By the exaction of the forfeiture? And for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. And I will go and purse the ducats straight: Of an unthrifty knave; and presently I will be with you. Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shylock. This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. V.-SHYLOCK JUSTIFYING HIS REVENGE. (SHAKSPERE.) If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million! laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies! And what's his reason? I am a Jew! Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands? organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is? If you stab us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that! If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villany you teach me I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. VI.-ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. Vent. Are you Antony? (DRYDEN.) I'm liker what I was, than you to him I left you last. Ant. I'm angry. Vent. So am I. Ant. I would be private: leave me. Vent. Sir, I love you, And therefore will not leave you. Ant. Will not leave me! Where have you learned that answer? Who am I? Ant. All that's wretched. You will not leave me, then? Vent. 'Twas too presuming To say I would not; but I dare not leave you: Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied? And if a foe, too much. Vent. Look, emperor; this is no common dew; [Weeping. I have not wept this forty years; but now My mother comes afresh into my eyes. I cannot help her softness. Ant. By Heaven, he weeps! poor, good old man, he weeps! The big round drops course one another down The furrows of his cheeks.-Stop them, Ventidius, Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame, Vent. I'll do my best. Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends: Ant. Emperor! why, that's the style of victory; Vent. I warrant you. Ant. Actium, Actium! oh! Vent. It sits too near you. Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day, And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, The hag that rides my dreams. Vent. Out with it; give it vent. Ant. Urge not my shame. I lost a battle, Vent. So has Julius done. Ant. Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st; For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly; But Antony Vent. Nay, stop not. Ant. Antony- Well, thou wilt have it-like a coward, fled, Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius. Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. Vent. I did. Ant. I'll help thee: I have been a man, Ventidius. Ant. I know thy meaning. But I have lost my reason, have disgraced And purple greatness met my ripened years. Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains And worked against my fortune, chid her from me, Ant. Why? Vent. You are too sensible already Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings; To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds, Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune. perate Dost thou think me des Without just cause? No; when I found all lost Beyond repair, I hid me from the world, And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do The cost of keeping. Vent. Cæsar thinks not so: He'll thank you for the gift he could not take. You would be killed like Tully, would you? Do, Vent. I can die with you too, when time shall serve; But fortune calls upon us now to live, To fight, to conquer. Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius. Vent. No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you, Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands: there's virtue in them. They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates Than your trim bands can buy. Ant. Where left you them? Vent. I said in Lower Syria. Ant. Bring them hither; There may be life in these. Vent. They will not come. Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, To double my despair? They're mutinous. Vent. Most firm and loyal. Ant. Yet they will not march To succour me. Oh trifler! Vent. They petition You would make haste to head them. Ant. I'm besieged. Vent. There's but one way shut up. How came I hither? Ant. I will not stir. Vent. They would, perhaps, desire A better reason. Ant. I never used My soldiers to demand a reason of My actions. Why did they refuse to march? Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. |