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By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.
Honestly, Nerissa, my little body is tired of this big world.
You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.
You’d be, sweet madam, if your troubles were as abundant as your good luck: and yet, from what I see, those who overindulge are just as miserable as those who starve. It is no small happiness, therefore, to be in the middle: excess brings white hairs sooner, but just enough lasts longer.
Good sentences and well pronounced.
Good words, and well spoken.
They would be better, if well followed.
They’d be better if they were put into practice.
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o’er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word ’choose!’ I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?
If doing were as easy as knowing what’s good to do, churches would be chapels and poor men’s homes would be royal palaces. A good preacher is one who follows his own advice: I can teach twenty people what’s good to do, but it’s harder to be one of those twenty and actually follow my own advice. The mind can make rules for the heart, but a hot temper jumps over a cold decision: such behavior is madness in youth, and skipping good advice is foolish. But this reasoning won’t help me choose a husband. Oh, the word ‘choose!’ I can’t choose who I want, nor reject who I don’t like; so my will as a living daughter is controlled by my dead father’s will. Isn’t it hard, Nerissa, that I can neither choose nor refuse anyone?
Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their death have good inspirations: therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly but one who shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?
Your father was always virtuous; and holy men at their death receive divine inspiration: so the lottery, he created with three chests—gold, silver, and lead—by which the one who chooses will choose you, will, without a doubt, only be chosen by someone who truly loves you. But how much warmth is there in your feelings towards any of these noble suitors that have already arrived?
I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection.
Please, name them; and as you name them, I’ll describe them; and based on my descriptions, I’ll tell you how I feel.
First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
First, there’s the Neapolitan prince.
Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother played false with a smith.
Yes, he’s a real fool, always talking about his horse; and he thinks it’s a big deal that he can shoe it himself. I’m really afraid his mother cheated with a blacksmith.
Then there is the County Palatine.
Then there’s the County Palatine.
He doth nothing but frown, as who should say ’If you will not have me, choose:’ he hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these two!
He just frowns all the time, like he’s saying, "If you don’t want me, choose someone else." He listens to funny stories and doesn’t even smile. I’m afraid he’ll end up being a sad philosopher when he’s old, since he’s so grumpy now. I’d rather marry a skull with a bone in its mouth than either of these two. God save me from them!
How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?
What about the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?
God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.
God made him, so I guess he’s a man. Honestly, I know it’s wrong to mock, but he! He has a better horse than the Neapolitan, a better frown than the Count Palatine, and he’s everyone and no one at the same time. If a thrush bird sings, he starts dancing around. He’ll fight with his own shadow. If I married him, I’d have twenty husbands. If he hated me, I’d forgive him, because if he loved me that much, I’d never be able to return it.
What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?
What do you think of the young English baron, Falconbridge?
You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man’s picture, but, alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his behavior every where.
You know I don’t have an opinion about him, since he doesn’t understand me and I don’t understand him. He doesn’t speak Latin, French, or Italian, and you’ll come into court and swear I’ve got a bad deal in English. He’s a good-looking guy, but who can talk to someone who’s silent? Look at how strange his clothes are! I bet he bought his jacket in Italy, his pants in France, his hat in Germany, and his manners everywhere.
What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?
What about the Scottish lord, his neighbor?
That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and swore he would pay him again when he was able: I think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed under for another.
He’s got a neighborly spirit, at least, because he gave the Englishman a slap in the face and promised to pay him back when he could. I think the Frenchman stood as his guarantor and signed for another.
How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?
How about the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?
Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast: and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.
He’s awful in the morning when he’s sober, and even worse in the afternoon when he’s drunk. At his best, he’s barely human, and at his worst, he’s just a beast. I hope I never have to deal with him.
If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept him.
If he should choose the right casket, would you refuse to follow your father’s will and refuse to marry him?
Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I’ll be married to a sponge.
So, just in case the worst happens, I’ll put a deep glass of Rhine wine in the casket that’s supposed to be wrong, because if the devil is inside and temptation is outside, I know he’ll choose it. I’ll do anything, Nerissa, before I marry a sponge.
You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father’s imposition depending on the caskets.
You don’t have to worry, lady, about any of these men. They’ve all told me their plans, which, in fact, are to go back home and stop bothering you, unless you can be won over in some way other than your father’s casket test.
If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a fair departure.
If I live as long as the Sibyl, I’ll die as chaste as Diana, unless I’m married according to my father’s will. I’m glad these suitors are so reasonable, because there’s not one among them that I don’t prefer being away from, and I pray God they leave in peace.
Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?
Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came here with the Marquis of Montferrat?
Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.
Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; I think that’s what he was called.
True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.
Yes, madam: he, of all the men my foolish eyes ever saw, was the most deserving of a noble lady.
I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.
I remember him well, and I remember him deserving of your praise.
How now! what news?
What’s happening! What news?
The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the prince his master will be here to-night.
The four strangers are asking for you, madam, to say goodbye: and a messenger has come from the fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word that the prince his master will be here tonight.
If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.
If I could welcome the fifth with as warm a heart as I can bid farewell to the other four, I’d be happy to see him: if he has the qualities of a saint but the looks of a devil, I’d rather he confess my sins than marry me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go ahead. While we shut the gates on one suitor, another knocks at the door.