THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. William Shakespeare
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If this will not suffice, it must appear
That malice bears down truth. And, I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority;
To do a great right do a little wrong,
And curb this cruel devil of his will.
PORTIA.
It must not be; there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established;
‘Twill be recorded for a precedent,
And many an error by the same example
Will rush into the state. It cannot be.
SHYLOCK.
A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!
O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!
PORTIA.
I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
SHYLOCK.
Here ‘tis, most reverend doctor; here it is.
PORTIA.
Shylock, there’s thrice thy money offer’d thee.
SHYLOCK.
An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.
PORTIA.
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. Be merciful.
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
SHYLOCK.
When it is paid according to the tenour.
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.
ANTONIO.
Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
PORTIA.
Why then, thus it is:
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
SHYLOCK.
O noble judge! O excellent young man!
PORTIA.
For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
SHYLOCK.
‘Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
PORTIA.
Therefore, lay bare your bosom.
SHYLOCK.
Ay, ‘his breast’:
So says the bond:—doth it not, noble judge?—
‘Nearest his heart’: those are the very words.
PORTIA.
It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
The flesh?
SHYLOCK.
I have them ready.
PORTIA.
Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
SHYLOCK.
Is it so nominated in the bond?
PORTIA.
It is not so express’d; but what of that?
‘Twere good you do so much for charity.
SHYLOCK.
I cannot find it; ‘tis not in the bond.
PORTIA.
You, merchant, have you anything to say?
ANTONIO.
But little: I am arm’d and well prepar’d.
Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well.!
Grieve not that I am fallen 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.
Commend me to your honourable wife:
Tell her the process of Antonio’s end;
Say how I lov’d you; speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
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.
BASSANIO.
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 esteem’d above thy life;
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
PORTIA.
Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
If she were by to hear you make the offer.
GRATIANO.
I have a wife whom, I protest, I love;
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
NERISSA.
‘Tis well you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
SHYLOCK.
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.
PORTIA.
A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine.
The court awards it and the law doth give it.
SHYLOCK.
Most rightful judge!
PORTIA.
And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.
The law allows it and the court awards it.
SHYLOCK.
Most learned judge! A 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’: