Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandfire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevith? I tell thee what, Anthonio,
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks :)
There are a fort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, I am fir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O my Anthonio, I do know of those,
That therefore only are reputed wife,
For saying nothing; who, I'm 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's gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo; fare ye well a while:
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time.
I must be one of these same dumb wife men;
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRA. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the found of thine own tongue. ANTH. Fare well; I'll grow a talker for this gear. GRA. Thanks, i'faith; for filence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.

ANTH. Is that any thing now?

[Exeunt Gra, and Loren BASS. 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.

ANTH. Well; tell me now, what lady is the fame,
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

BASS. 'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By shewing something 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 gaged. To you, Anthonio,
I owe the most in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
T'unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTH. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it
And if it stand, as you yourself ftill do,
Within the eye of honour; be affur'd,
My pure, my perfon, my extreamest means
Lye all unlock'd to your occasions.

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-fame flight

The self-fame way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; by vent'ring both,

I oft found both. I urge this child-hood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.

I owe you much, and, like a wilfu! 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.

ΑNTH. 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 uttermoft,
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.

BASS. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous 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 ign'rant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coaft
Renowned fuitors; and her funny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her feat of Belmont, Colchos' strand;
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Anthonio, 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.

ANTH. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea,

'Nor have I mony, 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 enquire, and so will I,
Where mony is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my fake.

SCENE II.

Changes to Belmont.

[Exeunt.

Three caskets are set out, one of gold, another of filver, and

another of lead.

Enter Portia and Neriffa.

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is weary of this great world.

NER. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the fame abundance as your good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I fee, they are as fick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing; therefore it is no mean happiness to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes fooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd. NER. They would be better, if well follow'd.

Por. Ifto do, were as eafie as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches; and poor men's cottages, princes' Palaces. He is a good divine, that follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than to be one of the twenty, to follow my own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the crip

ple. But this reasoning is not in fashion to chuse me a hufband: O me, the word, chuse! I may neither chuse whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot chuse one, nor refuse none ?

NER. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men st their death have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, filver, and lead, (whereof who chuses his meaning, chuses you) will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly, but one whom you hall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors, that are already

come.

Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou nam'st them, I will describe them; and according to my description, level at my affection.

NER. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am much afraid, my lady, his mother, play'd foul with a smith. NER. Then there is the count Palatine.

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say, if you will not have me, chuse. He hears merry tales, and smiles not; I fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of thefe. God defend me from these two!

NER. How say you by the French lord, monsieur le Boun? Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man; in truth, I know, it is a sin to be a mocker; but, he! why,