SCENE 2. Venice. A street
Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.
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.
I cannot think you are my son.
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.
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.
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.
Lord! how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master
agree? I have brought him a present. How 'gree you now?
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.]
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.