The Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare Right Now!

“Past all expressing!” She moves closer to him. “It is very meet the Lord Bassanio live an
upright life,” she says suggestively. “For, having such a blessing in his lady, he finds the joys of
heaven here on earth!—and if on earth he do not measure it,” she adds, unabashed, “then in
reason he should never come into heaven!
“Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, and on the wager lay two earthly
women, and Portia one, there must be something else pawned with the other, for the poor rude
world hath not her fellow!”
Lorenzo’s grin grows as he holds her: “Even as she is for a wife, such a husband hast thou in
me!”
Jessica cocks her head to one side and touches his cheek. “Nay,” she says, “but ask my
opinion, too, of that!”
Lorenzo kisses her lightly. “I will—anon; first, let us go to dinner.”
Jessica pulls herself against him. “Nay, let me praise you while I have an appetite….”
“No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; then, howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things
I shall digest it.”
“Well, I’ll set you forth!” the young woman promises; and her flashing eyes confirm it.
A
Chapter Seven
Venetian Equity
Court of Justice convenes, with the Duke of Venice presiding, to hear the case against
Signior Antonio. In attendance, crowding the hall, are many of the city’s wealthy
merchants and powerful lords, along with lawyers and clerks of the high court.
“What, is Antonio here?” asks the duke, taking his seat..
Frail and weary from lack of sleep, his hands bound before him, the accused nobleman
follows a deputy to the front of the courthouse chamber. “Ready, so please Your Grace.”
The duke speaks from the judge’s bench. “I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer a
stony adversary, an inhuman wretch uncapable of pity, void and empty from any dram of mercy!”
Antonio smiles. “I have heard that Your Grace hath ta’en great pains to modify his rigorous
course. But since he stands obdurate, and no lawful means can carry me out of his envy’s reach, I
do oppose my patience to his fury, and am armèd to suffer, with a quietness of spirit, the very
tyranny and rage of his.”
“Go, one, and call the Jew into the court,” the duke orders.
“He is ready at the door,” says Salerio, opening it. “He comes, my lord.”
“Make room, and let him stand before our face,” says the judge.
The usurer—having permission, now, to enter—walks to the center and stands looking up the
judge.
The duke speaks calmly. “Shylock, the world thinks—and I think so, too—that thou but
lead’st this fashion of thy malice unto the last hour of an act.
“And then, ’tis thought, thou’lt show thy mercy, and remorse more strange than is thy
strangely apparent cruelty! And where thou now exact’st the penalty, which is a pound of this
poor merchant’s flesh, thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, but, touched with human gentleness
and love, forgive a portion of the principal, glancing an eye of pity on his losses, that have of late
so huddled on his back—enough to press a royal merchant down and pluck commiseration with
his state from brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, from stubborn Turks and Tartars, never
trained to offices of tender courtesy!
“We all expect a gentle answer, Jew!”
Shylock faces the presiding officer with cold determination. “I have possessed Your Grace of
what I purpose; and by our holy Sabbath have I sworn to have the due-in-forfeit of my bond.
“If you deny it, let the danger light upon your charter, and your city’s freedom!”
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