THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ACT I SCENE I.-Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; That court'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, And see my wealthy Andrew, dock'd in sand, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, And now worth nothing? Shall I have 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 : merchandise makes me not sad. Salar. Why, then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie! Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad, Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy 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. kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well : We leave you now with better company. Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. 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. 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; 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, Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion For saying nothing; when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears But fish not, with this melancholy bait, Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile: 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 moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 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 the same Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 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 adventuring both, |