I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, Por. You must take your chance, In way of marriage; therefore, be advis'd. Mor. Nor will not; therefore, bring me to my chance.. Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made.. (5) So is Alcides beaten by his Rage,] Tho' the whole Set of Editions concur in this Reading, and it pass'd wholly unsuspected by the late Learned Editor; I am very well assur'd, and, I dare fay, the Readers will be so too presently, that it is corrupt at Bottom. Let us look into the Poet's Drift, and the Hif tory of the Persons mention'd in the Context. If Hercules (says he) and Lichas were to play at Dice for the Decifion of their Superiority, Lichas, the weaker Man, might have the better Cast of the Two. But how then is Alcides beaten by his rage? The Poet means no more, than, if Lichas had the better Throw, so might Hercules himself be beaten by Lichas. And. who was He, but a poor unfortunate Servant of Hercules, that unknowingly brought his Master the envenom'd-Shirt, dipt in the blood of the Centaur Neffus, and was thrown headlong into the Sea for his pains? This one Circumstance of Lichas's Quality known sufficiently ascertains the Emendation, I have substituted of page instead of rage. It is scarce requisite to hint here, it is a Point so well known, that Page has been always us'd. in English to signify any Boy-Servant: as well as what latter Times have appropriated it to, a Lady's Trainbearer. Mor. Good fortune then, [Cornets. To make me blest, or cursed'st among men! [Exeunt. Laun. SCENE changes to Venice. Enter Launcelot alone. Certainly, my confcience will ferve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My confcience fays, no; take heed, honeft Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honeft Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! says the fiend; away! says the fiend; for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my confcience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, my honeft friend Launcelot, being an honest man's fon, or rather an honest woman's fon (for, indeed, my father did something smack, fomething grow to; he had a kind of tafte.)- well, my confcience says, budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my confcience; confcience, say I, you counsel ill; fiend, say I, you counfel ill. To be rul'd by my confcience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil, and to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and in my confcience, my conscience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel; I will run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run. Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to master few's? Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true-begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confufions with him. Gab Gob. Master young Gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Turn up, on your right-hand at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. Gob. By God's fonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit; can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no ? Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? (mark me now, now will I raise the waters;) talk you of young master Launcelot ? Gob. No master, Sir, but a poor man's fon. His father, though I say't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot. Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But, I pray you ergo, old man; ergo, I beseech you, talk you of young master Launcelot? Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of mafter Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the fisters three, and fuch branches of learning,) is, indeed, deoeafed; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heav'n. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-poft, a staff or a prop? do you know me, father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his foul, alive or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father? Gob. Alack, Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father, that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your blessing, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, Sir, stand up; I am sure, you are. not Launcelot my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy, that was, your fon that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my fon. Laun. I know not, what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jow's man, and, I am sure, Margery your wife is my mother. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horse has on his tail. Laun. It should feem then, that Debbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I'last saw him. Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how deft thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now? Laun. Well, well; but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 'till I have run fome ground. My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man; to him, father, for I am a few, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Baffanio with Leonardo, and a follower or letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Laun. To him, father. Gob. God bless your worship! Baff. Gramercy, would'st thou aught with me? Gob. Here's my fon, Sir, a poor boy, Laun. Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would, Sir, as my father shall specifie, Gob. He hath a great, infection, Sir, as one would say, to serve. Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specifie, Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, are scarce catercousins. Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutifie unto you, Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship; and my fuit is Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my felf, as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor man my father. Baff. One speak for both, what would you? Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, Sir. Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, Laun. The old proverb, is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, Sir; you have the grace of God, Sir, and he hath enough. Baf. Thou speak'st it well; go, father, with thy son :: Take leave of thy old master, and enquire My lodging out; give him a livery, More guarded than his fellows: fee it done. Laun. Father, in; I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy |