Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only com 'mendable In a neat's/tongué dried, and a maidˇnot vendiblė. [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 rea'sons 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, Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, By something showing a more swelling port ** 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, To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both, I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,' ** Or bring your latter hazard back again, Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time. To wind about my love with circumstance; Than if you had made waste of all I have: Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; 5 L To hold a rival place with one of thempt24 22 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea; Nor have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth, [Exeunt. SCENE II. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body 18 aweary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: And, yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mear; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, Princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: 1. can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband: O me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? - Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations; the refore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come? Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection, Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan Prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that, he can shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a smith. Ner. Then, is there the County Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choose: he hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadnesa in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French Lord, Mon sieur Le Bon? Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is every man in no man: if a throstle sing, he falls straight a ca pering; he will fence with his own shadow: If I should marry him, I should marry twenty hus bands: If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the young Baron of England? and you will come that I have a poor He is a proper man's Por. You know, I say nothing to him; for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; into the court and swear, pennyworth in the English. picture; But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think, be bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish Lord, his neighbour. Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrowed a box of the car of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again, when he was able. I think, the Frenchman became his surety and seated under for another, 1 Ner. |