Now, what news on the Rialto?

Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich

lading wrack’d 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 neighbours 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,—O that I

had a title good enough to keep his name company!—

Come, the full stop.

Ha, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.

I would it 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 damn’d for it.

That’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.

My own flesh and blood to rebel!

Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?

I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.

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 or no?

There I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce

show his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon

the mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let

him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy;

let him look to his bond.

Why, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh! What’s that

good for?

To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my

revenge. He hath disgrac’d me and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d

at my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my

bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what’s his

reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,

dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt

with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same

means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian

is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you 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? Revenge. If a

Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian

example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it

shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with

you both.

We have been up and down to seek him.

Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be match’d, unless the

devil himself turn Jew.

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! A diamond gone cost me two thousand

ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I

never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other

precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot,

and the jewels in her ear; 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

spent in the search. Why, thou—loss upon loss! The thief gone with so

much, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge,

nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o’ my shoulders, no sighs but

o’ my breathing, no tears but o’ my shedding.

Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa—

What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?

—hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.

I thank God! I thank God! Is it true, is it true?

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

I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa?

Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats.

Thou stick’st 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 of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll torture him. I am glad of

it.

One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey.

Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. 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.

But Antonio is certainly undone.

Nay, that’s 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, for were he out of Venice I can make what merchandise I will.

Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue. Go, good Tubal, at our

synagogue, Tubal.