The Merchant of Venice

by William Shakespeare

Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There where your argosies, with portly sail— 10 Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Or as it were the pageants of the sea— Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; 80 A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.

My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.

I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness 100 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

‘Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn’d me such a day; another time You call’d me dog; and for these courtesies I’ll lend you thus much moneys?’

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me.

All things that are Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.

‘All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told; Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold:

Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince: 5 If you choose that wherein I am contain’d, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d; But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately.

To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

That only to stand high in your account, 160 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account. But the full sum of me Is sum of something which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d; Happy in this, she is not yet so old 165 But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king.

This house, these servants, and this same myself, 175 Are yours- my lord’s. I give them with this ring, Which when you part from, lose, or give away, Let it presage the ruin of your love, And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.