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A Street in Venice.

Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Solanio.

Anth. In footh, I know not why I am so sad;
It wearies me; you fay, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,

I am to learn:

And fuch a want-wit fadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sol. Your mind is toffing on the ocean;
There, where your argofies with portly fail,-
Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood,



great burthen

argofies-large fhips of Ragufa, whence other merchantmen of

fo called.


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Or as it were the pageants of the fea,-
Do over-peer the petty traffickers,
That curtly to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sala. Believe me, fir, had I fuch venture forth,
The better part of my affections would

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still

P Plucking the grass, to know where fits the wind;
Prying 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.

Sol. 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 fee the fandy hour-glass run,

But I should think of fhallows, and of flats ;
And fee my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,



Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,

To kifs her burial. Should I go to church,

And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks;
Which touching but my gentle veffel's fide,
Would scatter all her fpices 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 fhall I lack the thought,
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me fad ?
But, tell not me; I know, Anthonio

Is fad to think upon his merchandize.


direction of the wind.


b Plucking the grafs,]-to find out by its motion, when held up, Andrew]- -a fhip's name. Vailing her high top lower than her ribs, to kijs her burial.]— Bowing it beneath her fides, to meet her grave.


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 prefent year:
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not fad.
Sala. Why then you are in love.

Anth. Fie, fie!

Sala. Not in love neither? Then let's fay, you are fad,
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you, to laugh, and leap, and fay, you are merry,
Because you are not fad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram'd ftrange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And other of fuch vinegar aspect,

That they'll not fhow their teeth in way of smile,
Though Neftor swear the jeft be laughable.


Enter Baffanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.

Sol. Here comes Baffanio, your most noble kinfman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.

Sala. I would have ftaid 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, you embrace the occafion to depart. Sol. Good morrow, my good lords.


Baff. Good figniors both, when shall we laugh? fay,



grow exceeding ftrange; Muft it be fo?

Sol. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt Sol. and Salą. Lor. My lord Baffanio, fince you have found Anthonio,

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We two will leave you; but, at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Baff. I will not fail


Gra. You look not well, fignior Anthonio; You have too much refpect 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 stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a fad one.


Gra. 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 grandfire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Anthonio,-
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;-
There are a fort of men, whofe vifages

Do cream and mantle, like a ftanding pond;
And do a wilful ftillness entertain,
With purpose to be dreft in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit
As who should fay, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O, my Anthonio, I do know of thefe,
That therefore only are reputed wife,

the Fool-the character of one, fuch as was exhibited in the old farces.

f With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ;]—

"fome Dick,

"That smiles his cheek in years."


Do cream and mantle,]-alluding to the manner in which the film of fcalding milk extends itself.



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For faying nothing; who, I am very fure,

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's gudgeon, this opinion.-
Come, good Lorenzo : Fare ye well a while;
my exhortation after dinner.

I'll end

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time.
I must be one of these fame dumb wife men,

For Gratiano never lets me fpeak,

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the found of thine own tongue.
Anth. Fare well I'll grow a talker 'for this gear.
Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for filence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.

[Exeunt Gra. and Loren.


Anth. Is that any thing now? Baff. Gratiano fpeaks an infinite deal of nothing, more any man in all Venice : His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you fhall feek all day ere you find them; and, when you have them, they are not worth the fearch.

Anth. Well, tell me now, what lady is the fame,

To whom you swore a fecret pilgrimage,

That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

Baff. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have difabled mine eftate,
By fomething fhewing a more fwelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From fuch a noble rate: but my chief care

call their brothers, fools.]-and thereby incur that judgment. 'for this gear.]-that fpeech of yours.

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