The Merchant of Venice | Act II, Scene II

Scene II

[Venice]

Enter the clown [Launcelot] alone.

[LAUNCELOT:]
Certainly, my conscience will serve 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(5)
conscience says, no; take heed, honest Launcelot; take
heed, honest Gobbo; or, (as aforesaid) honest 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 heavens rouse up a(10)
brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to
me,—my honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's
son: or rather an honest woman's son;—for, indeed, my
father did something smack, something grow to, he had a(15)
kind of taste;—well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge
not: budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience:
Conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel
well: to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with
the Jew my master, who, (God bless the mark!) is a kind of(20)
devil; and to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by
the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself.
Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation: and, in my
conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience,
to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew: the fiend gives(25)
the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at
your command, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo with a Basket.

GOBBO:
Master, young man, you; I pray you, which is the way
to master Jew's?
LAUNCELOT:
O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! who,(30)
being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me
not: I will try confusions with him.
GOBBO:
Master, young gentleman, I pray you which is the way
to master Jew's?
LAUNCELOT:
Turn up on your right hand at the next turning,(35)
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.
GOBBO:
By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can you
tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell(40)
with him, or no?
LAUNCELOT:
Talk you of young Master Launcelot?—Mark me
now—now will I raise the waters.—Talk you of young master
Launcelot?
GOBBO:
No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though(45)
I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be
thanked, well to live.
LAUNCELOT:
Well, let his father be what a will, we talk of young
master Launcelot.
GOBBO:
Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.(50)
LAUNCELOT:
But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
talk you of young master Launcelot.
GOBBO:
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
LAUNCELOT:
Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of Master
Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according(55)
to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings,
the sister three, and such branches of learning) is, indeed,
deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to
heaven.
GOBBO:
Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my(60)
age, my very prop.
LAUNCELOT:
Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff,
or a prop? Do you know me, father?
GOBBO:
Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:
but, I pray you tell me, is my boy (God rest his soul!)(65)
alive or dead?
LAUNCELOT:
Do you not know me, father?
GOBBO:
Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
LAUNCELOT:
Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes you might fail
of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own(70)
child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: give
me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot
be hid long; a man's son may; but, in the end, truth
will out.
GOBBO:
Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are not(75)
Launcelot, my boy.
LAUNCELOT:
Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but
give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was,
your son that is, your child that shall be.
GOBBO:
I cannot think you are my son.(80)
LAUNCELOT:
I know not what I shall think of that: but I am
Launcelot, the Jew's man; and I am sure Margery, your
wife, is my mother.
GOBBO:
Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou
be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord(85)
worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got!
thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my
phill-horse has on his tail.
LAUNCELOT:
It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows
backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail, than I(90)
have of my face, when I last saw him.
GOBBO:
Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
master agree? I have brought him a present. How 'gree
you now?
LAUNCELOT:
Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set up(95)
my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some
ground. My master's a very Jew. Give him a present! give him
a halter: I am famished in his service; 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(100)
rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run as far as God
has any ground.—O rare fortune! here comes the man;—to
him, father; for I am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.

Enter Bassanio with a follower or two [one of them Leonardo.]

BASSANIO:
You may do so:—but let it be so hasted, that supper
be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters(105)
delivered; put the liveries to making; and desire Gratiano to
come anon to my lodging.
LAUNCELOT:
To him, father.
GOBBO:
God bless your worship!
BASSANIO:
Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?(110)
  • Italian for “away”
  • taste
  • dim-sighted
  • saints
  • therefore
  • the three Fates that affected a person's life: Atropos, Clothos, and Lachesis
  • a club
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