Chapter 1
Executive Director's Notes:
In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they are presented herein:
Barnardo. Who's there? Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe
Bar. Long liue the King
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As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .
The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.
You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous for signing his name with several different spellings.
So, please take this into account when reading the comments below made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors that are "not" errors. . . .
So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors, here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The first Part of Henry the Sixt.
Michael S. Hart Project Gutenberg Executive Director
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Scanner's Notes:
What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.
The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.
Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.
David Reed
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The Merchant of Venice
Actus primus.
Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio.
Anthonio. 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 stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne, I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes of mee, That I haue much ado to know my selfe
Sal. Your minde is tossing on the Ocean, There where your Argosies with portly saile Like Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood, Or as it were the Pageants of the sea, Do ouer-peere the pettie Traffiquers That curtsie to them, do them reuerence As they flye by them with their wouen wings
Salar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections, would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grasse to know where sits the winde, Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes: And euery obiect that might make me feare Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me sad
Sal. My winde cooling my broth, Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought What harme a winde too great might doe at sea. I should not see the sandie houre-glasse runne, But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand, Vailing her high top lower then her ribs To kisse her buriall; should I goe to Church And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle Vessels side Would scatter all her spices on the streame, Enrobe the roring waters with my silkes, And in a word, but euen now worth this, And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thought To thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thought That such a thing bechaunc'd would make me sad? But tell me, I know Anthonio Is sad to thinke vpon his merchandize
Anth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottome trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Vpon the fortune of this present yeere: Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad
Sola. Why then you are in loue
Anth. Fie, fie
Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs say you are sad Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easie For you to laugh and leape, and say you are merry Because you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ianus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time: Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes, And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper. And other of such vineger aspect, That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor sweare the iest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenso, and Gratiano.
Sola. Heere comes Bassanio, Your most noble Kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenso. Faryewell, We leaue you now with better company
Sala. I would haue staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not preuented me
Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard. I take it your owne busines calls on you, And you embrace th' occasion to depart
Sal. Good morrow my good Lords
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? Sal. Wee'll make our leysures to attend on yours.
Exeunt. Salarino, and Solanio.
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you haue found Anthonio We two will leaue you, but at dinner time I pray you haue in minde where we must meete
Bass. I will not faile you
Grat. You looke not well signior Anthonio, You haue too much respect vpon the world: They loose it that doe buy it with much care, Beleeue me you are maruellously chang'd
Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A stage, where euery man must play a part, And mine a sad one
Grati. Let me play the foole, With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come, And let my Liuer rather heate with wine, Then my heart coole with mortifying grones. Why should a man whose bloud is warme within, Sit like his Grandsire, cut in Alablaster? Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies By being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio, I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes: There are a sort of men, whose visages Do creame and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilfull stilnesse entertaine, With purpose to be drest in an opinion Of wisedome, grauity, profound conceit, As who should say, I am sir an Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke. O my Anthonio, I do know of these That therefore onely are reputed wise, For saying nothing; when I am verie sure If they should speake, would almost dam those eares Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles: Ile tell thee more of this another time. But fish not with this melancholly baite For this foole Gudgin, this opinion: Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while, Ile end my exhortation after dinner
Lor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time. I must be one of these same dumbe wise men. For Gratiano neuer let's me speake
Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine owne tongue
Ant. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare
Gra. Thankes ifaith, for silence is onely commendable In a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible. Enter.
Ant. It is that any thing now
Bas. Gratiano speakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reasons are two graines of wheate hid in two bushels of chaffe: you shall seeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the search
An. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the same To whom you swore a secret Pilgrimage That you to day promis'd to tel me of? Bas. Tis not vnknowne to you Anthonio How much I haue disabled mine estate, By something shewing a more swelling port Then my faint meanes would grant continuance: Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'd From such a noble rate, but my cheefe care Is to come fairely off from the great debts Wherein my time something too prodigall Hath left me gag'd: to you Anthonio I owe the most in money, and in loue, And from your loue I haue a warrantie To vnburthen all my plots and purposes, How to get cleere of all the debts I owe
An. I pray you good Bassanio let me know it, And if it stand as you your selfe still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd My purse, my person, my extreamest meanes Lye all vnlock'd to your occasions
Bass. In my schoole dayes, when I had lost one shaft I shot his fellow of the selfesame flight The selfesame way, with more aduised watch To finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both, I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe, Because what followes is pure innocence. I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth, That which I owe is lost: but if you please To shoote another arrow that selfe way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the ayme: Or to finde both, Or bring your latter hazard backe againe, And thankfully rest debter for the first
An. You know me well, and herein spend but time To winde about my loue with circumstance, And out of doubt you doe more wrong In making question of my vttermost Then if you had made waste of all I haue: Then doe but say to me what I should doe That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest vnto it: therefore speake
Bass. In Belmont is a Lady richly left, And she is faire, and fairer then that word, Of wondrous vertues, sometimes from her eyes I did receiue faire speechlesse messages: Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewd To Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia, Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, For the four windes blow in from euery coast Renowned sutors, and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece, Which makes her seat of Belmont Cholchos strond, And many Iasons come in quest of her. O my Anthonio, had I but the meanes To hold a riuall place with one of them, I haue a minde presages me such thrift, That I should questionlesse be fortunate
Anth. Thou knowst that all my fortunes are at sea, Neither haue I money, nor commodity To raise a present summe, therefore goe forth Try what my credit can in Venice doe, That shall be rackt euen to the vttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia. Goe presently enquire, and so will I Where money is, and I no question make To haue it of my trust, or for my sake.
Exeunt.
Enter Portia with her waiting woman Nerissa.
Portia. By my troth Nerrissa, my little body is a wearie of this great world
Ner. You would be sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I see, they are as sicke that surfet with too much, as they that starue with nothing; it is no smal happinesse therefore to bee seated in the meane, superfluitie comes sooner by white haires, but competencie liues longer
Portia. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd
Ner. They would be better if well followed
Portia. If to doe were as easie as to know what were good to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages Princes Pallaces: it is a good Diuine that followes his owne instructions; I can easier teach twentie what were good to be done, then be one of the twentie to follow mine owne teaching: the braine may deuise lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, such a hare is madnesse the youth, to skip ore the meshes of good counsaile the cripple; but this reason is not in fashion to choose me a husband: O mee, the word choose, I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike, so is the wil of a liuing daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Nerrissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none
Ner. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good inspirations, therefore the lotterie that hee hath deuised in these three chests of gold, siluer, and leade, whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you, wil no doubt neuer be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly loue: but what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these Princely suters that are already come? Por. I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe them, and according to my description leuell at my affection
Ner. First there is the Neopolitane Prince
Por. I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing but talke of his horse, and hee makes it a great appropriation to his owne good parts that he can shoo him himselfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid false with a Smyth
Ner. Than is there the Countie Palentine
Por. He doth nothing but frowne (as who should say, and you will not haue me, choose: he heares merrie tales and smiles not, I feare hee will proue the weeping Phylosopher when he growes old, being so full of vnmannerly sadnesse in his youth.) I had rather to be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to either of these: God defend me from these two
Ner. How say you by the French Lord, Mounsier Le Boune? Por. God made him, and therefore let him passe for a man, in truth I know it is a sinne to be a mocker, but he, why he hath a horse better then the Neopolitans, a better bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, he is euery man in no man, if a Trassell sing, he fals straight a capring, he will fence with his owne shadow. If I should marry him, I should marry twentie husbands: if hee would despise me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue me to madnesse, I should neuer requite him
Ner. What say you then to Fauconbridge, the yong Baron of England? Por. You know I say nothing to him, for hee vnderstands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & sweare that I haue a poore pennie-worth in the English: hee is a proper mans picture, but alas who can conuerse with a dumbe show? how odly he is suited, I thinke he bought his doublet in Italie, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germanie, and his behauiour euery where
Ner. What thinke you of the other Lord his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, for he borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him againe when hee was able: I thinke the Frenchman became his suretie, and seald vnder for another
Ner. How like you the yong Germaine, the Duke of Saxonies Nephew? Por. Very vildely in the morning when hee is sober, and most vildely in the afternoone when hee is drunke: when he is best, he is a little worse then a man, and when he is worst, he is little better then a beast: and the worst fall that euer fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him
Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right Casket, you should refuse to performe your Fathers will, if you should refuse to accept him
Por. Therefore for feare of the worst, I pray thee set a deepe glasse of Reinish-wine on the contrary Casket, for if the diuell be within, and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will doe any thing Nerrissa ere I will be married to a spunge
Ner. You neede not feare Lady the hauing any of these Lords, they haue acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeede to returne to their home, and to trouble you with no more suite, vnlesse you may be won by some other sort then your Fathers imposition, depending on the Caskets
Por. If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will dye as chaste as Diana: vnlesse I be obtained by the manner of my Fathers will: I am glad this parcell of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I doate on his verie absence: and I wish them a faire departure
Ner. Doe you not remember Ladie in your Fathers time, a Venecian, a Scholler and a Souldior that came hither in companie of the Marquesse of Mountferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I thinke, so was hee call'd
Ner. True Madam, hee of all the men that euer my foolish eyes look'd vpon, was the best deseruing a faire Lady
Por. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise. Enter a Seruingman.
Ser. The four Strangers seeke you Madam to take their leaue: and there is a fore-runner come from a fift, the Prince of Moroco, who brings word the Prince his Maister will be here to night
Por. If I could bid the fift welcome with so good heart as I can bid the other foure farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he haue the condition of a Saint, and the complexion of a diuell, I had rather hee should shriue me then wiue me. Come Nerrissa, sirra go before; whiles wee shut the gate vpon one wooer, another knocks at the doore.
Exeunt.
Enter Bassanio with Shylocke the Iew.
Shy. Three thousand ducates, well
Bass. I sir, for three months
Shy. For three months, well
Bass. For the which, as I told you, Anthonio shall be bound
Shy. Anthonio shall become bound, well
Bass. May you sted me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answere
Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Anthonio bound
Bass. Your answere to that
Shy. Anthonio is a good man
Bass. Haue you heard any imputation to the contrary
Shy. Ho no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man, is to haue you vnderstand me that he is sufficient, yet his meanes are in supposition: he hath an Argosie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies, I vnderstand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures hee hath squandred abroad, but ships are but boords, Saylers but men, there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues, and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is the perrill of waters, windes, and rocks: the man is not withstanding sufficient, three thousand ducats, I thinke I may take his bond
Bas. Be assured you may
Iew. I will be assured I may: and that I may be assured, I will bethinke mee, may I speake with Anthonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with vs
Iew. Yes, to smell porke, to eate of the habitation which your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuell into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talke with you, walke with you, and so following: but I will not eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you. What newes on the Ryalta, who is he comes here? Enter Anthonio.
Bass. This is signior Anthonio
Iew. How like a fawning publican he lookes. I hate him for he is a Christian: But more, for that in low simplicitie He lends out money gratis, and brings downe The rate of vsance here with vs in Venice. If I can catch him once vpon the hip, I will feede fat the ancient grudge I beare him. He hates our sacred Nation, and he railes Euen there where Merchants most doe congregate On me, my bargaines, and my well-worne thrift, Which he cals interrest: Cursed by my Trybe If I forgiue him
Bass. Shylock, doe you heare
Shy. I am debating of my present store, And by the neere gesse of my memorie I cannot instantly raise vp the grosse Of full three thousand ducats: what of that? Tuball a wealthy Hebrew of my Tribe Will furnish me: but soft, how many months Doe you desire? Rest you faire good signior, Your worship was the last man in our mouthes
Ant. Shylocke, albeit I neither lend nor borrow By taking, nor by giuing of excesse, Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend, Ile breake a custome: is he yet possest How much he would? Shy. I, I, three thousand ducats
Ant. And for three months
Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so. Well then, your bond: and let me see, but heare you, Me thoughts you said, you neither lend nor borrow Vpon aduantage
Ant. I doe neuer vse it
Shy. When Iacob graz'd his vncle Labans sheepe, This Iacob from our holy Abram was (As his wise mother wrought in his behalfe) The third possesser; I, he was the third
Ant. And what of him, did he take interrest? Shy. No, not take interest, not as you would say Directly interest, marke what Iacob did, When Laban and himselfe were compremyz'd That all the eanelings which were streakt and pied Should fall as Iacobs hier, the Ewes being rancke, In end of Autumne turned to the Rammes, And when the worke of generation was Betweene these woolly breeders in the act, The skilfull shepheard pil'd me certaine wands, And in the dooing of the deede of kinde, He stucke them vp before the fulsome Ewes, Who then conceauing, did in eaning time Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Iacobs. This was a way to thriue, and he was blest: And thrift is blessing if men steale it not
Ant. This was a venture sir that Iacob seru'd for, A thing not in his power to bring to passe, But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heauen. Was this inserted to make interrest good? Or is your gold and siluer Ewes and Rams? Shy. I cannot tell, I make it breede as fast, But note me signior
Ant. Marke you this Bassanio, The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpose, An euill soule producing holy witnesse, Is like a villaine with a smiling cheeke, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O what a goodly outside falsehood hath
Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good round sum. Three months from twelue, then let me see the rate
Ant. Well Shylocke, shall we be beholding to you? Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft In the Ryalto you haue rated me About my monies and my vsances: Still haue I borne it with a patient shrug, (For suffrance is the badge of all our Tribe.) You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog, And spet vpon my Iewish gaberdine, And all for vse of that which is mine owne. Well then, it now appeares you neede my helpe: Goe to then, you come to me, and you say, Shylocke, we would haue moneyes, you say so: You that did voide your rume vpon my beard, And foote me as you spurne a stranger curre Ouer your threshold, moneyes is your suite. What should I say to you? Should I not say, Hath a dog money? Is it possible A curre should lend three thousand ducats? or Shall I bend low, and in a bond-mans key With bated breath, and whispring humblenesse, Say this: Faire sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last; You spurn'd me such a day; another time You cald me dog: and for these curtesies Ile lend you thus much moneyes
Ant. I am as like to call thee so againe, To spet on thee againe, to spurne thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends, for when did friendship take A breede of barraine mettall of his friend? But lend it rather to thine enemie, Who if he breake, thou maist with better face Exact the penalties