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Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Sal. My wind, cooling my broth,
thought To think on this, and shall I lack the thought That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me
sad? But tell not me ;-I know Anthonio Is sad to think upon his merchandize.
Anth. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Sola. Why then, you are in love ?
you're sad, Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap, and say, you're merBecause you are not sad. Now, by two-headed
enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.
Sal. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
Anth. Your worth is very dear in my regard :
Sal. Good morrow, my good lords.
laugh ? say, when ?
[exit Solarino and Salanio
Gra. You look not well, signior Anthonio; 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. Anth. I hold the world but as the world, Gra
tiano, A stage, where every man must play his part, And mine's '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 ? Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaun
dice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Anthonio, (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 drest 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 Anthonio, I do know of those, That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing, 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 awhile, I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till din
I must be one of these same dumb wise men;
more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own
tongue. Anth. Farewell; I'll grow a talker for this
gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com
mendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendi
ble. (exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo Anth. Is that any thing, now?
Bass. Gratiaño speaks an infinite deal of no-thing, 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.
Anth. Well, tell me now, what lady is the
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Anth. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both, Or bring your latter hazard back again, And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Anth. You know me well; and herein spend
but time, To wind about my love with circumstance; And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, In making question of my uttermost, Than if you had made waste of all I have. Then do but say to me what I should do, That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest unto it: therefore speak.
Bass. In Belmont is a lady, richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wond'rous virtues. Sometime from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages; Her naine is Portia, nothing undervalu'd