Chapter 1

_Various groups of Nobles, Citizens, Merchants, Foreigners, Water-Carriers, Flower Girls, &c., pass and repass. Procession of the Doge, in state, across the square_.[1]

ANTONIO, SALARINO, _and_ SALANIO _come forward_.

_Ant_. 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, 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[2] with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings.

_Sal_. 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,[3] to know where sits the wind; Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Would make me sad.

_Salar_. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats; And see my wealthy Andrew[4] dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top[5] lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Shall I have the thought To think on this? and shall I lack the thought That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad? But tell not me; I know Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandize.

_Ant_. 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 Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad.

_Salar_. Why, then, you are in love.

_Ant_. Fie, fie!

_Salar_. Not in love, neither? Then let us say you are sad, Because you are not merry: an 'twere as easy For you to laugh and leap, and say you are merry, Because you are not sad.

_Sal_. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; We leave you now with better company.

_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, And you embrace the occasion to depart.

_Enter_ BASSANIO, LORENZO, _and_ GRATIANO.

_Salar_. Good morrow, my good lords.

_Bas_. Good signiors, both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?

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

[_Exeunt_ SALARINO _and_ SALANIO.

_Lor_. 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.

_Bas_. I will not fail you.

_Gra_. You look not well, Signor 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, And mine a sad one.

_Gra_. Let me play the fool:[6] With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 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 grandsire, 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 sort of men, whose visages Do cream[7] and mantle like a standing pond: And do a wilful stillness entertain,[8] With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, '_I am Sir Oracle_, _And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!_'[9] O, my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing; when I am very sure, If they should speak, 'twould almost damn those ears[10] 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 gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo:--Fare ye well, a while; I'll end my exhortation after dinner.[11]

_Lor_. 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.

_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.[12]

_Gra_. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried,[13] and a maid not vendible.

[_Exeunt_ GRATIANO _and_ LORENZO.

_Ant_. Is that any thing now?

_Bas_. 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 the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

_Bas_. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port[14] Than my faint means would grant continuance. 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 Bassanio, let me know it; And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

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

_Ant_. You know me well; and herein spend but time, To wind about my love with circumstance; 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:[15] therefore speak.

_Bas_. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wond'rous virtues. Sometimes[16] from her eyes I did receive fair speechless 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 suitors. 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.

_Ant_. 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, 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_.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This procession is copied from a print in the British Museum, by Josse Amman, who died in 1591.]

[Footnote 2: _--argosies_; A name given, in our author's time, to ships of great burthen. The name is supposed by some to be derived from the classical ship, Argo, as a vessel eminently famous.]

[Footnote 3: _Plucking the_; By holding up the grass, or any light body that will bend by a gentle blast, the direction of the wind is found.]

[Footnote 4: _--my wealthy Andrew_; The name of the ship.]

[Footnote 5: Vailing _her high-top_; To _vail_ is "_to lower_," or "_let fall_."]

[Footnote 6: _Let me play the fool_; Alluding to the common comparison of human life to a stage-play. So that he desires his may be the fool's or buffoon's part, which was a constant character in the old farces; from whence came the phrase, _to play the fool_.--WARBURTON.]

[Footnote 7: _--whose visages do_ cream; The poet here alludes to the manner in which the film extends itself over milk in scalding; and he had the same appearance in his eye when writing a foregoing line: "_With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come_."--HENLEY.]

[Footnote 8: _--a wilful stillness entertain,; Id est_, an obstinate silence.]

[Footnote 9: _let no dog bark_!; This seems to be a proverbial expression.]

[Footnote 10: _--'twould almost damn those ears_; The author's meaning is this:--That some people are thought wise whilst they keep silence; who, when they open their mouths, are such stupid praters, that the hearers cannot help calling them _fools_, and so incur the judgment denounced in the Gospel.--THEOBALD.]

[Footnote 11: _I'll end my exhortation after dinner_.'; The humour of this consists in its being an allusion to the practice of the Puritan preachers of those times, who being generally very long and tedious, were often forced to put off that part of their sermon called the _exhortation_, till after dinner.--WARBURTON.]

[Footnote 12: _--for this gear_.; A colloquial expression, meaning _for this matter_.]

[Footnote 13: _In a_ neat's _tongue dried_,; Neat, horned cattle of the Ox species.]

[Footnote 14: _--a more swelling port; Port_, in the present instance, comprehends the idea of expensive equipage, and external pomp of appearance.]