Merchant of Venice. A COMEDY, BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. ACCURATELY PRINTED FROM THE TEXT OF MR. STEEVENS'S LAST EDITION. Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shylock, a Jew : Tubal, a Jew, his friend. Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock. Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. Salerio, a messenger from Venice. Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. Balthazar, servants to Portia. Portia, a rich heiress: Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Jessica, daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT I. SCENE Ι. VENICE. A STREET. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, B And every object, that might make me fear Would make me sad. Salar. 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 merchandize. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one botton trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy |