The Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 5

Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.— What, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize As thou hast done with me;—What, Jessica!— And sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out. Why, Jessica, I say!

Well, you'll see for yourself; your own eyes will be your judge of the difference between old Shylock and Bassanio.—Hey, Jessica!—You won't stuff yourself the way you did with me—Hey, Jessica!—and sleep, and snore, and wear out your clothes. Jessica, I'm calling you!

Why, Jessica!

Hey, Jessica!

Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

Who told you to call her? I didn't tell you to call.

Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.

Your worship always used to tell me I could do nothing unless I was told to.

Call you? What is your will?

Did you call? What do you want?

I am bid forth to supper, Jessica. There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love, they flatter me. But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, Look to my house. I am right loath to go; There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags tonight.

I've been invited out to supper, Jessica. Here are my keys. But why should I go? They don't invite me out of affection; they're flattering me. But still, I'll go out of hatred, to feed on the wasteful Christian. Jessica, my girl, watch over my house. I really don't want to go; some trouble is brewing against my peace, because I dreamed of money-bags last night.

I beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.

Please, sir, go. My young master is expecting you to come at him.

So do I his.

And I'm expecting to come at him.

And they have conspired together. I will not say you shall see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o’clock i’ th’ morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th’ afternoon.

And they've plotted together. I won't say you'll see a masked procession, but if you do, then it wasn't for nothing that my nose started bleeding last Easter Monday at six in the morning, which that year fell on the same day as Ash Wednesday did four years ago in the afternoon.

What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica, Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street To gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces, But stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements. Let not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter My sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear I have no mind of feasting forth tonight. But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah. Say I will come.

What, are there masked processions? Listen to me, Jessica: lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum and the horrible squealing of the twisted-neck fife, don't climb up to the windows then, or push your head out into the public street to stare at Christian fools with painted faces. Instead, block up my house's ears—I mean my windows. Don't let the noise of shallow foolery come into my serious house. I swear by Jacob's staff, I have no wish to go out feasting tonight. But I will go. You go ahead of me, boy. Say that I'm coming.

I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window for all this. There will come a Christian by Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.

I'll go ahead, sir. Mistress, look out of the window in spite of all this. A Christian will come by who'll be worth a Jewish girl's looking at.

What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?

What did that fool of Hagar's line say, eh?

His words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else.

His words were "Farewell, mistress," nothing else.

The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder, Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day More than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me, Therefore I part with him, and part with him To one that I would have him help to waste His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in. Perhaps I will return immediately: Do as I bid you, shut doors after you, “Fast bind, fast find.” A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

The fool is good-natured enough, but he eats enormously, he's slow as a snail when there's profit to be made, and he sleeps in the daytime more than a wildcat does. Idle drones don't live in my hive, so I'm letting him go—and letting him go to someone I'd like him to help drain the money he's borrowed. Well, Jessica, go inside. Maybe I'll come back right away. Do as I tell you: lock the doors behind you. "Lock things up tight and you'll find them again"—a proverb that never grows stale in a careful mind.

Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

Goodbye. And if my luck isn't thwarted, I'll have lost a father and you a daughter.