The Merchant of Venice, Act 1, Scene 2

By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

Honestly, Nerissa, my little body is tired 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 come sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

You would be, sweet madam, if your troubles were as plentiful as your good fortunes are. And yet, as far as I can see, people who overeat are just as sick as those who starve on nothing. So it's no small happiness to be settled in the middle. Excess gets white hairs sooner, but having just enough lives longer.

Good sentences, and well pronounc’d.

Good maxims, and well delivered.

They would be better if well followed.

They would be better if they were 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 instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may neither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of a living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

If doing were as easy as knowing what would be good to do, chapels would be churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It's a good preacher who follows his own instructions; I can more easily teach twenty people what would be good to do than be one of the twenty who follows my own teaching. The brain may invent laws for the blood, but a hot temperament jumps over a cold decree; youth is such a hare that it skips over the nets set by good advice, which is a cripple. But this kind of reasoning isn't the way to choose me a husband. Oh, that word "choose"! I may neither choose the man I want nor refuse the man I dislike, so completely is the will of a living daughter held back by the will of a dead father. Isn't it hard, Nerissa, that I can't choose one, and can't refuse any?

Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good inspirations. Therefore the lott’ry 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 affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?

Your father was always virtuous, and holy men at their death have good inspirations. So the lottery he devised with these three chests of gold, silver and lead, where whoever chooses according to his intention chooses you, will no doubt never be chosen correctly except by someone you will rightly love. But how much warmth is there in your feelings towards any of these princely suitors who have already arrived?

I pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe them, and according to my description level at my affection.

Please run through their names, and as you name them, I'll describe them, and from my description you can guess at my feelings.

First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Ay, that’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 am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with a smith.

Yes, that one really is a young colt, because he does nothing but talk about his horse, and he counts it a great addition to his own good qualities that he can shoe the animal himself. I'm very much afraid his lady mother had an affair with a blacksmith.

Then is there the County Palatine.

Then there is the Count Palatine.

He doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me, choose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. 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!

He does nothing but frown, as if to say, "If you won't have me, suit yourself." He hears funny stories and doesn't smile. I'm afraid he'll turn into the weeping philosopher when he grows old, since he's so full of rude gloominess in his youth. I'd rather be married to a skull with a bone in its mouth than to either of these. God protect me from these two!

How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

What do you say about the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine. He is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight a-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

God made him, so let him count as a man. Truly, I know it's a sin to mock, but him! Why, he has a better horse than the Neapolitan's, and a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine. He is every man and no man at all. If a thrush sings, he immediately starts dancing about. He'll fence with his own shadow. If I married him, I'd be marrying twenty husbands. If he despised me, I'd forgive him, because if he loved me to madness, I could never return it.

What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?

What do you say 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 Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.

You know I say nothing to him, because he doesn't understand me, nor I him: he knows no Latin, French or Italian, and you could go into court and swear that my English is worth very little. He's the picture of a handsome man; but alas, who can hold a conversation with a mime show? How strangely he's dressed! I think he bought his jacket in Italy, his round breeches in France, his cap in Germany, and his manners everywhere.

What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

What do you think of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was able. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for another.

That he has a neighbourly charity in him, because he borrowed a box on the ear from the Englishman, and swore he'd pay him back when he was able. I think the Frenchman stood as his guarantor, and signed underneath for another blow.

How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?

How do you like the young German, 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 is little better than a beast. And the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

Very horribly in the morning when he's sober, and most horribly in the afternoon when he's drunk: when he's at his best, he's a little worse than a man, and when he's at his worst, he's hardly better than an animal. And if the worst disaster that ever happened should happen, I hope I'll manage to get along 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.

If he offers to choose, and chooses the right casket, you'd be refusing to carry out your father's will if you refused to accept him.

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. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.

So, for fear of the worst, please set a deep glass of Rhine wine on the wrong casket, because if the devil is inside it and that temptation is on the outside, I know he'll choose it. I'll do anything, Nerissa, rather than 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.

You needn't be afraid, lady, of getting any of these lords. They've told me their decisions, which are in fact to go home, and to bother you with no more courting, unless you can be won some other way than your father's requirement involving 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 am glad this parcel of wooers are 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.

If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I'll die as chaste as Diana, unless I'm won in the way my father's will lays down. I'm glad this batch of suitors is so reasonable, because there isn't one among them whose absence I don't adore. And I pray God grants them a pleasant departure.

Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

Don't you remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, who came here in the company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d.

Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, I think that was his name.

True, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

That's right, madam. Of all the men my foolish eyes have ever looked at, he was the one most deserving of a beautiful lady.

I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

I remember him well, and I remember he was worthy of your praise.

How now! what news?

Well now! What news?

The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the Prince his master will be here tonight.

The four foreign gentlemen are looking for you, madam, to say goodbye. And a messenger has come ahead from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word that the Prince, his master, will be here tonight.

If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good 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. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

If I could welcome the fifth with as good a heart as I can say farewell to the other four, I'd be glad he was coming. If he has the character of a saint and the colouring of a devil, I'd rather he heard my confession than married me. Come, Nerissa. You there, lead the way. While we shut the gate on one suitor, another knocks at the door.