who indeed gives rare new Liveries; If I ferve him not, 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 ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Ballanio with a Follower or two.

Baff. You may do fo, but let it be fo hafted, that Supper be ready at the fartheft by five of the Clock: See thefe Letters deliver'd, put the Liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my Lodging.

Laun. To him, Father.

Gob. God bless your Worship.

Baff. Gramercy, would'st thou ought with me?
Gob. Here's my Son, Sir, a poor Boy.

Laun. Not a poor Boy, Sir, but the Rich Jew's Man that would, Sir, as my Father shall fpecific.

Gob. He hath a great Infection, Sir, as one would fay, to ferve.

Laun. Indeed the short and the long is, I ferve the Jew, and have a defire as my Father fhall specifie.

Gob. His Mafter and he, faving your Worship's Reverence, are fcarce Catercoufins.

Lann. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth caufe me, as my Father, being I hope an old Man, fhall frutifie unto you.

Gob. I have here a Difh of Doves that I would beftow upon your Worship, and my Suit is

Laun. In very brief, the Suit is impertinent to my self, your Worfhip fhall know by this honeft old Man; and, though I fay it, though old Man, yet poor Man my Father.

Baff. One speak for both, what would you?

Laun. Serve you, Sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, Sir.

Baff. I know thee well, thou haft obtain'd thy Suit;

Shylock, thy Mafter, fpoke 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 fo poor a Gentleman.

Laun. The old Proverb is very well parted between my Mafter Shylock and you, Sir, you have the Grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough.

Bal

Baff. Thou fpeak'ft it well; go Father with thy Son,
Take leave of thy old Mafter, and enquire
My Lodging out; give him a Livery,

More guarded than his Fellows: See it done.

Laun. 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 fwear upon a Book, I fhall have good Fortune; go too, here's a fimple Line of Life, here's a fmall trifle of Wives, alas, fifteen Wives is nothing, eleven Widows and nine Maids is a fimple coming in for one Man, and then to 'fcape Drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my Life with the edge of a Feather Bead, here are fimple 'capes: Well, if Fortune be a Woman, fhe's a good Wench for this gere. Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling. [Exit Laun. and Gob. Baff. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this, These things being bought and orderly bestowed," Return in hafte, for I do feaft to night

My beft efteem'd Acquaintance, hie thee, gone.
Leon. My best Endeavours fhall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Where's your Mafter?

Leon. Yonder, Sir, he walks.

Gra. Signior Balsanio.

Baff. Gratiano.

Gra. I have a Suit to you.
Baff. You have obtain❜d it.

Gra. You must not deny me, I'muft go with you to Belmont?

Baff. Why then you muft: But hear thee, Gratiano, Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of Voice,

Parts that become thee happily enough,

And in fuch Eyes as ours appear not Faults;

But where they are not known, why there they fhew
Something too liberal, pray thee take pain

To allay with fome cold drops of Modesty

Thy skipping Spirit, left through thy wild Behaviour
I be mifconftru'd in the Place I go to,
And lofe my Hopes.

Gra.

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me,
If I do not put on a fober Habit,

Talk with Refpect, and swear but now and then,
Wear Prayer-books in my Pockets, look demurely,
Nay, more, while Grace is faying, hood mine Eyes
Thus with my Hat, and figh and say, Amen;
Ufe all the obfervance of Civility,

Like one well ftudied in a fad oftent

To please his Grandam, never trust me more.
Baff. Well, we shall fee your bearing.

Gra. Nay, but I bar to Night, you shall not gage me By what we do to Night.

Baff. No, that were pity.

I would entreat you rather to put on

Your boldeft Suit of Mirth, for we have Friends
That purpose Merriment: But fare you well,

I have fome Business.

Gra. And I muft to Lorenzo and the rest: But we will visit you at Supper-time.

Enter Jeffica and Launcelot.

Jef. I am forry thou wilt leave my Father fo,.
Our House is Hell, and thou a merry Devil
Did'ft rob it of fome tafte of Tedioufnels;
But fare thee well, there is a Ducat for thee,
And Launcelot, foon at Supper fhalt thou fee
Lorenzo, who is thy new Mafter's Guest,
Give him this Letter, do it fecretly,

And fo farewel: I would not have my Father
See me talk with thee.

[Exeunt.

Laun. Adieu; Tears exhibit my Tougue, moft beautiful Pagan, moft fweet Jew; if a Chriftian did not play the Knave and get thee, I am much deceived; But adieu, thefe foolish Drops do fomewhat drown thy manly Spirit: Adieu.

Jef. Farewel, good Launcelot.
Alack, what hainous Sin is it in me,
To be afham'd 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 Promife, I fhall end this Strife,
Become a Chriftian, and thy loving Wife.

[Exit

[Exit.

Enter

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Solarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will flink away in Supper-time, Disguise us at my Lodging, and return all in an Hour. Gra. We have not made good Preparation.

Sal. We have not spoke as yet of Torch-bearers. Sola. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered, And better in my mind not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four a Clock, we have two Hours To furnish us. Friend Launcelot, what's the News? Enter Launcelot with a Letter.

Laun. And it fhall pleafe you to break up this, it shall feem to fignifie.

Lor. I know the Hand, in faith 'tis a fair Hand, And whiter than the Paper it writ on,

Is, the fair Hand that writ.

Gra. Love-news, in faith.

Laun. By your leave, Sir,

Lor. Whither goest thou?

Laun. Marry to bid my old Mafter the Jew to Sup to Night with my new Mafter the Chriftian.

Lor. Hold here, take this, tell gentle Jeffica

I will not fail her, fpeak it privately.

Go, Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this Mask to Night?

I am provided of a Torch-bearer.

Sal. Ay marry, I'll be gone about it ftrait.

Sola. And fo will I.

Exit Laun.

Lor. Meet me and Gratiane at Gratiano's Lodging Some hour hence.

Sal. 'Tis good we do fo.

Gra. Was not that Letter from fair Jeffica?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all, she hath directed
How I fhall take her from her Father's House,
What Gold and Jewels fhe is furnish'd with,
What Page's Suit fhe bath in readiness;
If e'er the Jew her Father come to Heav'n,
It will be for his gentle Daughter's fake;
And never dare-Misfortune cross her Foot,
Unless the do it under this excufe,
That she is Iffue to a faithless Jew.
VOL. II.

G

[Exit.

Come

Come go with me, perufe this as thou goeft,
Fair Jelica fhall be my Torch-bearer.

Enter Shylock and Launcelot,

[Exeunt.

Shy. Well, thou fhalt fee, thy Eyes fhall be thy Judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio;

What Jeffica! Thou shalt not Gormandize
As thou haft done with me

What Jeffica!

And fleep, and fnore, and rend Apparel out.
Why Jeffica, I fay.

Laun. Why Jeffica!

Shy. Who bids thee call? I did not bid thee call.
Laun. Your Worship was wont to tell me
I could do nothing without bidding.

Enter Jeffica.

Jef. Call you? What is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to Supper, Jeffica,
There are my Keys: But wherefore fhould I go?
I am not bid for Love; they flatter me;
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon

The prodigal Chriftian. Jeffica, my Girl,
Look to my House, I am right loth to go,
There is fome ill a brewing towards my Reft,
For I did dream of Mony-Bags laft Night.
Laun. I beseech you Sir go, my young Master
Doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have confpired together, I will not fay you shall fee a Mask, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my Nofe fell a bleeding on Black Munday laft, at fix a Clock i'th' Morning, falling out that Year on AfhWednesday was four Year in the afternoon.

Shy. What are their Masks? Hear you me, Jeffica,
Lock up my Doors, and when you hear the Drum
And the vile fquealing of the wry-neck'd Fife,
Clamber not you up to the Cafements then,
Nor thrust your Head into the publick Street

gaze on Chriftian Fools with varnish'd Faces;
But ftop my Houfe's Ears, I mean my Cafements,
Let not the found of fhallow Foppery enter
My fober Houfe. By Jacob's Staff I fwear,