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 the judge — the difference between old Shylock and Bassanio. Hey, Jessica! You won't be allowed to stuff yourself as you did with me — Hey, Jessica! — and sleep, and snore, and wear out 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 that 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. Still, I'll go out of hatred, to feed on the wasteful Christian. Jessica, my girl, look after my house. I'm really unwilling 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, do go. My young master is expecting your reproach.

So do I his.

And I'm expecting his.

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 masque, but if you do, then it wasn't for nothing that my nose started bleeding last Black Monday at six in the morning, that year falling out on Ash Wednesday 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 masques? Listen to me, Jessica: lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum and the disgusting squealing of the crooked-necked fife, don't climb up to the windows then, or stick your head out into the public street to stare at Christian fools with painted faces. Instead plug up my house's ears — I mean my windows. Don't let the sound of shallow foolery get into my serious house. I swear by Jacob's staff that I have no wish to go out feasting tonight. But I will go. You go on ahead of me, fellow. Say that I'll come.

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 on ahead, sir. Mistress, look out of the window in spite of all this. A Christian will come by who will be worth a Jewess's glance.

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

What does that fool of Hagar's offspring say, eh?

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

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

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 kind enough, but he eats enormously, he's snail-slow when there's profit to be made, and he sleeps in the daytime more than a wild-cat 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 empty his borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go inside. Perhaps I'll be back right away. Do as I tell you; shut the doors behind you. "Fasten it tight and you'll find it there" — a proverb that never goes stale in a thrifty 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.