The Merchant of Venice: ACT I , SCENE I. Venice. A street.

The Merchant of Venice: ACT I


	Introduction

	ACT I

		SCENE I. Venice. A street.

		SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

		SCENE III. Venice. A public place.

	ACT II

	ACT III

	ACT IV

	ACT V

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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,
      What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
5     I am to learn;
      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,
10    Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
      Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
      Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
      That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
      As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO

15    Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
      The better part of my affections would
      Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
      Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
      Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
20    And every object that might make me fear
      Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
      Would make me sad.

SALARINO

      My wind cooling my broth
      Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
25    What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
      I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
      But I should think of shallows and of flats,
      And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
      Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
30    To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
      And see the holy edifice of stone,
      And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
      Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
      Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
35    Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
      And, in a word, but even now worth this,
      And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
      To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
      That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
40    But tell not me; I know, Antonio
      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,
      Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
45    Upon the fortune of this present year:
      Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO

Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO

Fie, fie!

SALARINO

      Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
50    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
55    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

SALANIO

      Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
60    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.
65    I take it, your own business calls on you
      And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO

Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO

Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO

70 We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

Exeunt Salarino and Salanio

LORENZO

      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.

BASSANIO

I will not fail you.

GRATIANO

75    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 changed.

ANTONIO

      I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
80    A stage where every man must play a part,
      And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO

      Let me play the fool:
      With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
      And let my liver rather heat with wine
85    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--
90    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 wilful stillness entertain,
      With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
95    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
100   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,
105   For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
      Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
      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,
110   For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO

Well, keep me company but two years moe,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO

Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO

Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
115 In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO

ANTONIO

Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO

      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
120   shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
      have them, they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO

      Well, tell me now what lady is the same
      To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
      That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO

125   '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
130   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,
135   And from your love I have a warranty
      To unburden all my plots and purposes
      How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO

      I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
      And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
140   Within the eye of honour, be assured,
      My purse, my person, my extremest means,
      Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO

      In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
      I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
145   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 wilful youth,
150   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
155   And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO

      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
160   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 unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO

      In Belmont is a lady richly left;
165   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:
170   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,
175   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!

ANTONIO

180   Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
      Neither have I money nor commodity
      To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
      Try what my credit can in Venice do:
      That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
185   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

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