Lor.
’Tis now but four of clock, we have two hours
To furnish us.
Enter Launcelot [with a letter].
Friend Launcelot, what’s the news?
Laun. And it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.
Lor.
I know the hand; in faith, ’tis a fair hand,
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.
Gra.
Love-news, in faith.
Laun. By your leave, sir.
Lor. Whither goest thou?
Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.
Lor.
Hold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her, speak it privately.
Exit Clown.
Go, gentlemen,
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
Sal.
Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.
Sol.
And so will I.
Lor.
Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.
Sal.
’Tis good we do so.
Exit [with Solanio].
Gra.
Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
Lor.
I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
How I shall take her from her father’s house,
What gold and jewels she is furnish’d with,
What page’s suit she hath in readiness.
If e’er the Jew her father come to heaven,
It will be for his gentle daughter’s sake,
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come go with me, peruse this as thou goest.
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.
Exeunt.
¶
[Scene V]
Enter [Shylock the] Jew and his man that was, the Clown [Launcelot]
Shy.
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—
What, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gurmandize,
As thou hast done with me—What, Jessica!—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out—
Why, Jessica, I say!
Laun.
Why, Jessica!
Shy.
Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.
Enter Jessica.
Jes.
Call you? what is your will?
Shy.
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 to-night.
Laun. I beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.
Shy. So do I his.
Laun. And they have conspir’d 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 a’ clock i’ th’ morning, falling out that year on Ash We’n’sday was four year in th’ afternoon.
Shy.
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
