father,
come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.
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. Go to,
here’s a simple line of life: here’s a small trifle
of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
man: and then to ‘scape drowning thrice, and to be
in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
woman, she’s a good wench for this gear. Father,
come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.
Bassanio
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 show
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
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,
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 show
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
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,
Gratiano
If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say “amen,”
Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more.
Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say “amen,”
Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more.