Act 1 - Scene 1
Venice. A street.
Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO
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.
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,
to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
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
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me
My wind cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should
I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
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
think on this, and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
But tell not
me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
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 merchandise makes me not sad.
Why, then you are in love.
Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
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,
Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO
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