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, I do oppose My patience to his fury, an am arm'd To suffer with quietness of spirit The very tyranny and rage of his.
Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.
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 remose more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; Which is a pound of the 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 at his losses, Enow to press a royal commiseration of his state, \ We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
I have possess'd your Grace of what I purpose; And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn To have the due and forfeit of my bond: If you deny it, let danger light Upon your charter and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh than to receive Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that, But say it is my humor. Is it anwered?