The Merchant of Venice | Page 9

[Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket]
GOBBO.
Master young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to
Master Jew's?
LAUNCELOT.
[Aside] O heavens! This is my true-begotten father,
who, 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, 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.
Be God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell
me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?
LAUNCELOT.
Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] 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 I

say't, 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.
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 to Fates and

Destinies
and such odd sayings, the Sisters 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 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!--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 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 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.
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 worshipped might
he be, what a beard hast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin
than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.
LAUNCELOT.
It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows
backward;
I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on 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
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 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 LEONARDO, with and other Followers.]
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 delivered, put
the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.
[Exit a SERVANT]
LAUNCELOT.
To him, father.
GOBBO.
God bless your worship!
BASSANIO.
Gramercy; wouldst thou aught with me?
GOBBO.
Here's my son, sir, a poor boy--
LAUNCELOT.
Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, that
would,
sir,--as my father shall specify--
GOBBO.
He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve--
LAUNCELOT.
Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and

have a desire, as my father shall specify--
GOBBO.
His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, are

scarce cater-cousins--

LAUNCELOT.
To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having
done
me wrong, doth cause me,--as my