The Merchant of Venice Act 3 Scene 5

Yes, truly — because look, the sins of the father are to be laid on the children. So I promise you, I fear for you. I was always straight with you, so now I'll speak my agitation on the subject.

So cheer up — because I honestly think you're damned. There's only one hope in it that could do you any good, and even that's only a sort of illegitimate hope at that. ('Agitation' is his mistake for cogitation, thinking. And the argument is that she is damned by descent — which means the conversion she chose in Act 2 in order to marry Lorenzo buys her nothing at all.)

And what hope is that, then?

Why, you can partly hope that your father didn't father you — that you aren't the Jew's daughter.

That would be an illegitimate hope indeed — because then my mother's sins would be visited on me instead.

Then I'm afraid you're damned by both father and mother. So when I steer clear of the rock — your father — I fall into the whirlpool, your mother. Well, you're lost either way.

I'll be saved by my husband. He has made me a Christian.

Then all the more shame on him. We had Christians enough before — as many as could comfortably live alongside each other. All this making of Christians will push up the price of pigs. If we all turn into porkeaters, we soon won't be able to get a rasher on the grill for any money. (His objection to converting Jews is that it increases the demand for bacon. It is a joke, and it is also the only economic argument anyone in the play makes against conversion.)

I'll tell my husband what you've been saying, Lancelet.

Here he comes.

I'll start getting jealous of you soon, Lancelet, if you keep getting my wife into corners like this.

No, you've nothing to fear from us, Lorenzo. Lancelet and I have fallen out. He tells me flatly there's no mercy for me in heaven because I'm a Jew's daughter — and he says you're no good citizen, because by converting Jews to Christians you push up the price of pork.

I'll answer for that to the state more easily than you'll answer for getting the Black woman pregnant. The Moor is carrying your child, Lancelet. (She never appears, is never named, and is never mentioned again. Lorenzo produces her to win a point in an argument about pork, and the scene goes straight on to dinner.)

It's a lot if the Moor turns out to be more than she should be — but if she's less than an honest woman, then she's certainly more than I took her for.

How every fool can play with words. I think the finest kind of wit will soon be silence, and good conversation will only be praised in parrots. Go inside, fellow, and tell them to get ready for dinner.

That's done, sir. They've all got appetites.

Good Lord, what a word-catcher you are.

Then tell them to prepare dinner.

That's done too, sir — 'cover' is the word you want.

Will you cover, then, sir?

Certainly not, sir. I know my place. (The joke is that 'cover' means both to lay the table and to put your hat on. Lorenzo tells him to cover; Lancelet takes it as an invitation to be hatted in front of his master, and declines.)

Still more arguing with the moment. Are you going to display the entire fortune of your wit in one go? Please — take a plain man's plain meaning. Go to the others, tell them to lay the table and bring in the food, and we'll come in to dinner.

As for the table, sir — that shall be served in. As for the meat, that shall be covered. As for your coming in to dinner, sir — let that be as moods and fancies dictate.

Good judgement, what a fit his words are.

The fool has planted in his memory

a whole army of good words — and I know

plenty of fools in better positions,

decorated the same way, who for a clever turn of phrase

will throw the whole meaning away. How are you, Jessica?

And now, sweetheart, tell me what you think:

how do you like Lord Bassanio's wife?

Beyond anything I can say. It's very fitting

that Lord Bassanio should live an upright life,

because with such a blessing in his wife

he has the joys of heaven here on earth —

and if he doesn't deserve them on earth,

it stands to reason he should never get to heaven at all.

Why — if two gods played some heavenly match

and staked two earthly women on it,

and one of them were Portia, something else

would have to be added to the other side, because this poor rough world

hasn't got her equal.

You have exactly as good a husband

in me as she is a wife.

Well — ask my opinion about that too.

I will shortly. First let's go in to dinner.

No — let me praise you while I've still got the appetite.

No, please — save it for conversation at the table.

Then whatever you say, I'll digest it

along with everything else.

Very well — I'll serve you up. (Her one extended speech in the scene is praise of another woman, and her husband turns it into a joke about dinner twice rather than let her finish. She gets the last word by turning his own metaphor on him.)