Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fye, fye! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy Janus, Nature hath fram'd 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 aspéct, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 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. And merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. We two will leave you: but, at dinner time, 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, Gra. Let me play the Fool: Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaun dice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,- 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, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 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. [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 this same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 5 Bass. "Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 5 a more swelling port, &c.] Port, in the present instance, comprehends the idea of expensive equipage, and external pomp of appearance. And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 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; And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; 6 prest unto it:] Prest may not here signify impress'd, as into military service, but ready. Pret, Fr. 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, O my Antonio, had I but the means 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, SCENE II. [Exeunt. 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 therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. |