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That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Sola. Believe me, Sir, had I such venture forth,
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where fits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.
Sal. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea
I should not see the sandy hour-glafs run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone;
And not bethink me strait of dangerous rocks;
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's fide,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my filks;.
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But tell not me; I know, Anthonio
Is fad to think upon
Anth. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad.
Sola. Why then you are in love,
Anth. Fie, fie!
Sola. Not in love neither! then let's say, you're sad,
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say, you're merry,
Because you are not fad. “Now, by two-headed Janus,
“ Nature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time:
“ Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
6 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper ;
“ And others of such vinegar-aspect.
66 That they'll not show their teeth in
6. Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.”
Enter Bafanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Sal. Here come Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo: fare ye well;
We leave ye now with better company.
Sola. I'would have staid till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Anth. Your worth is very dear in my regard:
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace th’ occasion to depart.
Sal. Good morrow, my good Lords.
Bal. Good Signiors both, when fall we laugh? say,
You grow exceeding strange; muft it be fo?
Sal. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
Sola. My Lord Baffanio, fince you've found Anthonio,
We two will leave you; but at dinner-time,
1 pray you have in mind where we must meet.
Bas. I will not fail you. [Exeunt Solar, and Solo
Gra. You look not well, Signior Anthonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Anth. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A ftage, where every inan must play his part,
And mine a fad one.
Gra. Let me play the fool;
With mirth, and laughter, let oid wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
“ Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
15. Sit like his grandfire cut in alabaster?
“ Sleep when he wakes, ard creep into the jaundice
“ By being peevith? I tell thee what, Anthonio,
“ (I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,)
« There are a sort of men, whose visages
“ Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
“ And do a wilful ftillness entertain.
« With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
s Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
“ As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
“ And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
“ O my Anthonio, I do know of those,
“ That therefore only are reputed wise,
« For saying nothing;” who, I'm very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools *.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo; fare ye well a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time.
I must be one of these same dumb wise men;
ForGratiano never lets me speak.
Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue:
Anth. Farewell; I'll grow a talker for this gear.
Gra. Thanks, i' faith; for filence is only commendable In a ncat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.
[Ēxeunt Gra. and Loren. Anth. Is that any thing now? Baff
. Gratiano Ipeaks an infinite deal of nothing more than any man in all Venice: his reafons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
Anth. Well; tell me now, what lady is the famre,
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
Bas: 'Tis unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By shewing something a more swelling port,
my faint means would grant continuance;
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate; but my
chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts,
Alluding to what is said in the gospel, that whosoever shall say e bis brother, Thou fool, fall be in danger of hell-fire.
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged: to you, Anthonio,
I owe the moft in money, and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
T'unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Anth. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it:
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur’d,
My purse, my person, my extremeft means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
Bal. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-fame flight
The self-fame way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; by vent'ring both,
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure
I owe you much, and, like a witless youth,
That which I owe is loft; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully reft debtor for the first.
Anth. You know me well: and herein spend but time;
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uttermoft,
had made waste of all I have.
Then do but say to me, what I hould do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prefs'd unto it; therefore, speak.
Baf. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues. Some time from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu’d
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ign’rant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors; and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' ftrond;
And many Jafons come in queft of her.
my Anthonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift *,
That I should questionless be fortunate.
Anth. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea,
Nor have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present fum: therefore go forth;
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That sall be rack'd even to the uttermoft,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia:
Go, presently inquire, and so will i,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of
my trust, or for
SCENE II. Changes to Belmont.
Three caskets are set out, one of gold, another of silver, and
another of lead.
Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is weary of this great world.
Ner. You would be, sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundan:e as your good fortunes are; and yet, for aught I fee, they are as fick that surfeit with too much, as they that Itarve with nothing: therefore it is no mean happiness to be feated in the mean; fuperfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer
Por. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd.
Ner. They would be better, if well follow'd.
Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor mens' cottages princeso palaces. He is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching. The brain may devise' lass for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o’er
• Thrift, for thriving. Mr. Pope.