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LAUNCELOT. Why, Jessica!
SHYLOCK. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
LAUNCELOT. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.
[ Enter JESSICA.]
JESSICA. Call you? What is your will?
SHYLOCK. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? I am not bid for love; they flatter me; But yet I ' ll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, Look to my house. I am right loath to go; There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags to-night.
LAUNCELOT. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach.
SHYLOCK. So do I his.
LAUNCELOT. And they have conspired together; I will not say you shall see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o ' clock i ' the morning, falling