g judge, how do I honour thee!

_Por_. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

_Shy_. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

_Por_. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

_Shy_. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.

_Por_. Why, this bond is forfeit;
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant's heart:--Be merciful;
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

_Shy_. When it is paid according to the tenour.
It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
You know the law, your exposition
Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear,
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

_Ant_. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.

_Por_. Why then, thus it is:
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

_Shy_. O noble judge! O excellent young man!

_Por_. For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

_Shy_. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

_Por_. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.

_Shy_. Ay, his breast:
So says the bond;--Doth it not, noble judge?--Nearest
his heart, those are the very words.

_Por_. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
The flesh?

_Shy_. I have them ready.

_Por_. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death.

_Shy_. Is it so nominated in the bond?

_Por_. It is not so express'd; but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.

_Shy_. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

_Por_. Come, merchant, have you anything to say?

_Ant_. But little; I am arm'd and well prepar'd.--
Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well!
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom: it is still her use,
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty: from which lingering penance
Of such a misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honorable wife:
Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent not you that