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 grandfire 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 fort of men, whose visages

Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful ftillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ;
As who fhould fay, 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 faying nothing; who, I am very fure,

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's gudgeon, this opinion.-

Come, good Lorenzo :-Fare ye well, a while;
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 wife men,

For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRA. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the found of thine own tongue. ANT. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. GRA. Thanks, i'faith; for filence 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 reafons 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 fearch.

ANT. Well; tell me now, what lady is this fame
To whom you fwore a fecret pilgrimage,

That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
BASS. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By fomething showing a more fwelling port
Than my
faint means would grant continuance :
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From fuch a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my time, fomething 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 Baffanio, let me know it;
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be affur'd,

My purse, my perfon, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occafions.

BASS. In my school-days, when I had loft one shaft, I fhot his fellow of the self-fame flight

The felf-fame way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.

I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is loft: 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 reft 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 uttermoft,

Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but fay to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am preft unto it: therefore, speak.
BASS. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And fhe is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues; fometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair fpeechless 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 fuitors: and her funny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her feat of Belmont, Colcho's strand,
And many Jasons come in queft of her.

O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,

I have a mind prefages me fuch thrift,
That I fhould queftionless be fortunate.

ANT. Thou know'ft, that all my fortunes are at sea; Nor have I money, nor commodity

To raise a present fum; therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermoft,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, prefently inquire, and fo will I,
Where money is; and I no queftion make,
To have it of my truft, or for my fake.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Belmont. A Room in PORTIA'S Houfe.
Enter PORTIA and NERISSA.

POR. By my troth, Nerifla, my little body is aweary of this great world.

NER. You would be, fweet madam, if your miseries were in the fame abundance as your good fortunes are: And, yet, for aught I fee, they are as fick, that furfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; fuperfluity comes fooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

POR. Good fentences, and well pronounced.

NER. They would be better, if well followed.

POR. If to do were as eafy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own inftructions; I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree fuch a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counfel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband: O me, the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I diflike; fo is the will of a living

daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father :-Is it not hard, Neriffa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

NER. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at their death, have good infpirations; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chefts, of gold, filver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you fhall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely fuitors that are already come?

POR. I pray thee, overname them; and as thou namest them, I will describe them; and, according to my description, level at my affection.

NER. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

POR. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can fhoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother played false with a fmith.

NER. Then, is there the county Palatine.

POR. He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choofe: he hears merry tales, and fmiles not: I fear, he will prove the weeping phi lofopher when he grows old, being fo full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of thefe. God defend me from these two!

NER. How fay you by the French lord, Monfieur Le Bon?

POR. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a fin to be a mocker; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning than the count Palatine: