Poem – The Merchant Of Venice,: A Legend Of Italy – Richard Harris Barham

Richard Harris Barham  1788 - 1845 , England

Richard Harris Barham
1788 – 1845 , England

I believe there are few 

But have heard of a Jew, 

Named Shylock, of Venice, as arrant a ‘screw’ 

In money transactions as ever you knew; 

An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent 

A ducat at less than three hundred per cent., 

Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice, 

Who’d take no more care of his pounds than his pennies, 

When press’d for a loan, at the very first sight 

Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight. 

It is not my purpose to pause and inquire 

If he might not, in managing thus to retire, 

Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire; 

Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do, 

Who could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew. 
But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives, 

We’ve been most of us taught in the course of our lives,

That ‘Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman drives!’ 

In proof of this rule, 

A thoughtless young fool, 

Bassanio, a Lord of the Tomnoddy school, 

Who, by showing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court, 

A ‘swelling’ (Payne Collier would read ‘swilling’) ‘port,’ 

And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup, 

Had shrunk his ‘weak means,’ and was ‘stump’d,’ and ‘hard up,’ 

Took occasion to send 

To his very good friend 

Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end, 

And who’d often before had the kindness to lend 

Him large sums, on his note, which he’d managed to spend. 
‘Antonio,’ said he, ‘Now listen to me; 

I’ve just hit on a scheme which, I think you’ll agree, 

All matters consider’d, is no bad design, 

And which, if it succeeds, will suit your book and mine. 

‘In the first place, you know all the money I’ve got, 

Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot, 

And in making those loans you have made a bad shot; 

Now do as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows 

And tom-tits, they chance to lose one of their arrows, 

— Shoot another the same way — I’ll watch well its track, 

And, turtle to tripe, I’ll bring both of them back! 

So list to my plan, 

And do what you can, 

To attend to and second it, that’s a good man! 
‘There’s a Lady, young, handsome, beyond all compare, at 

A place they call Belmont, whom, when I was there, at 

The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountferrat 

Was giving last season, we all used to stare at, 

Then, as to her wealth, her solicitor told mine, 

Besides vast estates, a pearl fishery, and gold mine, 

Her iron strong box 

Seems bursting its locks, 

It’s stuffed so with shares in ‘Grand Junctions,’ and ‘Docks,’ 

Not to speak of the money’s she’s got in the stocks, 

French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian, 

In English Exchequer-bills full half a million, 

Not ‘kites,’ manufactured to cheat and inveigle, 

But the right sort of ‘flimsy,’ all signed by Monteagle. 

Then I know not how much in Canal-shares and Railways 

And more speculations I need not detail, ways 

Of vesting which, if not so safe as some think’em, 

Contribute a deal to improving one’s income; 

In short, she’s a Mint! 

— Now I say, deuce is in’t 

If with all my experience, I can’t take a hint, 

And her ‘eye’s speechless messages,’ plainer than print

At the time that I told you of, know from a squint, 

In short, my dear Tony, 

My trusty old crony, 

Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan — I 

Am sure of my game — though, of course there are brutes, 

Of all sorts and sizes, preferring their suits 

To her you may call the Italian Miss Coutts, 

Yet Portia — she’s named from that daughter of Cato’s–

Is not to be snapp’d up like little potatoes, 

And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout 

Ere you’ll whisper Jack Robinson — cut them all out — 

Surmount every barrier, Carry her, marry her! 

— Then hey! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed, 

For her Three-and-a-half per cents — New and Reduced!’ 
With a wink of his eye His friend made reply 

In his jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry. 

‘Still the same boy, Bassanio — never say ‘die’! 

— Well — I hardly know how I shall do’t, but I’ll try.– 

Don’t suppose my affairs are at all in a hash, 

But the fact is, at present I’m quite out of cash; 

The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is 

Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies, 

Tending, of course, my resources to cripple,– I 

‘ve one bound to England,– another to Tripoli– 

Cyprus — Masulipatam — and Bombay;– 

A sixth, by the way, I consigned t’other day 

To Sir Gregor M’Gregor, Cacique of Poyais, 

A country where silver’s as common as clay. 

Meantime, till they tack, And come, some of them, back, 

What with Custom-house duties, and bills falling due, 

My account with Jones Loyd and Co. looks rather blue; 

While, as for the ‘ready,’ I’m like a Church-mouse,– 

I really don’t think there’s five pounds in the house. 

But, no matter for that, 

Let me just get my hat, 

And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat, 

And we’ll go forth at once to the market — we two,– 

And try what my credit in Venice can do; 

I stand well on ‘Change, and, when all’s said and done, I 

Don’t doubt I shall get it for love or for money.’ 
They were going to go, 

When, lo! down below, 

In the street, they heard somebody crying, ‘Old Clo’!’ 

–‘By the Pope, there’s the man for our purpose!– I knew 

We should not have to search long. Salanio, run you, 

— Salarino,– quick!– haste! ere he get out of view, 

And call in that scoundrel, old Shylock the Jew!’ 
With a pack, 

Like a sack 

Of old clothes at his back, 

And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack, 

Saying, ‘Rest you fair, Signior Antonio!– vat, pray, 

Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay!’ 
–‘Why, Shylock, although, As you very well know, 

I am what they call ‘warm,’– pay my way as I go, 

And, as to myself, neither borrow nor lend, 

I can break through a rule to oblige an old friend; 

And that’s the case now — Lord Bassanio would raise 

Some three thousand ducats — well,– knowing your ways, 

And that nought’s to be got from you, say what one will,

Unless you’ve a couple of names to the bill, 

Why, for once, I’ll put mine to it, 

Yea, seal and sign to it — 

Now, then, old Sinner, let’s hear what you’ll say 

As to ‘doing’ a bill at three months from to-day? 

Three thousand gold ducats, mind — all in good bags 

Of hard money — no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?’ 
‘– Vell, ma tear,’ says the Jew, ‘I’ll see vat I can do! 

But Mishter Antonio, hark you, ’tish funny 

You say to me, ‘Shylock, ma tear, ve’d have money!’ 

Ven you very vell knows, How you shpit on ma clothes, 

And use naughty vords — call me Dog — and avouch 

Dat I put too much int’resht py half in ma pouch, 

And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch, 

You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I’m a Smouch. 

— Vell!–n o matters, ma tear,– Von vord in your ear! 

I’d be friends mit you bote — and to make dat appear, 

Vy, I’ll find you de monies as soon as you vill, 

Only von littel joke musht be put in de pill; 

Ma tear, you musht say, 

If on such and such day 

Such sum or such sums, you shall fail to repay, 

I shall cut vere I like, as de pargain is proke, 

A fair pound of your flesh — chest by vay of a joke.’ 
So novel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause; 

But Antonio, like most of those sage ‘Johnny Raws’ 

Who care not three straws 

About Lawyers or Laws, 

And think cheaply of ‘Old Father Antic,’ because 

They have never experienced a gripe from his claws, 

‘Pooh pooh’d’ the whole thing.–‘Let the Smouch have his way, 

Why, what care I, pray, 

For his penalty?– Nay, 

It’s a forfeit he’d never expect me to pay: 

And, come what come may, I hardly need say 

My ships will be back a full month ere the day.’ 

So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey, 

And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he 

Affixed with all speed 

His name to a deed, 

Duly stamp’d and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney. 

Thus again furnish’d forth, Lord Bassanio, instead 

Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread, 

With fiddling and masques, at the Saracen’s Head, 

In the morning ‘made play,’ And without more delay, 

Started off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day. 

But scarcely had he 

From the harbour got free, 

And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea, 

Ere the ‘Change and Rialto both rung with the news 

That he’d carried off more than mere cash from the Jew’s. 
Though Shylock was old, 

And, if rolling in gold, 

Was as ugly a dog as you’ wish to behold, 

For few in his tribe ‘mongst their Levis and Moseses, 

Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his, 

Still, whate’er the opinion of Horace and some be, 

Your aquilæ generate sometimes Columbæ, 

Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he’d ‘one fair daughter,’

And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her,

A jewel — a gem of the very first water; 

A great many sought her, 

Till one at last caught her, 

And, upsetting all that the Rabbis had taught her, 

To feelings so truly reciprocal brought her, 

That the very same night Bassanio thought right 

To give all his old friends that farewell ‘invite,’ 

And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite, 

On ‘wings made by a tailor’ the damsel took flight. 
By these ‘wings’ I’d express 

A grey duffle dress, 

With brass badge and muffin cap, made, as by rule, 

For an upper-class boy in the National School. 

Jessy ransack’d the house, popp’d her breeks on, and when so 

Disguised, bolted off with her beau — one Lorenzo, 

An ‘Unthrift,’ who lost not a moment in whisking 

Her into the boat, 

And was fairly afloat 

Ere her Pa had got rid of the smell of the griskin. 

Next day, while old Shylock was making a racket, 

And threatening how well he’d dust every man’s jacket 

Who’d help’d her in getting aboard of the packet, 

Bassanio at Belmont was capering and prancing, 

And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing, 

Making eyes at Miss Portia, and doing his best 

To perform the polite, and to cut out the rest; 

And, if left to herself, he, no doubt, had succeeded, 

For none of them waltz’d so genteelly as he did; 

But an obstacle lay, Of some weight, in his way, 

The defunct Mr. P. who was now turned to clay, 

Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant, 

Left but a queer sort of ‘Last will and testament,’– 

Bequeathing her hand, 

With her houses and land, 

&c., from motives one don’t understand, 

As she rev’renced his memory, and valued his blessing,

To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing! 
Like a good girl, she did 

Just what she was bid, 

In one of three caskets her picture she hid, 

And clapp’d a conundrum a-top of each lid. 
A couple of Princes, a black and a white one, 

Tried first, but they both fail’d in choosing the right one. 

Another from Naples, who shoe’d his own horses; 

A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D’Orsay’s;– 

A young English Baron;– a Scotch Peer his neighbour;– 

A dull drunken Saxon, all moustache and sabre; 

All follow’d, and all had their pains for their labour. 

Bassanio came last — happy man be his dole! 

Put his conjuring cap on,– considered the whole,– 

The gold put aside as 

Mere ‘hard food for Midas,’ 

The silver bade trudge 

As a ‘pale common drudge;’ 

Then choosing the little lead box in the middle, 

Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle. 
Now, you’re not such a goose as to think, I dare say, 

Gentle Reader, that all this was done in a day, 

Any more than the dome Of St. Peter’s at Rome 

Was built in the same space of time; and, in fact, 

Whilst Bassanio was doing 

His billing and cooing, 

Three months had gone by ere he reach’d the fifth act; 

Meanwhile that unfortunate bill became due, 

Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew, 

And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew, 

For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do; 

(The bitter old Israelite would not renew,) 

What with contrary winds, storms, wrecks, and embargoes, his 

Funds were all stopp’d, or gone down in his argosies, 

None of the set having come into port, 

And Shylock’s attorney was moving the Court 

For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport. 
The serious news 

Of this step of the Jew’s, 

And his fix’d resolution all terms to refuse, 

Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of ‘the Blues,’ 

Especially, too, as it came from the pen 

Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day,– then, 

When the Parson had scarce shut his book up, and when 

The Clerk was yet uttering the final Amen. 
‘Dear Friend,’ it continued, ‘all’s up with me — I 

Have nothing on earth now to do but to die! 

And, as death clears all scores, you’re no longer my debtor; 

I should take it as kind 

Could you come — never mind — 

If your love don’t persaude you, why,– don’t let this letter!’ 
I hardly need say this was scarcely read o’er 

Ere a post-chaise and four 

Was brought round to the door 

And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore, 

Gave his Lady one kiss, and then started at score. 

But scarce in his flight 

Had he got out of sight 

Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, ‘My lad, you a 

Journey must take on the instant to Padua; 

Find out there Bellario,a Doctor of Laws, 

Who, like Follett, is never left out of a cause, 

And give him this note, 

Which I’ve hastily wrote, 

Take the papers he’ll give you — then push for the ferry 

Below, where I’ll meet you, you’ll do’t in a wherry, 

If you can’t find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it 

— Stay, bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it.’
Giovanni (that’s Jack) 

Brought out his hack, 

Made a bow to his mistress, then jump’d on its back, 

Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack. 

The Signora soon follow’d herself, taking as her 

Own escort Nerissa her maid, and Balthasar. 

‘The Court is prepared, the Lawyers are met, 

The Judges all ranged, a terrible show!’ 

As Captain Macheath says,– and when one’s in debt, 

The sight’s as unpleasant a one as I know, 

Yet still not so bad after all, I suppose, 

As if, when one cannot discharge what one owes, 

They should bid people cut off one’s toes or one’s nose; 

Yet here, a worse fate, 

Stands Antonio, of late 

A Merchant, might vie e’en with Princes in state, 

With his waistcoat unbutton’d, prepared for the knife, 

Which, in taking a pound of flesh, must take his life; 

— On the other side Shylock, his bag on the floor, 

And three shocking bad hats on his head, as before, 

Imperturbable stands, 

As he waits their commands 

With his scales and his great snicker-snee in his hands:

— Between them, equipt in a wig, gown and bands, 

With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer, 

Whose air, ne’ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer, 

Though his hopes are but feeble, 

Does his possible 

To make the hard Hebrew to mercy incline, 

And in lieu of his three thousand ducats take nine, 

Which Bassanio, for reasons we well may divine, 

Shows in so many bags all drawn up in a line. 

But vain are all efforts to soften him — still 

He points to the bond He so often has conn’d, 

And says in plain terms he’ll be shot if he will. 

So the dandified Lawyer, with talking grown hoarse, 

Says, ‘I can say no more — let the law take its course.’ 
Just fancy the gleam of the eye of the Jew, 

As he sharpen’d his knife on the sole of his shoe 

From the toe to the heel, And grasping the steel, 

With a business-like air was beginning to feel 

Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal, 

When the dandified Judge puts a spoke in his wheel. 

‘Stay, Shylock,’ says he, Here’s one thing — you see 

This bond of yours gives you here no jot of blood! 

— The words are ‘A pound of flesh,’– that’s clear as mud — 

Slice away, then, old fellow — but mind!– if you spill 

One drop of his claret that’s not in your bill, 

I’ll hang you, like Haman?– By Jingo I will!’ 
When apprised of this flaw, You never yet saw 

Such an awfully mark’d elongation of jaw 

As in Shylock, who cried, ‘Plesh ma heart! ish dat law?’– 

Off went his three hats, 

And he look’d as the cats 

Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw. 

‘– Ish’t the law?’– why the thing won’t admit of a query — 

‘No doubt of the fact, 

Only look at the act; 

Acto quinto, cap. tertio, Dogi Falieri — 

Nay, if, rather than cut, you’d relinquish the debt, 

The Law, Master Shy, has a hold on you yet. 

See Foscari’s ‘Statutes at large’–‘If a Stranger 

A Citizen’s life shall, with malice, endanger, 

The whole of his property, little or great, 

Shall go, on conviction, one half to the State, 

And one to the person pursued by his hate; 

And, not to create 

Any farther debate, 

The Doge, if he pleases, may cut off his pate.’ 

So down on your marrowbones, Jew, and ask mercy! 

Defendant and Plaintiff are now wisy wersy.’ 
What need to declare 

How pleased they all were 

At so joyful an end to so sad an affair? 

Or Bassanio’s delight at the turn things had taken, 

His friend having saved, to the letter, his bacon?– 

How Shylock got shaved, and turn’d Christian, though late, 

To save a life-int’rest in half his estate? 

How the dandified Lawyer, who’d managed the thing, 

Would not take any fee for his pains but a ring 

Which Mrs. Bassanio had given to her spouse, 

With injunctions to keep it on leaving the house?– 

How when he, and the spark 

Who appeared as his clerk, 

Had thrown off their wigs, and their gowns, and their jetty coats, 

There stood Nerissa and Portia in petticoats?– 

How they pouted, and flouted, and acted the cruel, 

Because Lord Bassanio had not kept his jewel?– 

How they scolded and broke out, 

Till having their joke out, 

They kissed, and were friends, and, all blessing and blessed, 

Drove home by the light 

Of a moonshiny night, 

Like the one in which Troilus, the brave Trojan knight, 

Sat astride on a wall, and sigh’d after his Cressid?– 
All this, if ’twere meet, 

I’d go on to repeat, 

But a story spun out so’s by no means a treat, 

So, I’ll merely relate what, in spite of the pains 

I have taken to rummage among his remains, 

No edition of Shakspeare, I’ve met with, contains; 

But, if the account which I’ve heard be the true one, 

We shall have it, no doubt, before long, in a new one. 
In an MS., then sold 

For its full weight in gold, 

And knock’d down to my friend, Lord Tomnoddy, I’m told 

It’s recorded that Jessy, coquettish and vain, 

Gave her husband, Lorenzo, a good deal of pain; 

Being mildly rebuked, she levanted again, 

Ran away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main, 

Became known by the name of the ‘Flower of Dumblane.’ 
That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we’ve seen, 

Him to spit upon every old Jew’s gaberdine, 

And whose goodness to paint 

All colours were faint, 

Acquired the well-merited prefix of ‘Saint,’ 

And the Doge, his admirer, of honour the fount, 

Having given him a patent, and made him a Count, 

He went over to England, got nat’ralis’d there, 

And espous’d a rich heiress in Hanover Square. 
That Shylock came with him; no longer a Jew, 

But converted, I think may be possibly true, 

But that Walpole, as these self-same papers aver, 

By changing the y in his name into er, 

Should allow him a fictitious surname to dish up, 

And in Seventeen-twenty-eight make him a Bishop, 

I cannot believe–but shall still think them two men 

Till some Sage proves the fact ‘with his usual acumen.’ 

From this tale of the Bard 

It’s uncommonly hard 

If an editor can’t draw a moral.–‘Tis clear, 

Then,– In ev’ry young wife-seeking Bachelor’s ear 

A maxim, ‘bove all other stories, this one drums, 

To new-married ladies this lesson it teaches, 

‘You’re “no that far wrong” in assuming the breeches!’ 
Monied men upon ‘Change, and rich Merchants it schools 

To look well to assets — nor play with edge tools! 

Last of all, this remarkable History shows men, 

What caution they need when they deal with old-clothesmen! 

So bid John and Mary 

To mind and be wary, 

And never let one of them come down the are’

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