Even such a husband Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.

No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; Then, howso’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things I shall digest it.

Venice. A court of justice.

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.

I have heard Your grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy’s reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm’d To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.

Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but lead’st this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act; and then ’tis thought Thou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange Than is thy strange 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, touch’d with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back, Enow to press a royal merchant down And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train’d To offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.