The Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 2

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, Launcelet Gobbo, good Launcelet” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelet Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says “No; take heed, honest Launcelet, take heed, honest Gobbo” or, as aforesaid, “honest Launcelet Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” 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 Launcelet, 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 “Launcelet, 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 incarnation, 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 commandment, I will run.

My conscience will certainly let me run away from this Jew, my master. The devil is at my elbow tempting me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelet Gobbo, good Launcelet," or "good Gobbo," or "good Launcelet Gobbo, use your legs, make a start, run away." My conscience says, "No; be careful, honest Launcelet, be careful, honest Gobbo," or, as I said before, "honest Launcelet Gobbo, don't run, treat running with your heels as beneath you." Well, the very bold devil tells me to clear out. "Off you go!" says the devil, "away!" says the devil. "For heaven's sake, work up a splendid spirit," says the devil, "and run." Well, my conscience, hanging around my heart's neck, says very wisely to me, "My honest friend Launcelet, being an honest man's son"—or rather an honest woman's son, because in fact my father did have a bit of a flavour about him, a bit of a leaning, he had a certain taste for things—well, my conscience says, "Launcelet, don't move." "Move," says the devil. "Don't move," says my conscience. "Conscience," I say, "your advice is good." "Devil," I say, "your advice is good." If I let my conscience rule me, I should stay with the Jew, my master, who (heaven help us) is a kind of devil; and if I run away from the Jew, I'd be ruled by the devil, who (begging your pardon) is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the devil in the flesh, and, on my word, my conscience is only a kind of harsh conscience, to dare to advise me to stay with the Jew. The devil gives the friendlier advice. I'll run, devil; my heels are at your command, I'll run.

Master young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jew’s?

Master young man, you, please; which is the way to Master Jew's house?

[Aside.] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not. I will try confusions with him.

[Aside.] Oh heavens, this is my truly-fathered father, who, being more than half blind—stone blind—doesn't recognise me. I'll try some tricks on him.

Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?

Master young gentleman, please, which is the way to Master Jew's house?

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.

Turn to your right at the next turning, but at the very next turning after that, to your left; and then, at the very next turning, turn neither way, but go down crookedly to the Jew's house.

Be God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

By God's saints, that will be a hard road to find. Can you tell me whether a certain Launcelet, who lives with him, lives with him or not?

Talk you of young Master Launcelet? [Aside.] Mark me now, now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet?

Do you mean young Master Launcelet? [Aside.] Watch me now, now I'll bring on the tears. Do you mean young Master Launcelet?

No master, sir, but a poor man’s son, his father, though I say’t, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

No master, sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though I say it myself, is an honest, extremely poor man, and, thank God, doing well enough to live.

Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master Launcelet.

Well, let his father be whatever he likes; we're talking about young Master Launcelet.

Your worship’s friend, and Launcelet, sir.

Your worship's friend, and named Launcelet, sir.

But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young Master Launcelet?

But please, therefore, old man, therefore, I beg you, do you mean young Master Launcelet?

Of Launcelet, an’t please your mastership.

Launcelet, if it please your mastership.

Ergo, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, 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.

Therefore, Master Launcelet. Don't talk about Master Launcelet, father, because the young gentleman, according to the Fates and Destinies and such strange sayings, the Three Sisters and such branches of learning, is in fact deceased, or, as you would put it plainly, gone to heaven.

Marry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.

Heaven forbid! The boy was the very walking stick of my old age, my very support.

[Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? Do you know me, father?

[Aside.] Do I look like a club or a shed-post, a walking stick or a prop? Do you know me, father?

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?

What a terrible day! I don't know you, young gentleman, but please tell me, is my boy—God rest his soul—alive or dead?

Do you not know me, father?

Don't you know me, father?

Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

I'm sorry, sir, my sight is poor; I don't know you.

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 in the end truth will out.

Well, in fact, even if you had your eyesight you might still not recognise me: it's a wise father who knows his own child. Well, old man, I'll tell you news of your son. Give me your blessing; the truth will come to light, murder can't be hidden for long, a man's son may be, but in the end the truth will come out.

Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy.

Please, sir, stand up; I'm sure you're not Launcelet, my boy.

Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

Please, let's have no more joking about it, but give me your blessing. I am Launcelet, the boy you had, the son you have, the child I will always be.

I cannot think you are my son.

I can't believe you're my son.

I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew’s man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.

I don't know what I should think about that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew's servant, and I'm sure that Margery, your wife, is my mother.

Her name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if thou be Launcelet, 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.

Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll swear that if you are Launcelet, you're my own flesh and blood. Lord be praised, what a beard you've grown! You've got more hair on your chin than Dobbin, my cart-horse, has on his tail.

It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.

It would seem, then, that Dobbin's tail is growing shorter. I'm sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face the last time I saw him.

Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. How ’gree you now?

Lord, how you've changed! How do you and your master get on? I've brought him a present. How do you get along now?

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.

Well enough, well enough. But as for me, since I've made up my mind to run away, I won't rest until I've covered some ground. My master is a real Jew. Give him a present! Give him a noose. I'm starving in his service. You can count every finger I have by feeling my ribs. Father, I'm glad you've come. Give your present to a certain Master Bassanio, who really does give fine new uniforms. If I don't serve him, I'll run as far as God has any ground. What splendid luck—here comes the man! Go to him, father; because I'm a Jew myself if I serve the Jew any longer.

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.

You may do that, but hurry it so that supper is ready by five o'clock at the latest. See that these letters are delivered, have the uniforms made, and ask Gratiano to come at once to my lodging.

To him, father.

Go to him, father.

God bless your worship!

God bless your worship!

Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?

Thank you. Do you want something from me?

Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy.

Here's my son, sir, a poor boy.

Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my father shall specify.

Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's servant, who would like, sir—as my father will explain.

He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve.

He has a great inclination, sir, as one might say, to serve.

Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify.

Indeed, the long and the short of it is that I serve the Jew and I have a desire—as my father will explain.

His master and he (saving your worship’s reverence) are scarce cater-cousins.

His master and he (begging your worship's pardon) are hardly on good terms.

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.

To be brief, the plain truth is that the Jew, having wronged me, makes me—as my father, being I hope an old man, will explain to you.

I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and my suit is—

I have here a dish of pigeons that I'd like to give to your worship, and my request is—

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.

Very briefly, the request concerns myself, as your worship will learn from this honest old man, and though I say it myself, though he's an old man, and a poor man too, he is my father.

One speak for both. What would you?

Let one of you speak for both. What do you want?

Serve you, sir.

To serve you, sir.

That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

That's the very point of the matter, sir.

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.

I know you well; you have what you asked for. Shylock, your master, spoke with me today and has recommended you for promotion—if it is a promotion to leave a rich Jew's service and become the servant of such a poor gentleman.

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”.

The old proverb is very nicely divided between my master Shylock and you, sir: you have "the grace of God," sir, and he has "enough."

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

You put that well. Go, father, with your son. Say goodbye to your old master, and find out where my lodging is. [To a Servant.] Give him a uniform with more trimming than the others'; see that it's done.

Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne’er a tongue in my head! [Looking on his palm.] 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.

Father, go in. I can't get a job, no! I haven't got a tongue in my head! [Looking at his palm.] Well, if any man in Italy has a better palm to lay on a book and swear on, I'll have good luck. Look here, here's a plain enough line of life. Here's a modest little handful of wives—oh dear, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine unmarried girls is a modest income for one man. And then to escape drowning three times, and to be in danger of my life from the edge of a feather bed—these are plain enough escapes. Well, if Fortune is a woman, she's a good girl in this business. Father, come along; I'll say goodbye to the Jew in the blink of an eye.

I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought and orderly bestow’d, Return in haste, for I do feast tonight My best esteem’d acquaintance; hie thee, go.

Please, good Leonardo, see to this. Once these things are bought and properly stowed away, come back quickly, because tonight I'm giving a feast for my most valued friends. Hurry off, go.

My best endeavours shall be done herein.

I'll do my very best about it.

Where’s your master?

Where's your master?

Yonder, sir, he walks.

Over there, sir, walking.

Signior Bassanio!

Signior Bassanio!

Gratiano!

Gratiano!

I have suit to you.

I have a request to make of you.

You have obtain’d it.

It's granted.

You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.

You mustn't refuse me: I must go with you to Belmont.

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 behaviour I be misconst’red in the place I go to, And lose my hopes.

Well then, you must. But listen, Gratiano, you're too wild, too rough, and too loud in your speech—qualities that suit you well enough, and in eyes like ours don't look like faults; but where you're not known, there they seem rather too unrestrained. Please, take the trouble to cool your leaping spirits with a few cold drops of restraint, in case your wild behaviour makes me misunderstood in the place I'm going to, and I lose my hopes.

Signior Bassanio, hear me. 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.

Signior Bassanio, listen to me. If I don't put on serious clothing, speak respectfully, swear only now and then, carry prayer books in my pocket, look modest, and what's more, while grace is being said cover my eyes with my hat like this, and sigh, and say "amen"; observe every rule of good manners like someone well practised in a serious display to please his grandmother—never trust me again.

Well, we shall see your bearing.

Well, we'll see how you behave.

Nay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me By what we do tonight.

No, but I make an exception of tonight; you mustn't judge me by what we do tonight.

No, that were pity. I would entreat you rather to put on Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends That purpose merriment. But fare you well, I have some business.

No, that would be a shame. I'd rather ask you to put on your boldest outfit of merriment, because we have friends who mean to enjoy themselves. But goodbye for now, I have some business to see to.

And I must to Lorenzo and the rest, But we will visit you at supper-time.

And I have to go to Lorenzo and the others, but we'll come see you at suppertime.