All language subtitles for The Merchant of Venice 1973 John Sichel - Laurence Olivier, Joan Plowright, Jeremy Brett Dual

[ Music playing ]

[ Horse hooves clopping ]

ANTONIO: In sooth,
I know not why I am so sad.

It wearies me.

You say it wearies you, but...

how I caught it, found it,

or came by it,
what stuff 'tis made of,

whereof it is born.

I am to learn.

And such a want-wit
sadness makes of me,

that I have much ado
to know myself.

Your mind is tossing
on the ocean,

there, where your argosies
with portly sail, like,

signors and rich burghers
on the flood.

Or, as it were,
the pageants of the sea,

do over peer
the petty traffickers

that curtsy to them,
do them reverence

as they fly by them
with their woven wings

Believe me, sir,

had I such ventures forth,

the better part of my affections

would be with my hopes abroad.

I should be still
plucking the grass

to know where sits the wind

peering in maps for ports
and piers and roads.

And every object that might
make me fear misfortune

to my ventures out of doubt

would make me sad.

My wind cooling my broth
would blow me to an ague

when I thought what harm
a wind too great

might do at sea.

I should not see
the sandy hourglass run,

but I should think of shallows
and of flats

and see my wealthy
Andrew docked in sand,

vailing her high top
lower than her ribs

to kiss her burial.

Should I go to church
to see the holy edifice of stone

and not bethink me straight
of dangerous rocks?

Which touching
but my gentle vessel's side

would scatter all her spices
on the stream,

enrobe the roaring waters
with my silks and, in a word,

but even now worth this
and now worth nothing?

[ Clearing throat ]

Shall I have the thought
to think on this?

And shall I lack the thought
that such a thing

bechanced would make me sad?

But tell not me,
I know Antonio is sad

to think upon his merchandise.

Believe me, no.

I thank my fortune for it.

My ventures
are not in one bottom trusted

or to one place.

Or is my whole estate
upon the fortunes

of this present year.

Therefore, my merchandise
makes me not sad.

Why, then, you are in love.

Oh, fie.

Oh. Not in love, neither?

Then, let us say you are sad

because you are not merry,

and 'twere as easy for you
to laugh and leap

and say you are merry
because you are...

not sad.

Now, by two-headed Janus,

nature hath framed strange
fellows in her time.

Some that will evermore peep
through their eyes

and laugh like parrots
at a bagpiper

and others of such
vinegar aspect,

they'll not show their teeth
in way of smile

though Nestor
swear the jest be laughable.

Here comes Bassanio,

your most noble kinsman,

Gratiano and Lorenzo.

-Fare ye well.
-We leave you now

with better company.

SALARINO: I should have stayed
till I made you merry

if worthier friends
had not prevented me.

But your worth
is very dear in my regard.

I take it your own business
calls on you,

and you embrace
the occasion to depart.

-Good morrow, my good lords.
-Good signors both,

when shall we laugh? Say, when?

You grow exceeding strange.
Must it be so?

SALARINO: We'll make our
leisures to attend on yours.

[ Laughter ]

My Lord Bassanio,
since you found Antonio,

we two will leave you,
but at dinnertime,

I pray you have in mind
where we must meet.

-I will not fail you.
-You look not well,

Signor Antonio.

You have too much respect
upon the world.

They lose it that do buy it
with much care.

Believe me, you are
marvelously changed.

I hold the world

but as the world, Gratiano,

a stage where every man

must play a part,

and mine a sad one.

Well, let me play the fool.

With mirth and laughter,
let old wrinkles come.

And let my liver
rather heat with wine

than my heart
cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man,
whose blood is warm within,

sit like his grandsire
cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes
and creep into the jaundice

by being peevish?

I tell thee what, Antonio.

I love thee,
and it is my love that speaks.

There are a sort of men

whose visages
do cream and mantle

like a standing pond

and do a willful
stillness entertain

with purpose to be dressed
in an opinion

of wisdom, gravity,

profound conceit,

and as who should say,
"I am Sir Oracle.

And when I open my lips,
let no dog bark."

O my Antonio, I do know
of these that therefore

only are reputed wise
for saying nothing.

When I am very sure
if they should speak

would almost damn those ears
which hearing them

would call their brothers fools.

I'll tell thee more of this
another time

but fish not
with this melancholy bait

for this fool's gudgeon,
this opinion.

Come, good Lorenzo.
Fare ye well awhile.

I'll end my exhortation
after dinner.

Well, we will leave you
then till dinnertime.

I must be one of these
same dumb wise men,

for Gratiano
never lets me speak.

No, keep me company
but two years more.

Thou shalt not know
the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO: Farewell.

I'll grow a talker
for this gear.

Thanks, i'faith,

for silence is only commendable

in a neat's tongue dried

and a maid not vendible.

[ Laughter ]

[ Groaning ]

Is that anything now?

Well, Gratiano speaks
an infinite deal of nothing,

more than any man
in all Venice.

His reasons are
as two grains of wheat

hid in two bushels of chaff.

You shall seek all day
ere you find them,

and when you have them,
they're not worth the search.

[ Groaning ]

Well,

tell me now

what lady is the same to whom

you swore a secret pilgrimage

that you today promised
to tell me of?

It is not unknown to you,
Antonio,

how much I have disabled
mine estate

by something showing
a more swelling port

than my faint means
would grant continuance

nor do I now make moan to be
abridged from such a noble rate

but my chief care is
to come fairly off

from those great debts

wherein my time,

something too prodigal
hath left me gaged.

To you, Antonio,
I owe the most

in money and in love.

And from your love,
I have a warranty to unburden

all my plots and purposes

how to get clear
of all the debts I owe.

I pray you, good Bassanio,
let me know it.

And if it stand,
as you yourself still do,

within the eye of honor,

be assured my purse, my person,

my extremest means

lie all unlocked
to your occasions.

In my school days,

when I had lost one shaft,

I shot his fellow
of a selfsame flight

the selfsame way
with more advised watch

to find the other forth
and by adventuring both,

I oft found both.

I urge this childhood proof

for what follows
is pure innocence.

I owe you much.

And like a willful youth,

that which I owe is lost.

But if you please
to shoot another arrow

that self-way
which you did shoot the first,

I do not doubt
as I shall watch the aim

or to find both or bring
your latter hazard back again,

and thankfully
rest debtor for the first.

You know me well.

And herein spend but time

to wind about my love
with circumstance.

And out of doubt
you do me now more wrong

in making question
of my uttermost

than if you had
made waste of all I have.

Then do but say to me
what I should do

that in your knowledge
may by me be done,

and I am pressed unto it.

Therefore, speak.

In Belmont

is a lady...

richly left,

and she is fair

and fairer than that word

of wondrous virtues.

Sometimes from her eyes

I did receive
fair speechless messages.

Her name is Portia,

nothing undervalued
to Cato's daughter,

Brutus' Portia.

Nor is the wide world
ignorant of her worth

for the four winds blow in
from every coast

renowned suitors,

and her sunny locks
hang on her temples

like a golden fleece,

which make her seat
of Belmont Colchos' strand

and many Jasons

come in quest of her.

O, my Antonio,
had I but the means

to hold a rival place
with one of them,

I have a mind presages me
such thrift

that I should questionless
be fortunate.

Hmm.

Thou know'st
that all my fortunes are at sea.

Neither have I money
nor commodity

to raise a present sum.

Therefore, go forth,

try what my credit
can in Venice do.

That shall be racked
even to the uttermost

to furnish thee to Belmont,

to fair Portia.

Now go presently inquire,
and so will I, where money is.

And I no question
make to have it of my trust

or for my sake.

[ Music playing ]

[ Door closing ]

By my troth, Nerissa,
my little body is aweary

of this great world.

You would be, sweet madam,

if your miseries
were in the same abundance

as your good fortunes are.

And yet for aught I see,

they are as sick
that surfeit with too much

as they that starve
with nothing.

It is no mean happiness,

therefore,
to be seated in the mean.

Superfluity comes sooner
by white hairs

but competency lives longer.

Good sentences
and well pronounced.

They would be better
if well followed.

If to do were as easy as to
know what were good to do,

chapels had been churches

and poor men's cottages
princes' palaces.

It is a good divine that follows
his own instruction.

I can easier teach 20
what were good to be done

than be one of the 20
to follow mine own teaching.

The brain may devise laws
for the blood

but a hot temper leaps
o'er a cold decree.

But this reasoning
is not in the fashion

to choose me a husband.

Oh, me, the word "choose".

I may neither choose
whom I would

nor refuse whom I dislike.

So is the will
of a living daughter

curbed by the will
of a dead father.

[ Paper crumpling ]

Is it not hard, Nerissa,

that I cannot choose
one nor refuse none?

Your father was ever virtuous.

And holy men at their death

have good inspirations.

Therefore, the lottery
that he hath devised

in these three chests
of gold, silver and lead,

whereof who chooses his meaning
chooses you,

will no doubt never be chosen
by any rightly

but one who you
shall rightly love.

But what warmth is there

in your affections towards
any of these princely suitors

that are already come?

I pray thee, overname them.

And as thou namest them,
I will describe them.

And according to my description,

level at my affection.

First,

there is the Neapolitan prince.

Oh, aye, there's a colt indeed,

for he doth nothing
but talk of his horse.

And he makes it
a great appropriation

to his own good parts
that he can shoe him himself.

I much afeard my lady
his mother

played false with a smith.

Then, there is
the County Palatine.

No. He doth nothing but frown,

as who should say, "And you
will not have me, choose."

I had rather be married
to a death's-head

with a bone in his mouth
than to either of these.

God defend me from these two.

How say you by the French lord,

Monsieur le Bon?

God made him and therefore
let him pass for a man.

Oh, in truth, I know it is a sin
to be a mocker but he,

he hath a horse better
than the Neapolitan's,

a better bad habit of frowning

than the count of Palatine.

He's every man in no man.

If a throstle sing,
he falls straight a-capering.

He will fence
with his own shadow.

If I should marry him,
I should marry 20 husbands.

If he would despise me,
I would forgive him,

for if he love me to madness,

I will never requite him.

What say you then
to Falconbridge,

the young baron of England?

You know I say nothing to him,

for he understands
not me nor I him.

He hath neither French,
Latin nor Italian

and you will come into the court

and swear I have
a poor pennyworth

of the English.

Hmm.
He is a proper man's picture.

But, alas, who can converse
with a dumb show?

And how oddly he is suited.

-How like you the young German?
-Hmm?

The Duke of Saxony's nephew?

Very vilely in the morning
when he is sober

and most vilely in the afternoon

when he is drunk.

When he is best,

he is a little worse than a man,

and when he is worst,
he's little better than a beast.

And the worst fall
that ever fell,

I hope I shall make shift
to go without him.

If he should offer to choose
and choose the right casket,

you should refuse to perform
your father's will

if you should refuse
to accept him.

Well, therefore, for fear
of the worst, I pray thee,

set a deep glass of Rhenish wine

on the contrary casket

for if the devil be within
and that temptation without,

-I know he will choose it.
-Madam.

I will do anything, Nerissa,

ere I will be married
to a sponge.

You need not fear, lady,

the having any of these lords.

They have acquainted me
with their determinations,

which is indeed to return
to their home

and to trouble you
with no more suit.

Unless you may be won

by some other sort

than your father's imposition

depending on the caskets.

If I live to be as old
as Sibylla,

I will die as chaste as Diana

unless I be obtained

by the manner
of my father's will.

I'm glad this parcel of wooers
is so reasonable

for there is not one among them,

but I dote on his very absence.

And I pray God grant them
a fair departure.

Do you not remember, lady,

in your father's time

a young Venetian,

a scholar and a soldier

that came hither
in the company

of the Marquess of Montferrat?

Yes,

yes, it was Bassanio...

as I think so was he called.

True, madam.

He of all men
that ever my foolish eyes

looked upon was the best

deserving a fair lady.

I remember him well,

and I remember him
worthy of thy praise.

How now, what news?

The four strangers
seek for you, ma'am,

to take their leave.

And there is a forerunner
come from a fifth,

-the Prince of Morocco...
-NERISSA: Oh.

...who brings word the prince

his master will be here tonight.

If I could bid the fifth welcome
with so good a heart

as I can bid
the other four farewell,

I should be glad
of his approach.

If he have the condition
of a saint

and the complexion of a devil,

I had rather he should shrive me
than wive me.

-NERISSA: Shh.
-Come, Nerissa.

Sirrah, go before.

Whiles we shut the gate
upon one wooer,

another knocks at the door.

Three thousand ducats.

Well...

Aye, sir, for three months.

For three months.

-Well...
-For the which, as I told you,

Antonio shall be bound.

Antonio is to become bound.

Well...

May you stead me?
Will you pleasure me?

Shall I know your answer?

Three thousand ducats for
three months and Antonio bound.

Your answer to that?

Antonio is a good man.

Have you heard any imputation
to the contrary?

[ Chuckling ]

No, no, no, no. My meaning
in saying he is a good man

is to have you understand me

that he is sufficient yet
his means are in supposition.

He hath an argosy
bound for Tripolis,

another for the Indies.

I understand moreover,
upon the Rialto,

he hath a third at Mexico,

a fourth for England

and other ventures
he hath squandered abroad.

But ships are but boards,

sailors but men.

There be land rats
and water rats,

land thieves and water thieves,

I mean pirates.

And then there is the peril

of waters, winds and rocks.

The man
is notwithstanding sufficient.

Three thousand ducats, hmm...

I think I may take his bond.

Be assured you may.

Oh, I will be assured I may.

And that I may be assured,
I will bethink me.

May I speak with Antonio?

If it please you
to dine with us.

Yes, to smell pork.

To eat of the habitation
which your prophet

the Nazarite
conjured the devil into.

I will buy with you,
sell with you,

walk with you, talk with you
and so following.

But I will not eat with you,

drink with you
nor pray with you.

Humph.

What news on the Rialto?

But who is he comes here?

This is Signor Antonio.

Shylock.

I'm debating of my present store

and by the near guess
of my memory,

I cannot instantly raise
up the gross

of full three thousand ducats.
What of that?

Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew

of my tribe, will furnish me.

But soft. How many months
do you desire?

Rest you fair, good signor.

Your worship was the last man
in our mouths.

Shylock,

albeit I neither lend nor borrow

by taking
nor by giving of excess,

yet to supply
the ripe wants of my friend,

I'll break a custom.

Is he yet possessed
how much ye would?

Aye, aye, 3000 ducats.

And for three months.

For three months, I had forgot.
You told me so.

Well, then,
your bond and let me see.

But soft. You--
me thoughts you said

you neither lend
nor borrow upon advantage.

ANTONIO: I do never use it.

When Jacob grazed his uncle
Laban's sheep,

this Jacob from our holy Abram

was as his wise mother
wrought in his behalf,

the third possessor.

He was the third.

ANTONIO: And what of him?

Did he take interest?

No, not take interest,
not as you would say

directly interest.

Mark what Jacob did.

When Laban and himself
were compromised

that all the eanlings
which were streaked

and pied should fall
as Jacob's hire,

the ewes, being rank
in the end of autumn

turnèd to the rams.

And when the work of generation

was between these
woolly breeders in the act,

the skillful shepherd peeled me
certain wands.

And in the doing
of the deed of kind,

he stuck them up

before the fulsome ewes

who then conceiving
did in eaning time

fall parti-colored lambs

and those were Jacob's.

This was a way to thrive
and he was blessed

for thrifty is blessing

if men steal it not.

ANTONIO: This was a venture,
sir, that Jacob served for.

A thing not in his power
to bring to pass

but swayed and befashioned
by the hand of heaven.

Was this inserted
to make interest good?

Or is your gold and silver

ewes and rams?

I cannot tell,
I make it breed as fast.

But note me, signor.

Mark this, Bassanio.

The devil can cite Scripture
for his purpose.

An evil soul
producing holy witness

is like a villain
with a smiling cheek,

a goodly apple
rotten at the heart.

Ugh, what a goodly
outside falsehood hath.

The 3000 ducats,
tis a good round sum.

Three months from twelve,
then let me see.

The rate...

Well, Shylock,

shall we be beholding to you?

Signor Antonio,

many a time
and often the Rialto,

you have rated me

about my moneys and my usances

and still have I borne it
with a patient shrug

for sufferance is the badge

of all our tribe.

You call me misbeliever,

cutthroat dog

and spit upon
my Jewish gabardine

and all for use of that
which is mine own.

Well, then, now it appears

you need my help.

Go to, then, you
come to me and you say,

"Shylock, we would have moneys."

You say so,

you, that did void your rheum

upon my beard and foot me

as you spurn a stranger cur
over your threshold.

Moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you?

Should I not say,
"Hath a dog money?

"Is it possible
a cur can lend

3000 ducats?"

Or should I bend low
under the bondman's key

with bated breath
and whispering humbleness,

say this, "Fair sir, you spet
on me on Wednesday last,

you spurned me such a time,
another day you called me 'dog'

and for these courtesies,
I'll lend you thus much money?"

I am as like to call
thee so again,

to spit on thee again,
to spurn thee too.

If thou wilt lend this money,

lend it not as to thy friends,

for when did friendship
take a breed

for barren metal of a friend?

No, lend it rather
to thine enemy.

Well, if he break,

thou mayst with better
face exact, the penalty.

Why, look you how you storm.

I would be friends
with you and have your love,

forget the shames
that you have stained me with.

Supply your present wants
and take no doit of usance

for my moneys
and you'll not hear me.

-This is kind I offer.
-These were kindness?

This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary,

seal me there your single bond
and in a merry sport.

If you repay me not
on such a day, in such a place,

such sum or sums as
are expressed in the condition,

let the forfeit be nominated

for an equal pound

of your fair flesh,
to be cut off

and taken in what part
of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO: [ Laughs ]

Content in faith,

I'll seal to such a bond

and to say there is
much kindness in the Jew.

You shall not seal
to such a bond for me.

I'd rather dwell
in my necessity.

Why, fear not, man.
I will not forfeit it.

Within these two months,

that's a month
before this bond expires.

I do expect return of thrice--

three times the value
of the bond.

Oh, Father Abraham,
what these Christians are?

Whose own hard dealings
teaches them

suspect the thoughts of others.

Pray you, tell me this.

If he should break his day,
what should I gain

by the exaction
of the forfeiture?

A pound of man's flesh
taken from a man

is not so estimable,
profitable neither,

as flesh of muttons,

beefs or goats.

I say to buy his favor
I extend this friendship

if he will take it so.
If not, adieu.

And for my love,
I pray you wrong me not.

Yes, Shylock,
I will seal unto this bond.

Then, go we forthwith
to the notary.

Give him direction
for this merry bond,

and I will go and purse
the ducats straight.

See to my house
left in the fearful guard

of an unthrifty knave,

and presently I'll be with you.

ANTONIO:
Hie thee, gentle Jew.

The Hebrew will turn Christian.

He grows kind.

I like not fair terms

and a villain's mind.

Oh, come on.

In this there can be no dismay.

My ships come home
a month before the day.

Signor Bassanio.

-BASSANIO: Gratiano.
-I have suit to you.

-You have obtained it.
-You must not deny me.

I must go with you to Belmont.

Why, then, you must.
But hear thee, Gratiano.

Thou art too wild, too rude
and bold of voice,

parts that become
thee happily enough

and in such eyes as ours
appear not faults

but where thou art not known,

why there they appear
something too liberal.

I pray thee, take pains
to allay with some

cold drops of modesty
thy skipping spirit,

lest through thy wild behavior

I be misconstrued
in the place I go to

and lose my hopes.

My Lord Bassanio, hear me.

If I do not put
on a sober habit,

talk with respect and swear

but now and then,

wear prayer books
with my pocket,

look demurely, name more,

while grace is saying,
hood mine eyes thus with my hat

and sigh and say, "Amen",

it was only
observance of civility

like one well studied
in this sad ostent

to please his grandam,

-never trust me more.
-Hmm.

Well, we shall see
your bearing.

Nay, but I bar tonight.

You shall not gauge me
by what we do tonight.

No, that were pity.
I would rather entreat you

to put on your boldest suit
of mirth

for we have friends
that purpose merriment.

But fare thee well,
I have some business.

And I must to Lorenzo
and the rest.

But we will visit you
at suppertime.

Launcelot,

I am sorry thou wilt
leave my father so.

Our house is hell and thou,

a merry devil didst rob it
of some taste of tediousness.

But fare thee well,
there is a ducat for thee.

And, Launcelot,

soon at supper
thou shalt see Lorenzo

who is our new master,
Lord Bassanio's guest,

-give him this letter.
-Oh.

Ssh. Do it secretly.

And so farewell, I would
not have my father see me

-in talk with thee.
-Adieu.

Tears exhibit my tongue.

Most beautiful pagan,
most sweet Jew.

If a Christian do not play
the knave and get thee,

I am much deceived.

But adieu.

These foolish drops do something
drown my manly spirit.

Adieu.

Farewell, good Launcelot.

Alack, what heinous sin
is it in me

to be ashamed to be
my father's child.

But though
I am a daughter to his blood,

I am not to his manners.

O Lorenzo, if thou keep promise,

I shall end this strife.

Become a Christian

and thy loving wife.

Nay, we will slink away
in suppertime,

disguise us at my lodging,

and return all in an hour.

We have not made
good preparation.

We have not spoke us
yet of torchbearers.

It is vile unless
it may be quaintly ordered

and better in my mind
not undertook.

It is now but 4:00,
we have two hours to furnish us.

Friend Launcelot,
what's the news?

And it shall please you
to break up this,

it shall seem to signify.

I know the hand in faith,

'tis a fair hand

and whiter than the paper
it writ on

is the fair hand that writ.

Love news, in faith?

-By your leave, sir.
-Whither goes thou?

Marry, sir, to bid
my old master the Jew

to supper tonight with
my new master the Christian.

Hold. Here, take this,

tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her.

Oh, and speak it privately.

Go.

Gentlemen, will you prepare
you for this masque tonight?

I am provided
of a torchbearer.

Ay, marry,
I'll be gone about it straight.

-And so will I.
-Meet me and Gratiano

at Gratiano's lodging
some hour hence.

It's good we do so.

Is not this letter
from fair Jessica?

I must need tell thee all.

She hath directed
how I shall take her

from her father's house.

What gold and jewels
she is furnished with.

What page's suit
she hath in readiness.

If ever the Jew
her father come to heaven,

it'll be for his gentle
daughter's sake.

Come, go with me.

Peruse this as thou goest.

Fair Jessica
shall be my torchbearer.

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?
-Why, Jessica?

Who bids thee call?

I do not bid thee call.

Oh, you worship was won't
and tell me

I could do nothing
without bidding.

Call you? What is your will?

I am bid forth to supper,
Jessica.

Here are my keys.

But wherefore should I go?

I'm not bid for love.

They flatter me.

But yet I'll go in hate

and feed upon
the prodigal Christian.

Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house.

I'm right loath to go.

There is some ill a-brewing
towards my rest

for I did dream
of money bags tonight.

LAUNCELOT:
I beseech you, sir, go.

My young master
doth expect your reproach.

And so do I 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 6:00 in the morning.
Falling out that year

on Ash Wednesday
was four year in the afternoon.

-Are there masques?
-Hear you me, Jessica.

Lock up my doors,

and when you hear the drum

and the vile squealing
of the wry-necked fife,

clamber you not out
to the casements then

nor thrust your head
into the public streets

to gaze on Christian fools
with varnished faces.

But stop my house's ears.

I mean my casements.

Let not the sound
of shallow foppery

enter my sober house.

By Jacob's staff, I swear,

I have no mind
of feasting forth tonight.

Yet I will go.
Go you before, sirrah.

-Say I will come.
-I will go before, sir.

Mistress,

look out that window
for all this.

There will come a Christian by,
will be worth a Jewess' eye.

What said that fool
of Hagar's offspring, huh?

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 wildcat.

Drones hive not with me

and therefore I part with him.

And part with him to one
that 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.

Farewell,

and if my fortune be not crost,

I have a father,

you a daughter, lost.

[ Music playing ]

[ Sniffing ]

Mislike me
not for my complexion.

The shadowed livery
of the burnished sun,

to whom I am a neighbor

and near bred.

Bring me the fairest creature
northward born,

where Phoebus' fire scarce
thaws the icicles

and let us make incision
for your love

to prove whose blood is reddest,

his or mine.

I tell thee, lady,

this aspect of mine

hath feared the valiant.

By my love, I swear
the best-regarded virgins

of our clan have loved it too.

I would not change this hue

except to steal your thoughts,

my gentle queen.

[ Kissing ]

In terms of choice

I am not solely led
by nice direction

of a maiden's eyes.

Besides,
the lottery of my destiny

bars me the right
of voluntary choosing.

But if my father
had not scanted me

and hedged me by his wit

to yield myself his wife

who wins me by
that means I told you,

yourself, renowned Prince,
then stood as fair

as any comer I have looked on
yet for my affection.

Even for that,

I thank you.

By this scimitar
that slew the Sophy

and a Persian prince.

That won three fields
of Sultan Solyman,

I would outstare
the sternest eyes that look.

Outbrave the heart
most daring on the earth.

Pluck the young sucking cub
from the she-bear.

Yea, mock the lion
when he roar for prey

to win the lady.

You must take your chance.

And either not attempt
to choose at all

or swear before you choose,

if you choose wrong

never to speak to lady
afterwards

in way of marriage.
Therefore be advised.

MOROCCO: Nor will not.

Come, bring me
unto my chance.

Go, make your choice.

Hmm,

the first, of gold,

which this inscription bears,

"Who chooseth me shall gain

what many men desire."

The second, silver,

which this promise carry,

"Who chooseth me shall get
as much as he deserves."

The third, dull lead,

with warning all as blunt,

"Who chooseth me must give
and hazard all he hath."

Hmm,

how shall I know

if I do choose the right?

The one of them
contains my picture, Prince.

If you choose that,
then I am yours withal.

Some god direct my judgment.

Let me see.

I will survey...

the inscriptions back again.

[ Laughing ]

What says this leaden casket?

"Who chooseth me must give
and hazard all he hath."

Must give? For what? For lead?

Hazard all for lead?

This casket threatens.

Men that hazard all do it
in hope of fair advantages.

A golden mind stoops
not to shows of dross.

Therefore I'll give nor hazard

aught for lead.

Silver.

Silver.

What says the silver
with her virgin hue?

"Who chooseth me

shall get as much
as he deserves."

"As much as he deserves?

Pause there, Morocco,

and weigh thy value
with an even hand.

If thou beest rated
by thy estimation,

thou dost deserve enough,

and yet enough may not extend
so far as to the lady.

And yet to be afeard
of my deserving were

but a weak disabling...

[ Indistinct ]

As much as I deserve.

Why, that's the lady.

I do in birth deserve her,

and in fortunes, graces,

qualities of breeding.

But more than these,

in love I do deserve.

What if I strayed no further,

but chose here?

Oh.

Let's see once more

this saying graved in gold,

"Who chooseth me

shall gain
what many men desire."

Why, that's the lady.

Deliver me the key.

Here do I choose,

and thrive I as I may.

There, take it, Prince.

And if my form lie there
then I am yours.

Oh, hell,

what have we here?

A carrion death,

within whose empty eye
there is a written scroll.

I'll read the writing.

All that glisters is not gold.

Often have you heard that told.

Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

Fare you well.
Your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed, and labor lost.

Then, farewell, heat,
and welcome, frost.

Portia, adieu.

I have too grieved a heart

to take a tedious leave.

Thus losers part.

[ Music playing ]

A gentle riddance.

Go.

Let all of his complexion
choose me so.

[ Music playing ]

Quick, quick, I pray thee.

The Prince of Arragon
hath ta'en his oath

and comes
to his election presently.

[ Music playing ]

Behold, there stand the caskets,
noble Prince.

If you choose that wherein
I am contained,

straight shall our nuptial rites
be solemnized.

But if you fail,
without more speech, my lord,

you must be gone
from hence immediately.

I am enjoined by oath

to observe...

[ Blowing ]

...three things.

-First...
-But to these injunctions

every one doth swear that comes

to hazard for my worthless self.

And so have I addressed me.

Fortune now

to my heart's hope.

Gold,

[ Chuckling ]

silver,

and base lead.

"Who chooseth me

"must give and hazard

all he hath."

You shall look fairer

ere I give or hazard.

[ Chuckling ]

What says the golden casket?

Let me see.

"Who chooseth me"--

who chooseth me--

[ Laughs ]

chooseth me.

"Who chooseth me shall gain

what many men desire."

What many men desire.

By that "many"

may be meant
the fool multitude

that choose by show,

not knowing more

than the fond eye doth teach,

which pries not to the interior,

but like the martlet builds
in the weather

on the outward wall

even in the ready force
and road of casualty.

I will--

I will not choose
what many men desire

because I will not jump

with common spirits,

nor rank me
with the barbarous multitude.

Why then, to thee,

thou silver treasure house.

[ Laughs ]

Tell me once more

what title thou dost bear.

"Who chooseth me."

Who chooseth me.

"Shall get as much
as he deserves."

Shall get and well said, too.

For who shall go about

to cozen fortune
and be honorable

without the stamp of merit?

Let none presume to wear
an undeserved dignity.

Oh, the degrees,
estates and offices

were not derived corruptly,

and that pure honor
were purchased

by the merit of the wearer.

How many then should cover

that stand bare,
how many be commanded

that command,
how much low peasantry

would then be gleaned
from the true seed of honor,

and how much honor picked
from the chaff

and ruin of the times
to be new varnished?

But to my choice.

"Who chooseth me,"

who chooseth,

"Who chooseth me

shall have as much
as he deserves."

I will assume desert.

Give me the key for this,

and instantly unlock

my fortunes here.

What's this?

[ Laughs ]

The portrait
of a blinking idiot is here.

"Who chooseth me,

shall have as much
as he deserves."

Did I deserve

no more than a fool's head?

Is that my prize?

Are my deserts no better?

To offend and judge

are distinct offices

and of opposèd natures.

With one fool's head

I came to woo,

but I go away with two.

Sweet, adieu.

I'll keep my oath

patiently to bear my wroth.

[ Laughs ]

Thus hath the candle
singed the moth.

Madam, there is alighted
at your gate a young Venetian,

one that comes before
to signify the approaching

of his lord
from whom he bringeth

sensible regreets.

To wit, besides commends
and courteous breath,

gifts of rich value.

Yet I have not seen so likely

an ambassador of love.

A day in April never came
so sweet,

to show how costly summer
was at hand,

as this forespurrer
comes before his lord.

No more, I pray thee.

I am half afeard thou wilt
say anon he is some kin to thee,

thou spend such high-day
wit in praising him.

Come, come, Nerissa,

for I long to see
quick cupid's post

that comes so mannerly.

Bassanio, Lord Love,
if thy will it be.

Now,

what news on the Rialto?

Yet it lives there unchecked

that Antonio hath a ship
of rich lading

wrecked on the narrow seas.

The Goodwins?

I think they call the place.

A very dangerous flat,
and fatal,

where the carcasses
of many a tall ship lie buried,

as they say, if my gossip report

be an honest woman
of her word.

I would she were as lying
a gossip in that

as ever knapped ginger
or made her neighbors believe

she wept for the death
of a third husband.

But it is true,
without any slips of prolixity

or crossing the plain highway
of talk, that the good Antonio,

the honest Antonio--oh,
that I had a title good enough

-to keep his name company.
-Come, come.

-What sayest thou?
-The full stop.

Why?

The end is he hath lost a ship.

And it would might prove
the end of his losses.

Let me say "Amen" betimes,
lest the devil cross my prayer,

for here he comes
in the likeness of a Jew.

How now, Shylock?

What news among the merchants?

You knew,

none so well,

none so well as you

of my daughter's flight.

That's certain.

I, for my part, knew the tailor
that made the wings

she flew withal.

And Shylock, for his own part,
knew the bird was fledged,

and then it is the complexion
of them all

to leave the dam.

She is damned for it.

That's certain if the devil
may be her judge.

My own flesh and blood

to revolt.

SOLANIO:
Out upon it, old carrion.

Revolts it at these years?

I say my daughter

is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO:
There is more difference

between thy flesh and hers

than between jet and ivory,

more between your bloods

than there is between red wine
and Rhenish.

But tell us,
do you hear whether Antonio

-have had any loss at sea...
-There I have another

bad match!
A bankrupt, a prodigal

that dare scarce show his head
on the Rialto,

a beggar that was used
to come so smug

upon the mart.

[ Scoffs ]

[ Bell ringing ]

Let him look to his bond.

He was wont to call me usurer.

Let him look to his bond.

He was used to lend out
monies for Christian courtesy.

Let him look to his bond.

SALARINO:
I am sure if he forfeit

thou wilt not take his flesh.

[ Laughs ]

What's that good for?

To bait fish withal.

He hath disgraced me

and hindered me half a million,

laughed at my losses,

mocked at my gains,

scorned my nation,

thwarted my bargains,
cooled my friends,

heated mine enemies.

And what is his reason?

I'm a Jew.

[ Scoffs ]

Hath not a Jew eyes?

Hath not a Jew hands,

organs, dimensions,

senses,

affections,

passions?

If you prick us,
do we not bleed?

Tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us,
do we not die?

And if you wrong us,
shall we not revenge?

If we are like you in the rest,

we will resemble you in that.

If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility?

Why, revenge.

If a Christian wrong a Jew,
what should his sufferance

be by Christian example?

Why...

villainy.
You teach me,

I will execute,

and it shall go hard

but I will better
the instruction.

MAN: Gentlemen,
my master, Antonio,

is at his house and desires
to speak with you both.

We have been up and down
to seek him.

Well, here comes another
of the tribe.

A third cannot be matched

unless the devil himself
turned Jew.

Why, how now, Tubal?

What news from Genoa?

Hast thou found my daughter?

I often came where I did hear
of her, but cannot find her.

Why, there,

there, there, there.

[ Jingling ]

A diamond gone

cost me 2000 ducats

in Frankfurt.

The curse never fell

upon our nation till now.

I never felt it till now,

2000 ducats in that and other

precious, precious jewels.

I would my daughter were dead

at my foot
and the jewels in her ear.

I would she were hearsed
at my foot and the ducats

in her coffin.
No news of them?

Why, so?

And I know not what's lost
in the search.

Why thou, loss upon loss.

The thief gone with so much,

so much to find the thief,
and no satisfaction,

no revenge,
nor no ill luck stirring,

but what lights of my shoulders,
no sighs but of my breathing,

no tears but of my shedding.

Yes, other men
have ill luck too.

-Antonio...
-What?

-...as I heard in Genoa.
-What?

Ill luck?

Ill luck?

Hath an argosy cast away
coming from Tripolis.

[ Laughs ]

I thank God.

I thank God.

[ Laughs ]

And is it true?

Is it true?

I spoke with some of the sailors
that escaped the wreck.

Yes. Thank you, good Tubal.

Good news, good news.

But what about else

didst thou hear in Genoa?

Your daughter spent in Genoa,
as I heard.

One night, fourscore ducats.

Thou stickest a dagger in me.

I shall never see my gold again,

fourscore ducats at a sitting.

Fourscore ducats.

There came divers
of Antonio's creditors

in my company to Venice
that swear

he cannot choose but break.

I am very glad
if it plagued him,

torture him.

I am glad of it.

One of them showed me a ring

that he had of your daughter,

for a monkey?

It was my turquoise.

I had it of Leah

when I was a bachelor.

I would not have given it

for a wilderness of monkeys.

[ Crying ]

TUBAL:
But Antonio

is certainly undone.

Naye, that is true.

That's very true.

Go, Tubal.

Fee me an officer.

Bespeak him a fortnight before,

I will have the heart of him

if he forfeit.

Go, Tubal.

Meet me

at our synagogue.

Go, good Tubal,

at our synagogue,

Tubal.

[ Birds chirping ]

And I pray you tarry.

Pause a day or two
before you hazard

for in choosing wrong,
I lose your company.

Therefore, forebear awhile.

There's something tells me,
but it is not love,

I would not lose you,

and you know yourself
hate counsels

not in such quality,

but lest you should
not understand me well

and yet a maiden hath
no tongue but thought,

I would detain you here
some month or two

before you venture for me.

I could teach you
how to choose right,

but then I am forsworn,

so will I never be.

So may you miss me,

and if you do,
you'll make me wish a sin

that I hadn't been forsworn.

Oh, beshrew your eyes.

The have overlooked me
and divided me.

One-half of me is yours,

the other half yours.

Mine own,
I would say but if mine,

then yours, and so all yours.

Oh, these naughty times

put bars between the owners
and their rights,

and so though yours, not yours.

Prove it so,
let fortune go to hell for it,

not I, I speak too long.

But it is to peize the time.

To eke it and to draw it out
in length,

to stay you from election.

Let me choose.

For as I am,
I live upon the rack.

Upon the rack, Bassanio?

Then confess what treason
there is mingled

-with your love.
-None but that ugly treason

of mistrust which makes me fear
the enjoying of my love.

There may as well be
amity and life

between snow and fire
as treason and my love.

Aye, but I fear you speak
upon the rack where men,

enforcèd, do speak anything.

Promise me life
and I'll confess the truth.

Well, then, confess and live...

Confess and love

had been the very sum
of my confession.

Oh, happy torment.

When my torturer doth teach me
answers for deliverance.

But let me to my fortune
and the caskets.

Away, then.

I am locked in one of them.

If you do love me
you will find me out.

Nerissa and the rest,
stand all aloof.

Let music sound
while he doth make his choice,

then if he lose he
makes a swanlike end

fading in music.

That the comparison
may stand more proper.

My eye shall be the stream

and watery deathbed for him.

He may win

and what is music then?

Then music is even
as the flourish

when true subjects bow
to a new crownèd monarch.

Such it is
as are those dulcet sounds

in break of day

that creep into the dreaming
bridegroom's ear,

and summon him to marriage.

Go, Hercules.

Live thou, I live.

With much, much more dismay,
I view the fight than thou

that makest the fray.

[ Music playing ]

BOTH: ♪ Tell me♪

♪ Tell mewhere ♪

♪ Is fancy bred♪

♪ Or in the heart?♪

♪ Or in the head?♪

BOTH: ♪ How begot♪

♪ How nourishèd?♪

[ Music playing ]

♪ Or in the heart?♪

♪ Or in the head?♪

♪ How begot?♪

♪ How nourishèd?♪

BOTH: ♪ Reply♪

♪ Reply♪

♪ It is engendered in the eyes♪

BOTH: ♪ With gazing fed♪

♪ And fancy dies♪

♪ In the cradle♪

♪ Where it lies♪

♪ Let us all ring
fancy's knell♪

♪ Let us all ring
fancy's knell♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪
-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪
-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin it♪

-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin...♪
-WOMAN: ♪ I'll begin...♪

WOMAN: ♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

BOTH: ♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Let us all ring
fancy's knell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

♪ Ding, dong, bell♪

[ Music playing ]

[ Clapping ]

The world is still deceived
with ornament.

Look on beauty,
and you shall see

it is purchased by the weight,
which therein works

a miracle in nature,
making them lightest

that wear most of it.

Now, there's no vice so simple
but assumes

some mark of virtue
on his outward parts.

Thus ornament
is but the guilèd shore

to a most dangerous sea,

the beauteous scarf veiling
an Indian beauty--

in a word, the seeming truth
which cunning times

put on to entrap the wisest.

Therefore thou gaudy gold,
hard food for Midas,

I will none of thee.

Nor none of thee,

thou pale and common drudge
between man and man.

But thou, thou meagre lead,

which rather threaten'st
than dost promise aught,

thy plainness moves me

more than eloquence,

and here choose I.

Joy be the consequence.

What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit.

What demigod hath come
so near creation?

Move these eyes?

Or whether, riding on the balls
of mine seem they in motion?

Here are severed lips,
parted with sugar breath,

so sweet a bar should sunder
such sweet friends.

Here in her hairs,
the painter plays the spider

and hath woven a golden mesh
to entrap the hearts of men

faster than gnats in cobwebs.

But her eyes,

how could he see to do them?

Having made one,
methinks it should have power

to steal both his
and leave itself unfurnished.

Here is the scroll, the summary,
and continent of my fortune.

"You that choose
not by the view,

chance as fair
and choose as true.

Since this fortune falls to you,

be content and seek no new.

If you be well pleased
with this and hold your fortune

for your bliss,
turn you where your lady is

and claim her
with a loving kiss."

Fair lady, by your leave,

I come by note to give
and to receive.

As doubtful
whether what I see be true

until confirmed, signed,
ratified by you.

You see me, Lord Bassanio,

where I stand such as I am.

Though for myself alone
I would not be ambitious

in my wish to wish myself
much better,

yet for you

I would be trebled
twenty times myself,

a thousand times more fair,

ten thousand times more rich,

that only to stand high
in your account,

I might in virtues, beauties,

livings, friends exceed account.

Perhaps the full sum of me
is sum of something

which to term in gross
is an unlessoned girl,

unschooled, unpracticed.

Happy in this,
she is not yet so old

but she may learn,
happier than this,

she is not bred so dull
but she can learn,

and happiest of all

is that her gentle spirit
commits itself to yours

to be directed as from her lord,

her governor, her king.

Myself and what is mine

to you and yours
is now converted,

but now I was the lord
of this fair mansion,

master of my servants,

queen o'er myself.

And even now, but now,
this house, these servants,

and this same myself

are yours, my lord's.

I give them with this ring,

which when you part from,
lose, or give away,

let it presage the ruin
of your love

and be my vantage
to exclaim on you.

Madam, you have bereft me
of all words,

only my blood
speaks to you in my veins,

and there is such confusion
in my powers expressed

and not expressed.

But when this ring parts
from this finger,

then parts life from hence.

O, then be bold to say

"Bassanio's dead".

[ Clears throat ]

NERISSA: My lord and lady,

it is now our time,
that have stood by

and seen our wishes prosper,
to cry, "Good joy,

good joy, my lord and lady."

My Lord Bassanio
and my gentle lady,

I wish you all the joy
that you can wish,

for I am sure you can wish
none from me.

And when your honors mean
to solemnize the bargain

of your faith,
I do beseech you even

at that time
I may be married too.

BASSANIO: With all my heart,
so thou canst get a wife.

I thank your lordship,
you have got me one.

My eyes, my lord,
can look as swift as yours.

You saw the mistress,
I beheld the maid.

You loved, I loved.

For intermission no more
pertains to me,

my lord, than you.

Your fortune stood upon
the caskets there,

and so did mine too,
as the matter falls.

For swearing till my very roof
was dry with oaths of love,

at last, if promise last,

I got a promise
of this fair one here

to have her love,

and provided your fortune
achieved her mistress.

-Is this true, Nerissa?
-Madam, it is,

so you stand pleased withal.

And do you, Gratiano,
mean good faith?

Oh yes, faith, my lord.

A feast shall be much honored
by your marriage.

We'll play with them
the first boy

-for a thousand ducats.
-What, and stake down?

No, we shall ne'er win
at that sport and stake down.

But who comes here?

Lorenzo and his infidel?

What, and my old Venetian
friend Salerio?

BASSANIO:
Lorenzo and Salerio,

welcome hither.
If that the youth

of my new interest have power
to bid them welcome.

By your leave, I bid my friends
and very countrymen,

-sweet Portia, welcome.
-So do I, my Lord.

They are entirely welcome.

I thank your honor.

For my part, my lord,

my purpose was not
to have seen you here,

but meeting with Salerio
by the way,

he did entreat me past
all saying nay

-to come with him along.
-SALERIO: I did, my lord.

And I have reason for it.

Signor Antonio
commends him to you.

Ere I open his letter,
tell me how my good friend doth.

Not sick, my lord,
unless it be in mind,

nor well, unless in mind.

His letter there will show you
his estate.

GRATIANO: Go Nerissa,
cheer yon stranger,

bid her welcome.

Your hand, Salerio.
What's the news from Venice?

How doth that royal merchant,
good Antonio?

I know he will be pleased
with our success.

We are the Jasons,
we have won the fleece.

I would you had won
the fleece that he hath lost.

There are some shrewd contents
in yon same paper

that steals the color
from Bassanio's cheek.

With leave, Bassanio,

I am half yourself,

and I must freely have the half
of anything

that this same paper brings you.

Sweet Portia,
here are a few

of the unpleasant'st words

that ever blotted paper.

Gentle lady,

I have engaged myself
to my dear friend,

engaged my friend
to his mere enemy

to feed my means.

Here is a letter,
lady, the paper

as the body of my friend,
and every word in it

a gaping wound,
issuing life's blood.

But is it true, Salerio?

Have all his ventures failed?

What, not one hit?

From Tripolis, Mexico,
England, from Lisbon,

Barbary, and India?

And not one vessel 'scape
the dreadful touch

of merchant-marring rocks?

Not one, my lord.

Besides, it should appear
if he had the present money

to discharge the Jew,
he would not take it.

Never did I know a creature
that did bear

the shape of man so keen
and greedy to confound a man.

He plies the duke
at morning and at night,

and doth impeach the freedom
of the state

if they deny him justice.

Twenty merchants,
the duke himself,

and the magnificoes
of greatest port

have all persuaded with him.

But none can drive him
from the envious plea

of forfeiture, of justice,
and his bond.

When I was with him

I have heard him swear
to Tubal and to Chus,

his countrymen,
that he would rather

have Antonio's flesh
than twenty times

the value of the sum that
he did owe him.

And I know, my lord,
if law, authority,

and power deny not,

it will go hard
with poor Antonio.

Is it your dear friend
that is thus in trouble?

The dearest friend to me,
the kindest man,

the best conditioned
and unwearied spirit

in doing courtesies,

one in whom the ancient
Roman honor

doth more appear than any that
draws breath in Italy.

What sum owes he the Jew?

For me,
three thousand ducats.

What, no more?

Pay him six thousand
and deface the bond,

double six thousand,
and then treble that,

before a friend
of this description

shall lose a hair
through Bassanio's fault.

First go with me to church
and call me wife,

and then away to Venice
to your friend.

For never shall you lie
by Portia's side

with an unquiet soul.

You shall have gold to pay
the petty debt

twenty times over.

And when it is paid,

bring your true friend along.

My maid Nerissa and myself

meantime will live as maids
and widows.

Come, away

for you shall hence upon
your wedding day.

Bid your friends welcome,

show a merry cheer.

Since you are dear bought,

I will love you dear.

But let me hear

the letter of your friend.

Sweet Bassanio,

my ships have all miscarried.

My creditors grow cruel.

My estate is very low.

My bond to the Jew is forfeit.

And since in paying,
it is impossible I should live,

all debts are cleared
between you and I

if I might but see you
at my death.

SHYLOCK: Jailer, look to him.

Tell me not of mercy.

This is the fool
that lent out money gratis.

Jailer, look to him.

ANTONIO: Hear me yet,
good Shylock.

SHYLOCK: I'll have my bond.
Speak not against my bond.

I have sworn an oath

that I will have my bond.

Thou calledst me dog
before thou hadst a cause.

But since I am a dog,

beware my fangs.

The duke shall grant me justice.

I do wonder,
thou naughty jailer,

that thou art so fond to come
abroad

with him at his request.

-I pray thee, hear me speak.
-I'll have my bond.

I will not hear thee speak.

I'll have my bond,
and therefore speak no more.

I'll not be made a soft
and dull-eyed fool

to shake the head, relent,
and sigh,

and yield
to Christian intercessors.

Follow not.

I'll have no speaking.

I will have my bond.

It is the most impenetrable cur
that ever kept with men.

Let him alone.

I'll follow him no more
with bootless prayers.

He seeks my life.

His reason well I know.

I oft delivered
from his forfeitures

many that have at times
made moan to me.

Therefore he hates me.

I'm sure the duke
will never grant this forfeiture

-to hold.
-The duke cannot deny

the course of law.

For the commodity
that strangers have

with us in Venice,
if it be denied,

will much impeach the justice
of the state,

since that the trade and profit

of the city consisteth
of all nations.

Therefore go.

These griefs and losses

have so bated me,

that I shall hardly spare
a pound of flesh tomorrow

to my bloody creditor.

Well, jailer, on.

Pray God Bassanio come

to see me pay my debt,

and then I care not.

LORENZO: Madam,
although I speak it

in your presence,
you have a noble

and a true conceit
of godlike amity,

which appears most strongly

in bearing thus the absence
of your lord.

But if you knew to whom
you show this honor,

how true a gentleman
you send relief,

how dear a lover of my lord,
your husband,

I know you would be prouder
of the work

than customary bounty
can enforce you.

I never did repent
for doing good,

nor shall not now;
for in companions

that do converse and waste
the time together

whose souls do bear
an equal yoke of love,

there must be needs a like
proportion of lineaments,

of manners, and of spirit,

which makes me think
that this Antonio,

being the bosom lover
of my lord,

must needs be like my lord.

If it be so, how little
is the cost I have bestowed

in purchasing the semblance
of my soul

from out the state
of hellish cruelty.

That this comes too near
the praising of myself.

Therefore no more of it.

Hear other things.

Lorenzo, I commit
into your hands

the husbandry and manage
of my house

until my lord's return.

For mine own part,
I have toward heaven

breathed a secret vow

to live in prayer
and contemplation,

only attended by Nerissa here

until her husband
and my lord's return.

There is a--a monastery two
miles off,

and there we will abide.

I do desire you not to deny
this imposition,

the which my love
and some necessity

-now lays upon you.
-Madam, with all my heart.

I shall obey you
in all fair commands.

Now, my people do already
know my mind

and will acknowledge you,

-and...
-Jessica

in place of Lord Bassanio
and myself.

So fare you well
till we shall meet again.

Fair thoughts and happy hours
attend on you.

I wish your ladyship
all heart's content.

Thank you for your wish,
and am well pleased

to wish it back on you.
Fare you well...

-Jessica.
-...Jessica.

Now, Balthazar,

as I have ever found
thee honest true,

so let me find thee still.

Take this same letter,

and use thou all th' endeavour
of a man in speed to Padua.

See thou render this
into my cousin's hand,

Doctor Bellario.

And look what notes
and garments he doth give thee,

bring them, I pray thee,
with imagined speed

unto the tranect,
to the common ferry

that trades to Venice.

Waste no time in words,
but get thee gone.

I shall be there before thee.

Madam,
I go with all convenient speed.

Come on, Nerissa,

for I have work in hand
that you yet know not of.

We'll see our husbands

before they think of us.

NERISSA: What?

Therefore haste away,

for we must measure
20 miles today.

[ Music playing ]

DUKE: What?

Is Antonio here?

ANTONIO:
Ready, so 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 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 armed to suffer
with a quietness of spirit

the very tyranny
and rage of his.

DUKE: Go, one,
and call the Jew into the court.

He is ready at the door.

He comes, my lord.

DUKE: Make room,

and let him stand
before our face.

Shylock, the world thinks,

and I think so too,

that thou but lead'st
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 touched with
human gentleness and love,

forgive a moiety
of the principal,

glancing an eye of pity
on his losses

which he have of late
so huddled on his back.

And now 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 trained to offices
of tender courtesy.

We all expect
a gentle answer, Jew.

I have possessed 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 3,000 ducats.

I'll not answer that
but say it is my humour.

Is it answered?

Hmm, what if my house
be troubled with a rat

and I be pleased
to give 10,000 ducats

to have it baned?

What, are you answered yet?

Some men there are love
not a gaping pig,

some that are mad
if they behold a cat,

others, when the bagpipe sings
i' th' nose,

cannot contain their urine.

For affection,
master of passion,

sways it to the mood

of what it likes or loathes.

And now, for your answer,
as there is no firm reason

to be rendered
why he cannot abide

a gaping pig, why he,
a harmless necessary cat,

why he, a woollen bagpipe,

but of force must yield
to that inevitable shame

as to offend,
himself being offended.

So can I give no reason,

nor I will not more than
a lodged hate

and a certain loathing
I bear Antonio,

that I follow thus a losing
suit against him.

Are you answered?

This is no answer,
thou unfeeling man,

to excuse the current
of thy cruelty.

I am not bound to please
thee with my answers.

Do all men kill the things
they do not love?

Hates every man the thing
he would not kill?

Every offense
is not a hate at first.

What, wouldst thou have
a serpent sting thee 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 more offers,

use no farther means,

but with all plain
and brief conveniency

let me have judgment

and the Jew his will.

For thy three thousand ducats
here is six.

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.

How shalt thou hope for mercy,

rendering none?

[ Laughs ]

What judgment shall I dread,
doing no wrong?

You have among you
many a purchased 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
seasoned 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 it,
fie upon your law.

There is no force
in the decrees of Venice.

I stand here for judgment.

Answer, 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.

My lord, here stays
without a messenger with letters

from the doctor,
new come from Padua.

Bring us the letters.
Call in the messenger.

[ Doors opening ]

[ Doors closing ]

-Hmm.
-Good cheer, Antonio.

What, man, courage yet.

The Jew shall have my flesh,
blood, bones, and all.

Ere thou shalt lose
for me one jot of blood.

No.

I am a tainted
wether of the flock...

[ Scoffs ]

...meetest for death.

The weakest kind of fruit drops
earliest to the ground,

and so let me.

You cannot better
be employed, Bassanio,

than to live still
and write mine epitaph.

Came you from Padua,
from Bellario?

From both, my lord.
Bellario greets your grace.

[ Knife sharpening ]

Why dost thou whet thy
knife so earnestly?

To cut the forfeiture
from that bankrupt there.

Thou makest 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?

No, none that thou hast
wit enough to make.

O, be thou damned,
inexecrable dog,

and for thy life
let justice be accused.

Thou almost makes me waver
in my faith to hold opinion

with Pythagoras that souls
of animals infuse themselves

into the trunks of men.

Thy currish spirit
governed a wolf

who hanged for human slaughter,

even from the gallows
did his fell soul fleet,

and whilst thou layest
in thy unhallow'd dam

infused itself in thee,
for thy desires are wolvish,

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.

This letter from Bellario
doth commend a young

and learned doctor to our court.
Where is he?

He attendeth here hard
by to know your answer

whether you'll admit him.

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.

"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 turned 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."

You hear the learned Bellario,
what he writes.

And here I take it
is the doctor come.

Give me your hand.

-Came you from old Bellario?
-I did, my lord.

You are welcome.

Take your place.

Are you acquainted
with difference

that holds this present
question in the court?

I am informèd
thoroughly of the cause.

Which is the merchant here,
and which the Jew?

Antonio and old Shylock,
both stand forth.

Is your name Shylock?

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.

You stand within his danger,
do you not?

Ay, so he says.

Do you confess the bond?

I do.

Then must the Jew be merciful.

On what compulsion must I?

Tell me that.

The quality of mercy
is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle
rain from heaven

upon the place beneath.

It is twice blessed.

It blesseth him
that gives and him that takes.

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.

It becomes the thronèd monarch

better than his crown.

His scepter 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 sceptered sway.

It is enthronèd
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.

My deeds upon my head.

I crave the law, the penalty,
and forfeit of my bond.

Is he not able to discharge
the money?

BASSANIO: 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 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 into your authority.

To do a great
right, do a little wrong,

and curb this cruel devil
of his will.

It must not be.

There is no power in Venice

can alter a decree establishèd.

'Twill be recorded
as a precedent,

and many an error
by the same example

will rush into the state.
It cannot be.

A Daniel come to judgment,

yea, a Daniel.

O wise young judge,
how I do honor thee.

I pray you,
let me look upon the bond.

'Tis, most reverend doctor,
here it is.

Shylock, there's thrice
thy money offered thee.

An oath, an oath,

I have an oath in heaven.

Shall I lay perjury
upon my soul?

No, not for 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.

O noble judge.
O excellent young man.

Be merciful.

Take thrice thy money.

Bid me tear the bond.

When it is paid according
to the tenor.

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.

Most heartily I do
beseech the court

to give the judgment.

PORTIA: Why then, thus it is,

for the intent
and purpose of the law

hath full relation
to the penalty,

which here appeareth
due upon the bond.

'Tis very true.
O wise and upright judge

how much more elder
art thou than thy looks.

You must prepare
your bosom for his knife.

Ay, his breast.
So says the bond.

Doth it not, noble judge?

"Nearest his heart,"
those are the very words.

It is so.

Are there balance here
to weigh the flesh?

-I have them ready.
-Have by some surgeon,

Shylock, on your charge,
to stop his wounds

lest he do bleed to death?

Is it so nominated in the bond?

It is not so expressed,
but what of that?

'Twere good you do
so much for charity.

I cannot find it.
'Tis not in the bond.

You, merchant,
have you anything to say?

Hmm?

But little.

I am armed and well-prepared.

Give me your hand, Bassanio.

Fare you well.

Grieve not that I am fall'n
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 lingering
penance of such misery

doth she cut me off.

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.

Commend me
to your honorable wife.

Tell her the process
of Antonio's end.

Say how I loved you.

Speak me fair in death.

And when the tale is told,

bid her be judge whether
Bassanio had not once a love.

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

esteemed above thy life.

I would lose all--ay,
sacrifice them all here

to this devil--to deliver you.

Your wife would give you
little thanks for that

if she were by to hear
you make the offer.

I have a wife,
whom I protest I love.

I would she were in heaven
that she might entreat

some power to change
this currish Jew.

'Tis well you offer it
behind her back.

The wish would make else
an unquiet house.

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.

A pound of this same
merchant's flesh is thine.

The court awards it,
and the law doth give it.

Most noble judge.

And you must cut this flesh
from off his breast.

The law allows it,
and the court awards it.

Most learned judge,
your sentence.

Come, prepare.

PORTIA: 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.

O upright judge.

Mark, Jew. A learnèd judge.

Is that the law?

Thyself shalt see the act.

For as thou urgest justice,
be assurèd,

thou shalt have justice
more than thou desirest.

A learned judge.
Mark, Jew, a learned judge.

I take this offer then.

Pay the bond thrice
and let the Christian go.

-Here is the money.
-Soft.

The Jew shall have all justice.

Soft, no haste.

He shall have nothing
but the penalty.

O Jew.

An upright judge,
a learned judge.

And 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 takest 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.

A second Daniel.
A Daniel, Jew.

Now, infidel,
I have you on the hip.

Why doth the Jew pause?

Take thy forfeiture.

Give me my principal,
and let me go.

I have it ready for thee.
Here it is.

He hath refused it
in the open court.

He shall have merely
justice and his bond.

A Daniel, still say I,
a second Daniel.

I thank thee, Jew,
for teaching me that word.

And shall I not have barely
my principal?

Thou shalt have nothing
but the forfeiture

to be so taken
at thy peril, Jew.

Why then,
the devil give him good of it.

I'll stay no longer question.

PORTIA: 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
attempt he seek

the life of any citizen,

the party against
the which he doth contrive

shall seize one half his goods.

The other half comes to the
privy coffer of the state,

and that 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 incurred
the danger

formerly by me rehearsed.

Down, therefore,

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 hanged
at the state's charge.

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 into a fine.

Aye, for the state,
not for Antonio.

Nay, take my life and all.

Pardon not that.

You take my house
if you do take the prop

that doth sustain my house.

You take my life
if you do take the means

whereby I live.

What mercy can you
render him, Antonio?

A halter gratis,
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 favor

he presently become a Christian.

The other, that he do record
a gift here in this court of all

he dies possessed, unto his
son Lorenzo and his daughter.

He shall do this,
or else I do recant the pardon

that I late pronouncèd here.

Art thou contented, Jew?

What dost thou say?

I am content.

PORTIA:
Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

I pray you, give me leave

to part from hence.

I am not well.

Send the deed after me

and I will sign it.

DUKE: Get thee gone, but do it.

In christening shalt thou
have two godfathers.

Had I been judge,
thou shouldst have had 10 more

to bring thee to the gallows,

not the font.

[ Footsteps echoing ]

[ Crying ]

Sir, I entreat you 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 am sorry that your leisure
serves you not.

-Antonio?
-Hmm?

Gratify this gentleman,

for in my mind
you are much bound to him.

Most worthy gentleman,

I and my friend
have by your wisdom

been this day acquitted
of grievous penalties,

in lieu whereof 3,000 ducats
due unto the Jew

we freely cope your courteous
pains withal.

And stand indebted,
over and above, in love

and service to you evermore.

Well, 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.

Sir, of force I must
attempt you further.

Take some remembrance of us
as a tribute, not as a fee.

Grant me two things,
I pray you not to deny me,

and to pardon me.

You press me far
and therefore I will yield.

Now give me your gloves.

I'll wear them for your sake.

And for your love,
I'll take this ring.

Do not draw back your hand.

I'll take no more,

and you in love shall
not deny me this.

This ring,
alas could say it is a trifle.

I will not shame myself
to give you this.

I will have nothing else
but only this.

And now methinks
I have a mind to 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.

But for this,
I pray you, pardon 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 answered.

Good sir, this ring
was given me by my wife.

And when she put it on
she made me vow

neither sell nor give
nor lose it.

That 'scuse serves
many men to save their gifts.

And your wife be not a madwoman
and know how well

I have deserved this ring.

She would not hold out enemy
forever for giving it to me.

Well, peace be with you.

I tell you Lord Bassanio,
let him have the ring.

Let his deserving
and my love withal be valued

against your wife's commandment.

Gratiano, go,

run and overtake him.

Give him the ring

and persuade him if thou canst
to come anon

unto Antonio's lodging.

Away, make haste!

Come, you and I will
thither presently.

And in the morning early

we will both fly toward Belmont.

Come, Antonio.

Inquire the Jew's house out.

Give him this deed
and let him sign it.

And we'll away tonight and be
a day before our husbands home.

This deed will be well
welcome to Lorenzo.

Fair sir,
you are well o'erta'en.

My Lord Bassanio
upon more advice

-hath sent you here this ring.
-Oh.

And doth entreat
your company at dinner.

That cannot be.

His ring I do accept
most thankfully

and so I bid you tell him.

Furthermore, I pray you show
my youth old Shylock's house.

Of that I will do.

Sir, I would speak with you.

I'll see if I can get
my husband's ring,

which I did make him
swear to keep forever.

Thou mayst, I warrant.

We shall have them swearing

that they did give these rings
away to men.

Away, make haste.

Thou know'st where I will tarry.

NERISSA: Come, good sir.

Will you show me to this house?

[ Music playing ]

LORENZO:
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 Troyan walls

and sighed his soul
toward the Grecian tents

where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA: In such a night

did Thisbe fearfully
o'ertrip the dew

and saw the lion's
shadow ere himself

and ran dismayed away.

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.

In such a night Medea gathered

the enchanted herbs
that did renew old Aeson.

In such a night did Jessica

steal from the wealthy Jew,

and with an unthrift love

did run from Venice

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.

In such a night

did pretty Jessica,

like a little shrew,

slander her love,

and he forgave it her.

I would outnight you but, hark,
I hear the footing of a man.

LORENZO: Who comes so fast
in silence of the night?

STEPHANO: A friend.

LORENZO:
A friend? What friend?

Your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO: 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.

LORENZO:
And who comes with her?

None but a holy hermit
and her maid.

I pray you, is my master
yet returned?

LORENZO: 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.

Sweet soul,

let's in, and there expect
their coming, hmm?

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.

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 patines of bright gold.

There's not the smallest orb
which thou behold'st

but in his motion
like an angel sings,

still choiring 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.

[ Music playing ]

I am never merry
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
turned 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 moved
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.

[ Birds chirping ]

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.

When the moon shone
we did not 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.

NERISSA: It is your music,
madam, of the house.

PORTIA: Nothing is good,
I see, without respect.

Methinks it sounds much
sweeter than by day.

NERISSA: Silence bestows
that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA: 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.

LORENZO: That is the voice,
or I am much deceived of Portia.

PORTIA: He knows me
as the blind man

knows the cuckoo
by the bad voice.

LORENZO:
Dear lady, welcome home.

PORTIA: We have been praying
for our husbands' welfare,

which speed, we hope,
the better for our words.

Are they returned?

LORENZO:
Madam, they are not yet,

but there is come a messenger
before to signify their coming.

PORTIA: Go in, Nerissa
and give order to my servants

that they take no note at all
of our being absent hence.

Nor you, Lorenzo,
Jessica, nor you.

LORENZO:
We are no tell-tales, madam.

Fear you not.

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.

BASSANIO: We should hold day
with the Antipodes,

and you would walk
in absence of the sun.

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.

God sort all,
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.

PORTIA: You should in all sense
be much bound to him.

For as I hear he was much
bound for you.

No more than I am
well acquitted of.

Sir, you are very welcome
to our house.

It must appear
in other ways than words,

therefore I scant this
breathing courtesy.

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.

A quarrel, ho, 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 cutler's poetry

upon a knife,
"Love me and leave me not."

NERISSA: 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.

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

Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Now, by this hand,
I gave it to a youth,

a kind of boy,
a little scrubbèd boy

no higher than thyself,
the judge's clerk.

A prating boy
who begged it as a fee.

I could not for my heart
deny it 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 lose 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 for grief.

An 'twere to me,
I should be mad at it.

My Lord Bassanio
gave his ring away

unto the judge that begged it
and indeed deserved it too.

And then the boy, his clerk,

who took some pains
in writing, begged mine.

And neither man nor master would
take aught but the two rings.

What ring gave you my lord?

Not that, I hope,
which you received of 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.

Even so void is your false
heart of truth.

By heaven, I will ne'er come in
your bed until I see that ring.

NERISSA: Nor I in yours
'til I again see mine.

BASSANIO: Sweet Portia,
if you did know to whom

I gave the ring,
if you did know for whom

I gave the ring
and how unwillingly I parted

with the ring when naught
would be accepted

but the ring, you would
abate the strength

of your displeasure.

If you had known
the virtue of the ring,

or half her worthiness
that gave the ring

or your own honor
to contain the ring,

you would not then have
parted with the ring.

What man is there
so much unreasonable

if you had pleased
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 it but some
woman had that ring.

No, upon my honor,
upon my soul,

no woman had it
but a civil doctor...

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 honor,
which is yet mine own,

I'll have that doctor
for my bedfellow.

And I his clerk.

Therefore be well advised
how you do leave me

to mine own protection.

Well, do you so,
let not me take him then.

For if I do,
I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

Oh.

I am the unhappy subject
of this quarrel.

Oh, sir, grieve not you.

You are welcome
notwithstanding.

BASSANIO: Sweet Portia,
pardon me, but upon my soul,

I swear I never more
will break an oath with thee.

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.

Then you shall be his surety.

Oh.

Give him this

and bid him keep it better
than the other.

Here, Lord Bassanio,
swear to keep this ring.

By heaven, it is the one
I gave the doctor.

I had it of him.

Pardon me, Bassanio,

for by this ring,
that doctor lay with me.

And pardon me,
my gentle Gratiano.

That same scrubbèd boy,
the doctor's clerk,

in lieu of this,
last night did lie with me.

Why, this is like the mending
of highways in summer

where the ways are fair enough.

What, are we cuckolds
ere we've deserved it?

PORTIA:
Oh, speak not so grossly.

You are all amazed.

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 have but now returned.

I have not yet entered 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 harbor
suddenly.

And you shall not know
by what strange accident

I chanced upon this letter.

But I am dumb.

Were you the doctor
and I knew you not?

Were you the clerk
that is to make me cuckold?

Aye, but the clerk
that never means to do it

unless he live
until he be a man.

Sweet doctor,
you should be my bedfellow.

And when I am absent,
then lie 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.

How now, Lorenzo?

My clerk hath some good
comforts too for you.

Aye, 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
possessed of.

LORENZO: Fair ladies,
you drop manna in the way

of starvèd 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 interr'gatories

and we will answer
all things faithfully.

GRATIANO: Let it be so.

The first interrogatory that
my Nerissa shall be sworn on

is whether until the next
night she'd rather stay

or go to bed now
being two hours to day.

But were the day come,
I should wish it dark,

that I were couching
with the doctor's clerk.

While I live, I'll fear no
other thing so sore

as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

[ Laughing ]

[ Music playing ]