Текст песни Act One (The Merchant of Venice) - William Shakespeare
SCENE.
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,
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—
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.
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;
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
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
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,
Which,
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
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
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
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
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
fram′d
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
Though
Nestor
swear
the
jest
be
laughable.
(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,
And
you
embrace
th′
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.
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.
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
chang′d.
ANTONIO.
I
hold
the
world
but
as
the
world,
Gratiano;
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
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
'tis
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
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
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,
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,
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.
Fare
you
well;
I'll
grow
a
talker
for
this
gear.
GRATIANO.
Thanks,
i′
faith,
for
silence
is
only
commendable
In
a
neat's
tongue
dried,
and
a
maid
not
vendible.
(Exeunt
GRATIANO
and
LORENZO.)
ANTONIO.
Is
that
anything
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
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
promis′d
to
tell
me
of?
BASSANIO.
'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
abridg′d
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
gag'd.
To
you,
Antonio,
I
owe
the
most,
in
money
and
in
love;
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,
Within
the
eye
of
honour,
be
assur'd
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
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,
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.
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
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,
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
undervalu′d
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,
and
her
sunny
locks
Hang
on
her
temples
like
a
golden
fleece;
Which
makes
her
seat
of
Belmont
Colchos'
strond,
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.
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)
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