Page 45 - William_Shakespeare_-_The_Merchant_of_Venice_191
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—Shylock
I offered friendship—yet he refused. I offered love, and to forgive his years of abuse—yet he
refused. He would not even hear me. All he offered in kind was to spit on my face and call me
‘dog’ once again. I offered—yet he refused. He wanted to be my enemy, for me to loan him
money on those terms. So you ask, ‘why a pound of flesh? Why something so grotesque?’ I
say, if nothing else then to humiliate him—to debase him as he has debased me. Let him call me
usurer; I will call him harlot.° He has put up his body for money, my money—I bought it. Now
tell me, what could the good Christian say to that?
harlot: / a whore
Exeunt
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