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MERCHANT OF VENICE,
Enter ANTonio, SALARINo, and SALAN10.
Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; . . . . There, where your argosies" with portly sail,- : . . . .”
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, . .
* Ships of large burthen.
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads;
Ahd; in a word; but even now worth this,
But, teñof mo; I know, Antonio
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
Enter BASSANIo, LoRENzo, and GRATIANo.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, " . . . . . . s." . " Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; We leave you now with better company. Salar. 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. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Ereunt 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. Bass. I will not fail you.
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, Gratiano; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad 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 grandsire cut in alabaster 2 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 3 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, fools. I'll tell thee more of this another time : But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.—
3 Obstinate silence.
Come, good Lorenzo:—Fare ye well, a while; I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. 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. 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. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Ereunt 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, I owe the most, in money, and in love;