The Merchant of Venice

(Water splashing)

(Men shouting)

(Creaking)

(Men shouting)

(Man) Usurer!

Usurer!

(Man murmers)

"If a man is righteous,

and does what is lawful and right,

"if he has not exacted usury

nor taken any increase

"but has withdrawn his hand

from all iniquity

"and executed true judgment

between men and men,

"if he has walked in my statutes

"and kept my judgment faithfully,

then he is just and he shall surely live.

"But if he has exacted usury

and taken increase,

"shall he then live?

"No, he shall not live. If he has

done any of these abominations... "

- (Cheering)

- "... he shall surely die, says the Lord. "

(Preacher) And yet you live

by theft and robbery...

Antonio.

(Preacher continues, crowd shouting)

(Both laughing)

Antonio.

Bassanio.

- (Man) Wind's coming back, sir.

- (Sail flapping)

(Man) Signior Lorenzo.

(Dog barking)

(Chanting)

(Chanting continues)

(Doors opening)

Jessica.

(Antonio) In truth,

I know not why I am so sad.

It wearies me. You say it wearies you.

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me

that I have much ado than know myself.

Your mind is tossing on the ocean.

Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,

the better part of my affection

would be with my hopes abroad.

I should be still plucking the grass

to know where sits the wind,

peering in maps

for ports and piers and roads.

And every object that might make me fear

misfortune to my ventures

out of doubt would make me sad.

My wind, cooling my broth,

would blow me to a fever if I thought what

harm a wind too great might do at sea.

Believe me, no.

- Why, then you're in love.

- (Laughs)

Fie, fie, fie!

Not in love either?

Then let us say you are sad

because you are not merry.

Here comes my lord Bassanio.

- Good morrow, my good lord.

- Good signiors. When shall we laugh?

We shall make our leisures

to fit in with yours.

- Bassanio.

- Signior.

(Whispers)

My lord Bassanio, since you have found

Antonio, we too will leave you.

You look not well, Signior Antonio.

You have too much respect

upon the world.

They lose it that do buy it with much care.

I hold the world but

as the world, Gratiano -

a stage where every man

must play his part, and mine a sad one.

Come, good Lorenzo.

Fare thee well awhile.

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Fare thee well.

Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,

more than any man in all of Venice.

Well?

Tell me now...

that which today

you promised to tell me of.

(Bassanio sighs)

'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,

how much I have disabled mine estate,

but my chief care is to come

squarely out of the great debts

wherein my youth, something too prodigal,

has left me pledged.

To you, Antonio,

I owe the most in money and in love,

and from your love I have a warranty

to unburden all my plots and purposes

how to get clear of all the debts I owe.

Pray, good Bassanio, let me know it.

And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,

within the eye of honour,

be assured my purse, my person,

my extremest means

lie all unlocked to your occasion.

In Belmont is a lady richly left -

and she is fair, and fairer than that word -

of wondrous virtues.

Sometimes, from her eyes

I did receive fair...

speechless messages.

Her name is Portia, no less a beauty

than Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.

Nor is the wide world

ignorant of her worth,

for the four winds blow in from every coast

renowned suitors.

O my Antonio,

had I but the means

to hold a rival place with one of them

then I should questionless be fortunate.

Thou knowest my fortunes are at sea.

Neither have I money nor commodity

to raise a present sum.

Therefore, go forth.

Try what my credit can in Venice do.

It shall be racked, even to the uttermost,

to furnish you to Belmont,

and fair Portia.

(Birdsong)

I swear to you, Nerissa,

- I am more weary of this great world.

- You would be, sweet madam,

if your miseries were as plentiful

as your good fortunes are.

And yet, from what I see,

they are as sick that have it in excess

as those that starve with nothing.

If doing were as easy

as knowing what were good to do,

chapels had been churches,

and poor men's cottages princes' palaces.

(Sighs) But this reasoning is

not in the way to choose me a husband.

O me, the word "choose"!

I may neither choose who I would

nor refuse who I dislike.

So is the will of a living daughter

ruled by a dead father.

Is it not hard, Nerissa,

that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

Your father was always virtuous,

and holy men, at their death,

have good inspirations.

Therefore the lottery, that he devised

in these three chests

of gold and silver and lead,

so that who chooses his meaning

chooses you,

will no doubt only be guessed, rightly,

by someone who you shall rightly love.

Right.

(Nerissa) What warmth is there

in your affection

towards any of these princely suitors

that are already come?

(Portia) Pray name them, and

as you name them I will describe them,

and, according

to my description, level at my affection.

How say you of the French lord,

Monsieur Le Bon?

Oh, God.

God made him,

and therefore let him pass for a man.

I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he...!

What say you to Falconbridge,

the young baron of England?

(Portia laughs) How oddly he's suited!

And the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

Very vilely in the morning

when he is sober,

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