The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1

What, is Antonio here?

Well, is Antonio here?

Ready, so please your Grace.

Ready, if it please your Grace.

I am sorry for thee, thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, Uncapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy.

I'm sorry for you. You have come to face a stony opponent, an inhuman wretch, incapable of pity, with not the smallest drop of mercy in him.

I have heard Your Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy’s reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm’d To suffer with a quietness of spirit The very tyranny and rage of his.

I have heard that your Grace has taken great trouble to soften his harsh course of action; but since he stays unmoved, and since no lawful means can get me out of the reach of his spite, I set my patience against his fury, and I am prepared to endure the full tyranny and rage of his with a quiet spirit.

Go one and call the Jew into the court.

Someone go and call the Jew into the court.

He is ready at the door. He comes, my lord.

He is waiting at the door. He's coming now, my lord.

Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought, Thou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; And where thou now exacts the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh, Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, But, touch’d with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal, Glancing an eye of pity on his losses That have of late so huddled on his back, Enow to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks and Tartars never train’d To offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Make room, and let him stand in front of me. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, that you are only keeping up this show of malice until the very last moment, and that then, it is believed, you will show a mercy and pity stranger than the strange cruelty you now display. And where you now demand the penalty, which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, you will not only give up the forfeit but, moved by human kindness and love, forgive half the loan as well, casting a pitying eye on his losses, which have lately piled up on his back so thickly — enough to crush a royal merchant, and to wring sympathy for his situation out of brazen chests and rough hearts of flint, out of stubborn Turks and Tartars never trained in acts of gentle courtesy. We all expect a kind answer, Jew.

I have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose, And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn To have the due and forfeit of my bond. If you deny it, let the danger light Upon your charter and your city’s freedom! You’ll ask me why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh than to receive Three thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that, But say it is my humour. Is it answer’d? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleas’d to give ten thousand ducats To have it ban’d? What, are you answer’d yet? Some men there are love not a gaping pig; Some that are mad if they behold a cat; And others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose, Cannot contain their urine; for affection Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer: As there is no firm reason to be render’d Why he cannot abide a gaping pig, Why he a harmless necessary cat, Why he a woollen bagpipe, but of force Must yield to such inevitable shame As to offend, himself being offended, So can I give no reason, nor I will not, More than a lodg’d hate and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are you answered?

I have told your Grace what I intend, and I have sworn by our holy Sabbath to have what is due and forfeit under my bond. If you refuse it, let the harm fall on your city's charter and its liberties! You will ask me why I would rather have a weight of dead flesh than receive three thousand ducats. I won't answer that, except to say it is my whim. Is that an answer? What if my house were troubled by a rat, and I chose to give ten thousand ducats to have it poisoned? Well, are you answered yet? Some men there are who cannot bear a roast pig with its mouth open; some who go mad at the sight of a cat; and others, when the bagpipe sings through its nose, cannot hold their water — because feeling, the mistress of passion, pushes it toward liking or loathing. Now, for your answer: just as there is no solid reason to be given why one man cannot stand a gaping pig, why another cannot stand a harmless, useful cat, why another cannot stand a woollen bagpipe, but must necessarily give way to such unavoidable humiliation as to give offence while being offended himself — so I can give no reason, and I will not, beyond a settled hatred and a definite loathing I feel for Antonio, that makes me pursue this losing case against him. Are you answered?

This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

That is no answer, you unfeeling man, to justify the flow of your cruelty.

I am not bound to please thee with my answer.

I am not obliged to please you with my answer.

Do all men kill the things they do not love?

Do all men kill the things they do not love?

Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

Does any man hate a thing he wouldn't want to kill?

Every offence is not a hate at first.

Not every insult amounts to hatred at first.

What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

What, would you let a snake sting you twice?

I pray you, think you question with the Jew. You may as well go stand upon the beach And bid the main flood bate his usual height; You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops and to make no noise When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; You may as well do anything most hard As seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?— His Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no moe offers, use no farther means, But with all brief and plain conveniency. Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.

Please remember that you are arguing with the Jew. You might as well go and stand on the beach and order the high tide to come in lower than usual. You might as well ask the wolf why he has made the ewe bleat for her lamb. You might as well forbid the mountain pines to toss their high tops and make no noise when they are shaken by the gusts of heaven. You might as well attempt anything however hard as try to soften that — and what is harder than it? — his Jewish heart. So I beg you, make no more offers, try no further methods, but with all quick and plain convenience let me have judgment, and the Jew his way.

For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

For your three thousand ducats, here is six thousand.

If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond.

If every ducat in six thousand ducats were split into six parts, and every part were a ducat, I would not take them; I would have what my bond gives me.

How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none?

How can you hope for mercy when you give none?

What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? You have among you many a purchas’d slave, Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts, Because you bought them. Shall I say to you “Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? Why sweat they under burdens? Let their beds Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates Be season’d with such viands”? You will answer “The slaves are ours.” So do I answer you: The pound of flesh which I demand of him Is dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it. If you deny me, fie upon your law! There is no force in the decrees of Venice. I stand for judgment. Answer; shall I have it?

What judgment should I fear, when I am doing no wrong? You have among you many a bought slave, whom, like your donkeys and your dogs and mules, you put to degrading, slavish work, because you bought them. Shall I say to you, "Set them free, marry them to your heirs? Why do they sweat under burdens? Let their beds be made as soft as yours, and let their mouths be fed with such fine food"? You will answer, "The slaves are ours." So I answer you: the pound of flesh which I demand of him was bought at a high price; it's mine and I will have it. If you refuse me, shame on your law! There is no strength in the laws of Venice. I wait for judgment. Answer me: shall I have it?

Upon my power I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here today.

By my authority I may dismiss this court, unless Bellario, a learned lawyer whom I have sent for to settle this case, arrives here today.

My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua.

My lord, there is a messenger waiting outside with letters from the lawyer, just arrived from Padua.

Bring us the letters. Call the messenger.

Bring us the letters. Call in the messenger.

Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

Cheer up, Antonio! Come on, man, have courage still! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all before you lose one drop of blood for me.

I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death, the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. You cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.

I am a diseased ram in the flock, the one most fit for death. The weakest kind of fruit drops to the ground first, and so let it be with me. You cannot be better occupied, Bassanio, than in living on and writing my epitaph.

Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

Have you come from Padua, from Bellario?

From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.

From both, my lord. Bellario sends his greetings to your Grace.

Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

Why are you sharpening your knife so intently?

To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

To cut the forfeit out of that bankrupt there.

Not on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can, No, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

It's not on your shoe-sole but on your soul that you are sharpening your knife, cruel Jew. But no metal, not even the executioner's axe, has half the sharpness of your keen spite. Can no prayers get through to you?

No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

No, none that you have the brains to make.

O, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog! And for thy life let justice be accus’d; Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith, To hold opinion with Pythagoras That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit Govern’d a wolf who, hang’d for human slaughter, Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam, Infus’d itself in thee; for thy desires Are wolfish, bloody, starv’d and ravenous.

Oh, be damned, you dog beyond all cursing! And let justice itself be blamed for letting you live. You almost make my faith waver, so that I side with Pythagoras in believing that the souls of animals pass into the bodies of men. Your dog-like spirit once ruled a wolf which, hanged for killing a human, sent its savage soul flying straight from the gallows, and while you lay in your unholy mother's womb, poured itself into you — for your desires are wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, Thou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud. Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

Until you can shout the seal off my bond, you are only damaging your lungs by speaking so loudly. Mend your wits, young man, or they will collapse into ruin beyond repair. I stand here for the law.

This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court. Where is he?

This letter from Bellario recommends a young and learned lawyer to our court. Where is he?

He attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, whether you’ll admit him.

He is waiting close by, to hear your answer, whether you will let him in.

With all my heart: some three or four of you Go give him courteous conduct to this place. Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.

With all my heart. Three or four of you go and escort him courteously to this place. In the meantime, the court will hear Bellario's letter.

[Reads.] Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt of your letter I am very sick, but in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome. His name is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant. We turn’d o’er many books together. He is furnished with my opinion, which, bettered with his own learning (the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend), comes with him at my importunity to fill up your Grace’s request in my stead. I beseech you let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation.

[Reads.] Your Grace should know that when your letter reached me I was very ill, but at the moment your messenger arrived, a young lawyer from Rome was with me on a friendly visit. His name is Balthazar. I told him about the dispute between the Jew and Antonio the merchant. We looked through many books together. He has my opinion, which, improved by his own learning (and I cannot praise the greatness of it enough), he brings with him at my urging, to meet your Grace's request in my place. I beg you not to let his youth be a reason for denying him a respectful reception, for I have never known so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, and testing him will show his worth better than my praise can.

You hear the learn’d Bellario what he writes, And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

You hear what the learned Bellario writes, and here, I take it, is the lawyer arriving.

Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

Give me your hand. Have you come from old Bellario?

I did, my lord.

I have, my lord.

You are welcome. Take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court?

You are welcome. Take your seat. Are you familiar with the dispute that is now before the court?

I am informed throughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here? And which the Jew?

I have been fully briefed on the case. Which is the merchant here? And which the Jew?

Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

Antonio and old Shylock, both step forward.

Is your name Shylock?

Is your name Shylock?

Shylock is my name.

Shylock is my name.

Of a strange nature is the suit you follow, Yet in such rule that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. [To Antonio.] You stand within his danger, do you not?

The suit you are pursuing is of a strange kind, yet it is so much within the rules that Venetian law cannot challenge you as you proceed. [To Antonio.] You are in his power, are you not?

Ay, so he says.

Yes, so he says.

Do you confess the bond?

Do you admit to the bond?

I do.

I do.

Then must the Jew be merciful.

Then the Jew must be merciful.

On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.

What compels me to be? Tell me that.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest, It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God’s When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea, Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.

The nature of mercy is that it isn't forced. It falls like the gentle rain from heaven onto the ground below. It is blessed twice over: it blesses the one who gives and the one who receives. It is strongest in the strongest; it suits an enthroned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of worldly power, the mark of awe and majesty, in which the dread and fear of kings resides; but mercy is above this sceptred rule, it sits enthroned in the hearts of kings, it is an attribute of God himself; and earthly power looks most like God's when mercy softens justice. So, Jew, although justice is what you ask for, consider this: if we were dealt strict justice, none of us would be saved. We pray for mercy, and that same prayer teaches us all to perform merciful acts. I have said all this to soften the justice of your claim, which, if you press it, this strict court of Venice must necessarily pass sentence against that merchant there.

My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

Let what I do fall on my own head! I demand the law, the penalty and forfeit of my bond.

Is he not able to discharge the money?

Is he not able to pay the money?

Yes, here I tender it for him in the court, Yea, twice the sum, if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o’er On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority. To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will.

Yes, I offer it here for him in court — indeed, twice the amount; and if that is not enough, I will pledge myself to pay it ten times over, on forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. If this is not enough, then it must be clear that malice is crushing truth. And I beg you, bend the law just once by your authority. To do a great right, do a little wrong, and stop this cruel devil from getting his way.

It must not be, there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established; ’Twill be recorded for a precedent, And many an error by the same example Will rush into the state. It cannot be.

It must not happen. No power in Venice can change an established law. It would be recorded as a precedent, and many an error would pour into the state on that example. It cannot be done.

A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

A Daniel come to judgment! Yes, a Daniel! Oh, wise young judge, how I honour you!

I pray you let me look upon the bond.

Please let me look at the bond.

Here ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

Here it is, most honoured lawyer, here it is.

Shylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee.

Shylock, you are being offered three times your money.

An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven. Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice.

An oath, an oath! I have sworn an oath in heaven. Shall I load my soul with perjury? No, not for all of Venice.

Why, this bond is forfeit, And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful, Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

Well then, this bond is forfeited, and by it the Jew may lawfully claim a pound of flesh, to be cut off by him nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful: take three times your money; tell me to tear up the bond.

When it is paid according to the tenour. It doth appear you are a worthy judge; You know the law; your exposition Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me. I stay here on my bond.

Not until it is paid according to its terms. You clearly are a worthy judge; you know the law; your interpretation has been completely sound. I call on you, in the name of the law, of which you are a pillar who well deserves the place, to proceed to judgment. I swear by my soul that there is no power in any man's tongue to change me. I hold to my bond.

Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment.

With all my heart I beg the court to give its judgment.

Why then, thus it is: You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

Then this is how it stands: you must bare your chest for his knife.

O noble judge! O excellent young man!

Oh, noble judge! Oh, excellent young man!

For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

Because the intent and purpose of the law relates fully to the penalty, which here appears to be due under the bond.

’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge, How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

That's perfectly true. Oh, wise and upright judge, how much older you are than you look!

Therefore lay bare your bosom.

So bare your chest.

Ay, his breast So says the bond, doth it not, noble judge? “Nearest his heart”: those are the very words.

Yes, his breast. That's what the bond says, doesn't it, noble judge? "Nearest his heart": those are the exact words.

It is so. Are there balance here to weigh The flesh?

That's right. Are there scales here to weigh the flesh?

I have them ready.

I have them ready.

Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

Have some surgeon standing by, Shylock, at your expense, to close his wounds, in case he bleeds to death.

Is it so nominated in the bond?

Is that specified in the bond?

It is not so express’d, but what of that? ’Twere good you do so much for charity.

It isn't stated there, but what of it? It would be good of you to do that much out of charity.

I cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond.

I can't find it; it isn't in the bond.

You, merchant, have you anything to say?

You, merchant, do you have anything to say?

But little. I am arm’d and well prepar’d. Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well, Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you, For herein Fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow An age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance Of such misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honourable wife, Tell her the process of Antonio’s end, Say how I lov’d you, speak me fair in death. And when the tale is told, bid her be judge Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Repent but you that you shall lose your friend And he repents not that he pays your debt. For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, I’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.

Only a little. I am steeled and well prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio. Farewell. Don't grieve that I have come to this for your sake, for in this Fortune shows herself kinder than she usually is: it is always her habit to let the wretched man outlive his wealth, to look with sunken eyes and wrinkled forehead on an old age of poverty; from that drawn-out punishment of such misery she cuts me free. Give my greetings to your honourable wife; tell her how Antonio came to his end; say how I loved you; speak well of me in death. And when the story is told, let her judge whether Bassanio did not once have someone who loved him. Only regret that you are going to lose your friend, and he doesn't regret paying your debt. For if the Jew cuts deep enough, I'll pay it at once with all my heart.

Antonio, I am married to a wife Which is as dear to me as life itself, But life itself, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me esteem’d above thy life. I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you.

Antonio, I am married to a wife who is as dear to me as life itself, but life itself, my wife, and the whole world are not valued by me above your life. I would give up everything — yes, sacrifice it all here to this devil — to set you free.

Your wife would give you little thanks for that If she were by to hear you make the offer.

Your wife would thank you very little for that if she were here to hear you make the offer.

I have a wife who I protest I love. I would she were in heaven, so she could Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

I have a wife whom I swear I love. I wish she were in heaven, so she could beg some power there to change this dog of a Jew.

’Tis well you offer it behind her back, The wish would make else an unquiet house.

It's a good thing you offer that behind her back, or the wish would make for a troubled household.

These be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter— Would any of the stock of Barabbas Had been her husband, rather than a Christian! We trifle time, I pray thee, pursue sentence.

These are the Christian husbands! I have a daughter — I'd rather any man of the line of Barabbas had been her husband than a Christian! We're wasting time; please, get on with the sentence.

A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine, The court awards it and the law doth give it.

A pound of that merchant's flesh is yours. The court awards it and the law grants it.

Most rightful judge!

Most righteous judge!

And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. The law allows it and the court awards it.

And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. The law permits it and the court awards it.

Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.

Most learned judge! There's a sentence! Come, get ready.

Tarry a little, there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood. The words expressly are “a pound of flesh”: Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh, But in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice.

Wait a moment, there's something else. This bond gives you not one bit of blood. The words are precisely "a pound of flesh." So take your bond, take your pound of flesh, but in cutting it, if you spill one drop of Christian blood, your lands and goods are, by the laws of Venice, forfeited to the state of Venice.

O upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!

Oh, upright judge! Take note, Jew. Oh, learned judge!

Is that the law?

Is that the law?

Thyself shalt see the act. For, as thou urgest justice, be assur’d Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st.

You'll see the statute yourself. Since you press so hard for justice, be assured you will get more justice than you want.

O learned judge! Mark, Jew, a learned judge!

Oh, learned judge! Take note, Jew — a learned judge!

I take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice And let the Christian go.

Then I accept this offer. Let the bond be paid three times over and let the Christian go.

Here is the money.

Here is the money.

Soft! The Jew shall have all justice. Soft! no haste! He shall have nothing but the penalty.

Not so fast! The Jew shall have complete justice. Gently — no hurry! He shall have nothing but the penalty.

O Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!

Oh, Jew — an upright judge, a learned judge!

Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak’st more Or less than a just pound, be it but so much As makes it light or heavy in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.

So prepare yourself to cut off the flesh. Shed no blood, and cut neither less nor more, but exactly a pound of flesh: if you take more or less than a precise pound — even by as much as makes it light or heavy in weight, or by the fraction of a twentieth part of one tiny scruple; no, if the scale tips even by the breadth of a hair — you die, and all your goods are forfeited.

A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, unbeliever, I have you at my mercy.

Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.

Why does the Jew hesitate? Take what you are owed.

Give me my principal, and let me go.

Give me back my original sum, and let me go.

I have it ready for thee. Here it is.

I have it ready for you. Here it is.

He hath refus’d it in the open court, He shall have merely justice and his bond.

He has refused it in open court. He shall have nothing but justice and his bond.

A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

A Daniel, I still say, a second Daniel! I thank you, Jew, for teaching me that word.

Shall I not have barely my principal?

Am I not even to have my original sum back?

Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

You shall have nothing but the forfeiture, to be taken at your own risk, Jew.

Why, then the devil give him good of it! I’ll stay no longer question.

Why then, let the devil give him joy of it! I'll stay for no more questioning.

Tarry, Jew. The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien That by direct or indirect attempts He seek the life of any citizen, The party ’gainst the which he doth contrive Shall seize one half his goods; the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state, And the offender’s life lies in the mercy Of the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice. In which predicament I say thou stand’st; For it appears by manifest proceeding That indirectly, and directly too, Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d The danger formerly by me rehears’d. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.

Wait, Jew. The law still has another hold on you. It is laid down in the laws of Venice that if it is proved against a foreigner that by direct or indirect attempts he has sought the life of any citizen, the party against whom he plotted shall take half his goods; the other half goes to the private treasury of the state, and the offender's life lies in the mercy of the Duke alone, against every other voice. That, I say, is the position you stand in; for it appears from the evident course of events that indirectly, and directly too, you have plotted against the very life of the defendant, and you have incurred the danger I have just described. So kneel down and beg mercy of the Duke.

Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself, And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Therefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge.

Beg for permission to hang yourself — and yet, since your wealth is forfeited to the state, you haven't the price of a rope left; so you'll have to be hanged at the state's expense.

That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. For half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

So that you may see the difference in our spirit, I pardon you your life before you ask for it. As for half your wealth, it is Antonio's; the other half goes to the state in general, though humble behaviour may reduce that to a fine.

Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

Yes, for the state's half, not for Antonio's.

Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that. You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live.

No, take my life and everything, don't pardon that. You take my house when you take away the prop that holds my house up; you take my life when you take the means by which I live.

What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

What mercy can you offer him, Antonio?

A halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake!

GRATIANO: A free noose to hang himself with, nothing else, for God's sake!

So please my lord the Duke and all the court To quit the fine for one half of his goods, I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use, to render it Upon his death unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter. Two things provided more, that for this favour, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess’d Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

If it pleases my lord the Duke and all the court to waive the fine on one half of his goods, I am satisfied, provided he will let me have the other half in trust, to hand it over at his death to the gentleman who recently stole his daughter. Two further conditions: that in return for this favour he immediately becomes a Christian; the other, that he records a deed of gift here in court, leaving everything he owns at his death to his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

He shall do this, or else I do recant The pardon that I late pronounced here.

He shall do this, or else I withdraw the pardon I pronounced here just now.

Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?

Are you satisfied, Jew? What do you say?

I am content.

I am satisfied.

Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

Clerk, draw up a deed of gift.

I pray you give me leave to go from hence; I am not well; send the deed after me And I will sign it.

Please give me permission to leave this place; I am not well. Send the deed after me and I will sign it.

Get thee gone, but do it.

Go, then, but see that you do it.

In christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers. Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.

At your christening you shall have two godfathers. If I had been the judge, you would have had ten more, to bring you to the gallows, not to the font.

Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

Sir, I beg you to come home with me to dinner.

I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon, I must away this night toward Padua, And it is meet I presently set forth.

I humbly ask your Grace to excuse me. I must leave tonight for Padua, and it is right that I set out at once.

I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. Antonio, gratify this gentleman, For in my mind you are much bound to him.

I'm sorry that you don't have the time to spare. Antonio, reward this gentleman, because in my opinion you owe him a great deal.

Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted Of grievous penalties, in lieu whereof, Three thousand ducats due unto the Jew We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

Most worthy gentleman, my friend and I have today been cleared by your wisdom of severe penalties, and in return for that we gladly offer you, for your courteous efforts, the three thousand ducats owed to the Jew.

And stand indebted, over and above In love and service to you evermore.

And on top of that we remain in your debt, owing you love and service for ever.

He is well paid that is well satisfied, And I delivering you, am satisfied, And therein do account myself well paid, My mind was never yet more mercenary. I pray you know me when we meet again, I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

A man is well paid who is well satisfied, and in freeing you I am satisfied, and so I consider myself well paid. My mind has never been more interested in money than that. Please recognize me when we meet again. I wish you well, and so I say goodbye.

Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further. Take some remembrance of us as a tribute, Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you, Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

Dear sir, I am forced to press you further. Take some keepsake from us as a token, not as a fee. Grant me two things, I beg you: do not refuse me, and forgive me.

You press me far, and therefore I will yield. [To Antonio.] Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake. [To Bassanio.] And, for your love, I’ll take this ring from you. Do not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more, And you in love shall not deny me this.

You push me hard, and so I will give in. [To Antonio.] Give me your gloves; I'll wear them for your sake. [To Bassanio.] And, as a sign of your love, I'll take this ring from you. Don't pull your hand back; I'll take nothing more, and out of love you won't refuse me this.

This ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle, I will not shame myself to give you this.

This ring, good sir? I'm afraid it's a trifle; I would be ashamed to give you this.

I will have nothing else but only this, And now methinks I have a mind to it.

I will have nothing else but only this, and now I find I have a real desire for it.

There’s more depends on this than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, And find it out by proclamation, Only for this I pray you pardon me.

There's more at stake in this than its value. I will give you the most precious ring in Venice, and find it by making a public announcement — only in this one case I beg you to excuse me.

I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now methinks You teach me how a beggar should be answer’d.

I see, sir, that you are generous with offers. You first taught me to beg, and now I think you are teaching me how a beggar ought to be answered.

Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife, And when she put it on, she made me vow That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.

Good sir, this ring was given to me by my wife, and when she put it on my finger she made me swear that I would never sell it, or give it away, or lose it.

That ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts. And if your wife be not a mad-woman, And know how well I have deserv’d this ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

That excuse serves plenty of men to keep hold of their gifts. And unless your wife is a madwoman, once she knows how well I have earned this ring, she wouldn't stay your enemy for ever just because you gave it to me. Well, peace be with you!

My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring. Let his deservings and my love withal Be valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.

My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring. Let what he deserves, and my love as well, be weighed against your wife's order.

Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; Give him the ring, and bring him if thou canst Unto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste.

Go, Gratiano, run and catch up with him. Give him the ring, and if you can, bring him to Antonio's house. Off you go, hurry.

Come, you and I will thither presently, And in the morning early will we both Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.

Come, you and I will go there right away, and early in the morning we will both fly to Belmont. Come, Antonio.