THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT I. SCENE I-A Street in Venice. Enter ANTONIO, Salarino, and Solanio, r. Ant. (c.) In sooth I know not why I am so sad : And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Sol. (R. C.) Your mind is tossing on the ocean; That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, Sal. (L. C.) Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind; Sol. My wind, cooling my broth, To kiss her burial. Shall I have the thought To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Ant. 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 : Ant. Fie, fie! Sal. Not in love neither? Then let's say you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, And other of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Sol. (R.) Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano and Lorenzo: fare you well; We leave you now with better company. Sal. (R.) I would have staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Enter BASSANIO, GRATIANO, and LORENZO, L Sal. Good-morrow, my good lords. Bass. (c.) Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? [Crosses to Salarino. You grow exceeding strange: must it be so ? Sol. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exit Solanio and Salarino, R. 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. Bass. I will not fail you. [Lorenzo and Bassanio retire up. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio: Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; Gra. (L. C.) Let me play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice For saying nothing: who, I am very sure, But fish not with this melancholy bait, Come, good Lorenzo: [They advance] fare ye weil, awhile I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. (L. C.) Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gra. (L.) Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell; I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. (L.) Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue driea, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo, L B Ant. (R. c.) Is that any thing now? Bass. (R.) 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 found them, they are not worth the search. Ant. Well tell me now, what lady is this same, Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it: My purse, my person, my extremest means, Bass. 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 advent'ring both, Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, Ant. 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, Than if you had made waste of all I have: |