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Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to fteal your thoughts, my gentle Queen,
Por. In terms of choice I am not folely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Befides, the lottery of my deftiny
Bars me the right of voluntary chufing.
But if my father had not scanted me,

And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself

His wife, who wins me by that means I told you;
Yourself, renowned Prince, then flood as fair,
As any comer I have look'd on yet,

For my affection.

Mor. Ev'n for that I thank you;

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this fcimitar,
That flew the Sophy and a Perfian Prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Selyman,
I would out-ftare the fterneft eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young fucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page; (8)

And

(8) So is Alcides beaten by his rage.] Tho' the whole fet of editions concur in this reading, and it pafs'd wholly unfufpected by the late learned editor; I am very well affur'd, and, dare fay, the readers will be fo too prefently, that it is corrupt at bottom. Let us look into the poet's drift, and the hiftory of the perfons mention'd in the context. If Hercules (fays he) and Lichas were to play at dice for the decifion of their fuperiority, Licbas, the weaker man, might have the better caft of the two. But how then is Alcides beaten by his rage? To admit this, we inuft fuppofe a gap in the poet; and that fome lines are lost, in which Hercules, in his paffion for lofing the hand, had thrown the box and dice away, and knock'd his own head againfi the wall for mere madness. Thus, indeed, might he be faid, in fome fenfe, to be beaten by his rage. But Shakespeare had no fuch stuff in his head. He means no more, than, if Lyckas had the better throw, fo might Hercules himself be beaten by Lichas. And who was he, but a poor unfortunate fervant of Hercules, that unknowingly brought his

E 5

mafter

And fo may I, blind fortune leading me,
Mifs that, which one unworthier may attain;
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance,

And either not attempt to chufe at all,

Or fwear, before you chufe, if you chufe wrong,
Never to fpeak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore, be advis'd.

Mor. Nor will not; therefore, bring me to my chance Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner

Your hazard fhall be made.

Mor. Good fortune then!

To make me bleft, or curfed'ft among men.

Laun.

SCENE changes to Venice.

CE

Enter Launcelot alone.

[Cornets. [Exeunt.

Ertainly, my confcience will ferve me to run from this Jew my mafter. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, faying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, ufe your legs, take the ftart, run away. My confcience fays, no; take heed, honeft Launcelot ; take heed, honeft Gobbo; or, as aforefaid, honest Launcemafter the envenom'd fhirt, dirt in the blood of the centaur Niffus, and was thrown headlong into the fea for his pains? This one circumftance of Lichas's quality known fufficiently afcertains the emendation I have fubftituted, of page inftead of rage. It is scarce requifite to hint here, it is a point fo well known, that page has been always us'd in English to fignify any boy fervant: as well as what latter times have appropriated it to, a lady's trainbearer. And, confonant to our extended ufage of the word, the French call a fipboy, un page du naure. So much in explanation of this new adopted reading. The very excellent Lord LANSDOWNE, in his alteration of this play, tho' he might not ftand to make the correction upon the poet, feems at least to have underflood the paffage exactly as I do: and tho' he changes the verfe, retains the fenfe of it in this manner :

So were a Giant worsted by a Dwarf!

Tho' I had made the emendation, before I thought to look into his Lordship's performance; it is no fmall fatisfaction to me, that I have the authority of fuch a Genius to back my conjecture. Mr. Pope, in his laft edition, has thought fit to embrace my reading.

let

let Gobbo, do not run; fcorn running with thy heels. Well the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! fays the fiend; away! fays the fiend; for the heav'ns roufe up a brave mind, fays the fiend, and run. Well, my confcience, hanging about the neck of my heart, fays very wifely to me, my honeft friend Launcelot, being an honeft man's fon, or rather an honest woman's fon(for, indeed, my father did fomething fmack, fomething grow to; he had a kind of taste.) -well, my confcience fays, budge not; budge, fays the fiend; budge not, fays my confcience; confcience, fay I, you counfel ill; fiend, fay I, you counfel ill. To be rul'd by my confcience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew, I fhould be ruled by the fiend, who, faving your reverence, is the devil hiinfelf. Certainly, the few is the very devil incarnal; and in my confcience, my confcience is but a kind of hard confcience, to offer to counfel me to ftay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly countel; I will ran, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run..

Enter old Gobbo, with a basket.

Gob. Mafter young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to mater's Jew's?

Laun. O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father, who being more than fand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will try confufions with him..

Gob. Mafter young Gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to mafter Jew's?

Laun. Turn up, on your right-hand (9) at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left ;

(9) Turn up, on your right band-]. This arch and perplex'd direction, on purpofe to puzzle the enquirer, feems to be copied from Syrus to Demea, in the Brothers of Terence: Act. 4. Sc. 2.

ubi eas præterieris,

Ad finiftram bac rectâ platea: ubi ad Dianæ veneris,
Ito ad dextram prius, quam ad portam venias: &c.

The reader, upon, a collation of the whole paffage, will find, how infinitely more concife and humourous the jeft is couch'd in our poet.

marry,

marry, at the very next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's fonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit; can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

Laun. Talk you of young mafter Launcelot ? (mark me now, now will I raile the waters;) talk you of young mafter Launcelot ?

Gob. No mafter, Sir, but a poor man's fon. His father, though I fay't, is an honeft exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young mafter Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir. Laun. But, I pray you ergo, old man; ergo I beseech you, talk you of young mafter Launcelot ?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your maftership. Laun. Ergo, mafter Launcelot; talk not of mafter Launcelot, father, for the young gentleman (according to fates and deftinies, and fuch odd fayings, the fifters three, and fuch branches of learning,) is, indeed, deceafed; or, as you would fay, in plain terms, gone to heav'n.

Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the of my age, my very prop.

very ftaff

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-poft, a ftaff or a prop? do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his foul, alive or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, Sir, I am fand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wife father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your fon; give me your bleffing, truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's fon may; but, in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, Sir, ftand up; I am fure, you are not Launcelot my boy.

Laun.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your bleffing; I am Launcelot, your boy, that was, your fon that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my fon.

Laun. I know not, what I fhall think of that: but I am Launcelot the Jew's man, and, I am fure, Margery your wife, is mother. my

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be fworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art my own flesh and blood: lord worship'd might he be! what a beard haft thou got! thou haft got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Thill-horfe has on his tail (10).

Laun. It fhould feem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am fure, he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I laft faw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! how doft thou and thy mafter agree? I have brought him a prefent; how agree you now?

Laun. Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have fet up my reft to run away, fo I will not reft 'till I have run fome ground. My mafter's a very Jew: give him a prefent! give him a halter: I am famith'd in his fervice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come, give me your prefent to one mafter Baffanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I ferve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man; to him, father, for I am a few, if I ferve the Jew any longer.

Enter Baffanio with Leonardo, and a follower or

tavo more.

Baff. You may do fo; but let it be fo hafted, that fupper be ready at the fartheft by five of the clock: fee thefe letters deliver'd, put the liveries to making, and defire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

Laun. To him, father.

(10) than Dobbin my Thill-korfe] Some of the editions have it Phill, others Fill-horfe; both, erroneously. It must be thill-borse; i. e. the horse, which draws in the Shafts, or Thill, of the carriage.

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