Act 4 - Scene 1
Venice. A court of justice.
Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others
What, is Antonio here?
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
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
that no lawful means can carry me
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury, and am
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.
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 exact'st the penalty,
is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
But, touch'd with human
gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
of late so huddled on his back,
Enow to press a royal merchant down
And pluck commiseration of his
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
I have possess'd 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.
ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I'll
not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd?
What if my house be troubled with a rat
be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
Some men there
are love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bagpipe sings
i' the nose,
Cannot contain their urine: for affection,
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it
likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
Why he cannot abide a
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
Why he, a woollen bagpipe; but of force
Must yield to such
As to offend, himself being offended;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
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