Salanio. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Salarino. My wind cooling my broth And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Antonio. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, Upon the fortune of this present year : Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. Antonio. Fie, fie! 20 30 40 Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, And other of such vinegar aspect That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. 50 Salanio. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well: We leave you now with better company. Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. Antonio. Your worth is very dear in my regard. Salarino. Good morrow, my good lords. 61 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? You grow exceeding strange: must it be so ? Salarino. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you: but at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Gratiano. You look not well, Signior Antonio ; Bassanio. I will not fail you. 70 You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it that do buy it with much care: Believe me, you are marvellously changed. Antonio. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Gratiano. Let me play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 80 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. For saying nothing, when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears I'll tell thee more of this another time: But fish not, with this melancholy bait, Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile : I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lorenzo. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gratiano. Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Antonio. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. ΙΙΟ Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Antonio. Is that any thing now? Bassanio. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons 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. Antonio. Well, tell me now what lady is the same Bassanio. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, Antonio. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 120 130 Bassanio. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft I shot his fellow of the self-same flight The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth, and by adventuring both I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, 141 To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150 Or bring your latter hazard back again Antonio. 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 uttermost Bassanio. In Belmont is a lady richly left; 165 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 170 Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, O my Antonio, had I but the means I have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate! Antonio. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; Neither have I money nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth; SCENE II. 180 [Exeunt, Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Nerissa. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: |