The Trial

The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

Is he not able to discharge the money?

Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er.

If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts and every part a ducat, I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.

I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me.