The Merchant of Venice, Act 5, Scene 1

The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise, in such a night, Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents Where Cressid lay that night.

The moon shines bright. On a night like this, when the sweet wind gently kissed the trees and they made no noise, on such a night I think Troilus climbed the walls of Troy and sighed his soul out toward the Greek tents where Cressid lay that night.

In such a night Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew, And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself, And ran dismay’d away.

On such a night Thisbe ran fearfully across the dew, and saw the lion's shadow before she saw the lion itself, and ran away terrified.

In such a night Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love To come again to Carthage.

On such a night Dido stood with a willow branch in her hand on the wild sea-shore, and waved to her love to come back to Carthage.

In such a night Medea gathered the enchanted herbs That did renew old Æson.

On such a night Medea gathered the magic herbs that made old Æson young again.

In such a night Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, And with an unthrift love did run from Venice As far as Belmont.

On such a night Jessica stole away from the rich Jew, and ran off from Venice with a spendthrift lover as far as Belmont.

In such a night Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, And ne’er a true one.

On such a night young Lorenzo swore he loved her dearly, stealing her soul with many vows of faithfulness, and not one of them true.

In such a night Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

On such a night pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, slandered her lover, and he forgave her for it.

I would out-night you did no body come; But hark, I hear the footing of a man.

I would out-night you if nobody were coming; but listen, I hear a man's footsteps.

Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

Who comes so quickly in the silence of the night?

A friend.

A friend.

A friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?

A friend! What friend? Your name, please, friend?

Stephano is my name, and I bring word My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about By holy crosses where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours.

Stephano is my name, and I bring news that my mistress will be here at Belmont before daybreak. She is wandering about among the holy crosses, where she kneels and prays for happy hours of marriage.

Who comes with her?

Who is coming with her?

None but a holy hermit and her maid. I pray you is my master yet return’d?

Nobody but a holy hermit and her maid. Tell me, please, has my master come back yet?

He is not, nor we have not heard from him. But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

He has not, and we have not heard from him. But let us go in, please, Jessica, and prepare some formal welcome for the mistress of the house.

Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

Who calls?

Who is calling?

Sola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola!

Sola! Have you seen Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola!

Leave holloaing, man. Here!

Stop shouting, man. Here!

Sola! Where, where?

Sola! Where, where?

Here!

Here!

Tell him there’s a post come from my master with his horn full of good news. My master will be here ere morning.

Tell him a messenger has come from my master with his horn full of good news. My master will be here before morning.

Sweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter; why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand, And bring your music forth into the air.

Sweet soul, let's go in, and wait for them there. And yet it doesn't matter; why should we go in? My friend Stephano, please announce inside the house that your mistress is close by, and bring your musicians out here into the open air.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold. There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls, But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

How sweetly the moonlight sleeps on this bank! Here we'll sit and let the sounds of music creep into our ears; soft stillness and the night suit the notes of sweet harmony. Sit down, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven is thickly inlaid with discs of bright gold. There isn't the smallest sphere you can see that doesn't sing like an angel as it moves, endlessly joining the choir of the young-eyed cherubim. Such harmony is in immortal souls, but while this muddy garment of decay shuts it in so coarsely, we cannot hear it.

Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn. With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear, And draw her home with music.

Come on then! Wake Diana with a hymn. Pierce your mistress's ear with the sweetest notes, and draw her home with music.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

I am never cheerful when I hear sweet music.

The reason is, your spirits are attentive. For do but note a wild and wanton herd Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood, If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods, Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

The reason is that your spirits are listening closely. Just consider a wild, unruly herd or troop of young, untrained colts, leaping madly about, bellowing and neighing loudly, which is the hot state of their blood: if they happen to hear a trumpet sound, or any strain of music touches their ears, you'll see them all stop together, their savage eyes turned to a quiet gaze by the sweet power of music. That's why the poet invented the story that Orpheus drew trees, stones and rivers after him, since there is nothing so wooden, hard and full of rage that music does not change its nature for the time. The man who has no music in himself, and is not moved by the harmony of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, plots and plunder; the movements of his spirit are as dull as night, and his feelings as dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Listen to the music.

That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws its beams! That's how a good deed shines in a wicked world.

When the moon shone we did not see the candle.

While the moon was shining we couldn't see the candle.

So doth the greater glory dim the less. A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

That's how the greater glory dims the lesser. A deputy shines as brightly as a king until a king is present, and then his grandeur pours itself away, like an inland stream into the open sea. Music! Listen!

It is your music, madam, of the house.

It is your own music, madam, from the house.

Nothing is good, I see, without respect. Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Nothing is good, I see, except in relation to something else. I think it sounds much sweeter than it would by day.

Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

The silence gives it that quality, madam.

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season’d are To their right praise and true perfection! Peace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak’d!

The crow sings as sweetly as the lark when nobody is listening to either of them; and I think that if the nightingale sang by day, when every goose is cackling, she would be thought no better a musician than the wren. How many things are given their proper praise and true perfection by the right season! Quiet! See how the moon sleeps with Endymion, and will not be woken!

That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv’d, of Portia.

That is Portia's voice, or I am much mistaken.

He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice.

He knows me the way a blind man knows the cuckoo — by the ugly voice.

Dear lady, welcome home.

Dear lady, welcome home.

We have been praying for our husbands’ welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return’d?

We have been praying for our husbands' well-being, which we hope prospers the better for our words. Have they come back?

Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before To signify their coming.

Madam, they have not yet; but a messenger has come ahead to announce their arrival.

Go in, Nerissa. Give order to my servants, that they take No note at all of our being absent hence, Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.

Go inside, Nerissa. Tell my servants to take no notice at all of our having been away from here; and you too, Lorenzo; and you, Jessica.

Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet. We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.

Your husband is close by, I hear his trumpet. We are not tell-tales, madam, don't worry.

This night methinks is but the daylight sick, It looks a little paler. ’Tis a day Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

This night, I think, is only the daylight fallen ill; it looks a little paler. It's a day like the day when the sun is hidden.

We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun.

We would have daylight at the same time as the Antipodes, if you would walk about while the sun is away.

Let me give light, but let me not be light, For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me. But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

Let me give light, but let me not be light in behaviour, for a loose wife makes a sad husband, and may Bassanio never be sad because of me. But God settle everything! You are welcome home, my lord.

I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound.

Thank you, madam. Welcome my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, to whom I am so endlessly indebted.

You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

You ought by every measure to be deeply bound to him, for, as I hear, he was bound deeply for you.

No more than I am well acquitted of.

No more than I have been fully released from.

Sir, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

Sir, you are very welcome to our house. It must show itself in other ways than words, so I'll cut short this courtesy of mere breath.

[To Nerissa.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong, In faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk. Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

[To Nerissa.] By that moon up there I swear you are wronging me. Honestly, I gave it to the judge's clerk. As far as I'm concerned, I wish the man who got it were castrated, since you take it so much to heart, my love.

A quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter?

A quarrel already! What's the matter?

About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me, whose posy was For all the world like cutlers’ poetry Upon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”

It's about a hoop of gold, a worthless ring she gave me, with a motto on it exactly like a knife-maker's verse on a blade: "Love me, and leave me not."

What talk you of the posy, or the value? You swore to me when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death, And that it should lie with you in your grave. Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You should have been respective and have kept it. Gave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge, The clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it.

Why do you talk about the motto or the value? You swore to me when I gave it to you that you would wear it until the hour of your death, and that it would lie with you in your grave. Even if not for my sake, then for the sake of your passionate oaths, you should have been careful of it and kept it. Gave it to a judge's clerk! No, God is my judge, the clerk who got it will never grow hair on his face.

He will, and if he live to be a man.

He will, if he lives to be a man.

Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Yes, if a woman lives to be a man.

Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk, A prating boy that begg’d it as a fee, I could not for my heart deny it him.

Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, a sort of boy, a stunted little boy, no taller than you, the judge's clerk, a chattering boy who begged for it as his fee. I couldn't for the life of me refuse him.

You were to blame,—I must be plain with you,— To part so slightly with your wife’s first gift, A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear Never to part with it, and here he stands. I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief, An ’twere to me I should be mad at it.

You were at fault — I must speak plainly to you — to give away so casually your wife's first gift, a thing fastened onto your finger with oaths and riveted to your flesh with faithfulness. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear never to part with it, and here he stands. I'd dare to swear on his behalf that he would not give it up, or pull it off his finger, for all the wealth the world possesses. Now really, Gratiano, you give your wife too cruel a reason for grief. If it were me, I'd be furious about it.

[Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear I lost the ring defending it.

[Aside.] Well, my best course would be to cut my left hand off and swear I lost the ring defending it.

My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg’d it, and indeed Deserv’d it too. And then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine, And neither man nor master would take aught But the two rings.

My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away to the judge who begged for it, and who really deserved it too. And then the boy, his clerk, who had taken some trouble over the writing, begged for mine, and neither the servant nor the master would accept anything but the two rings.

What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you receiv’d of me.

What ring did you give away, my lord? Not the one, I hope, that you got from me.

If I could add a lie unto a fault, I would deny it, but you see my finger Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone.

If I could add a lie to a fault, I would deny it, but you see my finger has not got the ring on it, it is gone.

Even so void is your false heart of truth. By heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed Until I see the ring.

Your false heart is just as empty of truth. By heaven, I will never come into your bed until I see the ring.

Nor I in yours Till I again see mine!

And I will never come into yours until I see mine again!

Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, If you did know for whom I gave the ring, And would conceive for what I gave the ring, And how unwillingly I left the ring, When nought would be accepted but the ring, You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

Sweet Portia, if you knew to whom I gave the ring, if you knew for whom I gave the ring, and if you could understand why I gave the ring, and how unwillingly I parted with the ring, when nothing would be accepted except the ring, you would soften your anger.

If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring. What man is there so much unreasonable, If you had pleas’d to have defended it With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty To urge the thing held as a ceremony? Nerissa teaches me what to believe: I’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring.

If you had known the power of the ring, or half the worth of the woman who gave the ring, or how your own honour depended on keeping the ring, you would not have parted with the ring. What man is so unreasonable that, if you had chosen to defend it with any words of devotion, he would have lacked the decency to press for a thing held sacred? Nerissa tells me what to believe: I'd stake my life on it — some woman has the ring.

No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, And begg’d the ring, the which I did deny him, And suffer’d him to go displeas’d away, Even he that had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforc’d to send it after him. I was beset with shame and courtesy. My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; For by these blessed candles of the night, Had you been there, I think you would have begg’d The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

No, on my honour, madam, on my soul, no woman had it, but a lawyer, who refused three thousand ducats from me and asked for the ring. I refused him, and let him go away displeased — the very man who had saved the life of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was forced to send it after him. I was surrounded by shame and obligation. My honour would not allow ingratitude to stain it so badly. Forgive me, good lady; for by these blessed candles of the night, if you had been there, I think you would have begged the ring from me to give to the worthy lawyer.

Let not that doctor e’er come near my house, Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you, I’ll not deny him anything I have, No, not my body, nor my husband’s bed. Know him I shall, I am well sure of it. Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus, If you do not, if I be left alone, Now by mine honour which is yet mine own, I’ll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.

Don't ever let that lawyer come near my house. Since he has got the jewel that I loved, the one you swore to keep for my sake, I will become as generous as you: I will not deny him anything I have, not my body, nor my husband's bed. I will get to know him, I am quite sure of that. Don't spend a single night away from home. Watch me like Argus. If you don't, if I am left alone, then by my honour, which is still my own, I will take that lawyer as my bedfellow.

And I his clerk. Therefore be well advis’d How you do leave me to mine own protection.

And I will take his clerk. So think carefully about leaving me to look after myself.

Well, do you so. Let not me take him then, For if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.

Well, do that. But don't let me catch him then, for if I do, I'll ruin the young clerk's pen.

I am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels.

I am the unhappy cause of these quarrels.

Sir, grieve not you. You are welcome notwithstanding.

Sir, don't be distressed. You are welcome all the same.

Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong, And in the hearing of these many friends I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself—

Portia, forgive me this wrong I was forced into, and in front of all these friends I swear to you, by your own beautiful eyes, in which I see myself—

Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself, In each eye one. Swear by your double self, And there’s an oath of credit.

Just listen to that! In both my eyes he sees himself doubled, one in each eye. Swear by your double self, and that will be an oath worth trusting.

Nay, but hear me. Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear I never more will break an oath with thee.

No, but listen to me. Forgive this fault, and on my soul I swear I will never again break an oath with you.

I once did lend my body for his wealth, Which but for him that had your husband’s ring Had quite miscarried. I dare be bound again, My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord Will never more break faith advisedly.

I once lent my body for his benefit, and it would have been utterly lost if it weren't for the man who has your husband's ring. I dare to give my word again, with my soul as the forfeit, that your husband will never again break faith deliberately.

Then you shall be his surety. Give him this, And bid him keep it better than the other.

Then you shall be his guarantor. Give him this, and tell him to keep it better than the other one.

Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.

Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.

By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

By heaven, it's the same one I gave the lawyer!

I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio, For by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

I got it from him. Forgive me, Bassanio, for by this ring, the lawyer slept with me.

And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano, For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

And forgive me, my gentle Gratiano, for that same scruffy boy, the lawyer's clerk, slept with me last night in exchange for this.

Why, this is like the mending of highways In summer, where the ways are fair enough. What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv’d it?

Why, this is like repairing roads in summer, when the roads are good enough already. What, are we cuckolds before we have earned it?

Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz’d. Here is a letter; read it at your leisure. It comes from Padua from Bellario. There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, Nerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, And even but now return’d. I have not yet Enter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome, And I have better news in store for you Than you expect: unseal this letter soon. There you shall find three of your argosies Are richly come to harbour suddenly. You shall not know by what strange accident I chanced on this letter.

Don't talk so crudely. You are all bewildered. Here is a letter; read it when you have time. It comes from Padua, from Bellario. In it you will find that Portia was the lawyer, and Nerissa there was her clerk. Lorenzo here will confirm that I set out just after you did, and have only this moment returned. I have not even gone into my house yet. Antonio, you are welcome, and I have better news in store for you than you expect: open this letter right away. In it you will find that three of your merchant fleets have suddenly come into harbour with rich cargoes. You will never guess by what strange chance I came upon this letter.

I am dumb.

I am speechless.

Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?

Were you the lawyer, and I didn't recognise you?

Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

Were you the clerk who is going to make me a cuckold?

Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, Unless he live until he be a man.

Yes, but the clerk who never intends to do it, unless he lives long enough to become a man.

Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow. When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Sweet lawyer, you shall be my bedfellow. When I am away, then sleep with my wife.

Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; For here I read for certain that my ships Are safely come to road.

Sweet lady, you have given me back my life and my livelihood; for here I read for certain that my ships have come safely to anchor.

How now, Lorenzo! My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

Well now, Lorenzo! My clerk has some good comfort for you too.

Ay, and I’ll give them him without a fee. There do I give to you and Jessica, From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, After his death, of all he dies possess’d of.

Yes, and I'll give it to him without charging a fee. Here I give to you and Jessica, from the rich Jew, a special deed of gift for everything he owns when he dies.

Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people.

Fair ladies, you are dropping manna in the path of starving people.

It is almost morning, And yet I am sure you are not satisfied Of these events at full. Let us go in, And charge us there upon inter’gatories, And we will answer all things faithfully.

It is almost morning, and yet I am sure you are not fully satisfied about these events. Let's go inside, and there you can question us under oath, and we will answer everything truthfully.

Let it be so. The first inter’gatory That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, Whether till the next night she had rather stay, Or go to bed now, being two hours to day. But were the day come, I should wish it dark Till I were couching with the doctor’s clerk. Well, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing So sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.

Let it be so. The first question my Nerissa shall be sworn on is whether she would rather wait until tomorrow night, or go to bed now, with two hours left until daybreak. But if daybreak had come, I would wish it dark until I was lying with the lawyer's clerk. Well, as long as I live, I'll dread nothing else so much as keeping Nerissa's ring safe.