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Printed for J. and P. Knapton, S. Birt, T. Longman,
H. Lintot, C. Hitch, J. Brindley, J. and R. Tonfon and
S.Draper, T.Hodges, J. Nerv, B. Dod and C. Corbet.



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DUKE of Venice.
Morochius, a Moorish Prince,
Prince of Arragon,
Anthonio, the Merchant of Venice.
Baffanio, his Friend, in Love with Portia.


Lorenzo, in love with Jeffica.
Shylock, a Jew.


} Suiters to Portia.

Friends to Anthonio and Baffanio.

Tubal, a Jew, bis Friend.

Launcelot, a Clown, Servant to the Jew.
Gobbo, an old Man, Father to Launcelot.
Leonardo, Servant to Baffanio.



Servants to Portia.


Portia, an Heiress of great Quality and Fortune.
Neriffa, Confident to Portia.

Jeffica, Daughter to Shylock.

Senators of Venice, Officers, Jailer, Servants and other Attendants.

SCENE, partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia upon the Continent.





SCENE, a Street in Venice.

Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.



N sooth, I know not why I am so sad :
It wearies me; you fay, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came
by it,

What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is

I am to learn

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sal. 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 over-peer the petty traffickers,
That curtsie to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Sola. 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 peers, and roads ;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.

Sal. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought

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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 dang'rous rocks?
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side;
Would scatter all the spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my
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, Anthonia

Is sad to think upon his merchandize.

Anth. 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 fad.
Sola. Why then you are in love.

Anth. Fy, fy!

Sola. Not in love neither! then let's fay, you're fad.
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say, you're 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 others 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,
Sal. Here comes Bassanio: your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo: fare ye well;
We leave ye now with better company.

Sola. I would have staid 'till I had made you merry.
If worthier friends had not prevented me,
Anth. Your worth is very dear in my regard :
I take it, your own business calls on you,


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And you embrace th' occasion to depart.
Sal. Good morrow, my good lords.

Bass. Good Signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?

You grow exceeding strange; most it be so?

Sal. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. Sola. My lord Bassanio, since you've found Anthonio, We two toll leave you; but at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bass. I will not fail you. [Exeunt Solar, and Sala Gra. You look not well, Signior Anthonio; 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.

Anth. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage, where every man must play his part, And mine's a fad one.

Gra. 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 grandfire cut in Alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? 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 Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
O my Anthonio, I do know of those,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For faying 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;

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