SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Antonio. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salarino. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There where your argosies with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salanio. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Salarino. My wind, cooling my broth, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad? Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Antonio. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 10 20 30 40 Upon the fortune of this present year : Antonio. Fie, fie! 50 Salarino. Not in love neither? Then let us say you 're sad That they 'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Salanio. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well; We leave you now with better company. Salarino. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. Antonio. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, 61 Bassanio. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange; must it be so? Salarino. We 'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. Lorenzo. My Lord Bassanio, since you 've found Antonio, We two will leave you; but at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Gratiano. You look not well, Signior Antonio ; 70 You have too much respect upon the world: Antonio. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano And mine a sad one. Gratiano. Let me play the fool; With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice For saying nothing when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool-gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo.-Fare ye well a while; I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lorenzo. 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. 80 90 100 |