GRATIANO, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. LORENZO, in love with Jessica. SHYLOCK, a Jew. TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shylock. OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice. LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio. PORTIA, a rich Heiress. NERISSA, her Waiting-Maid. JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT I. SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Antonio. N sooth, I know not why I am so sad. I am To learn; and such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There, where your argosies with portly sail -Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Or, as it were the pageants of the sea Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Salar. 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, Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Ant. Fye, fye! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy That they'll not shew 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; 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, Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? You grow exceeding strange.-Must it be so? We two will leave you; but, at dinner-time, Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio. 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; Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; For saying nothing; when I am very sure, If they should speak, 'twould almost damn those ears, But fish not, with this melancholy bait, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time. 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 commen dable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt GRA. and LOR. Ant. It 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 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, |