Page images

SALAR.- Why, then you are in love.
ANT.— Fy, fy!

SALAR.— Not in love neither? Then let's say you are sad
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh like parrots, at a bag-piper :
And other of such vinegar aspect
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, AND GRATIANO. SALAN.—Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 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 regards.
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.

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.

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 marvelously changed.

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 ? 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 willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed 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; when, 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-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 dinner time. 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.


Ant.— Is that anything 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 promised 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 abridged
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;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANT.-I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honor, be assured, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlocked 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 I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. I owe you much, and, like a willful youth, That which I owe is lost ; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which 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.

Ant.--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 into it; therefore speak.

Bass.—In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and fairer, than that word,
Of wondrous virtues; sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia;
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;

For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors; and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate.

Ant.-Thou knowest that all my fortunes are at sea;
Nor have I money nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be racked even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. (Exeunt.)



SCENE II.-Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Enter PORTIA AND NERISSA. Por.—By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 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,

« PreviousContinue »