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For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
You grow exceeding strange; Must it be so?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.
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.
Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; 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.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra
A stage, where every man must play a part,
Let me play the Fool: With mirth and laughter let old 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, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,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 stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 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 Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise, For saying nothing; who, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.
Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime:
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
Gra. Well, keep me company but two years
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewel: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.
Ant. Is that any thing now?
Bass. 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.
Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than 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, Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio,
Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
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,
Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but
To wind about my love with circumstance;
Than if had made waste of all I have:
And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at
Nor have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do;