MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT I. SCENE I.-Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. ANTONIO. IN sooth, I know not why I am so sad; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 1 argosies-] A name given in our author's time to ships of great burthen, probably galleons, such as the Spaniards now use in their West India trade. JOHNSON. In Ricaut's Maxims of Turkish Polity, ch. xiv., it is said, "Those vast carracks called argosies, which are so much famed for the vastness of their burthen and bulk, were corruptly so denominated from Ragosies," i. e. ships of Ragusa, a city and territory on the gulf of Venice, tributary to the Porte; but the word may have derived its origin from the famous ship Argo. i.e. The Venetians, who may well be said to live on the sea. DOUCE. Mr. Malone reads "on the flood." That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass', to know where sits the wind; Salar. And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, 2 Plucking the grass, &c.] By holding up the grass, or any light body that will bend by a gentle blast, the direction of the wind is found. 3 Andrew] The name of the ship. 4 Vailing her high top ] i. e. lowering. Upon the fortune of this present year: Ant. Fye, fye! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins man, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; 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, Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? 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 An tonio, We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bass. I will not fail you. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world: 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: 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 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; who, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, But fish not, with this melancholy bait, Come, good Lorenzo:-Fare ye well, a while; 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. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commend able In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO. Ant. Is that any thing now? 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. Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same † To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 5 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 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 assured, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. Bass. 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, +"The same "-MALONE. 5 — a more swelling port, &c.] Port, in the present instance, comprehends the idea of expensive equipage, and external pomp of appearance. |