Merchant of Venice [antikvár]

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. DRAMATIS PERSONA. Duke of Venice.Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, Prince of Morocco, ^ suitors toservant to Shylock. Prínce of Arragon, f Portia.Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot, Antonio, a merchantLeonardo, servant to Bassanio. BASSANlo.hiskinsmanandfriend.BalthazarJ, , o .\c^r.Tr,,^ / servants to Portia, solanio, i r. j , a , .stephano, < o . ' l fnends to Antomo ' ' Salarino, > , -o ^ ' I and Bassanio. GratianoJPortia, a rich lieiress. Lorenzo, mlove with Jessica.Nerissa? her waitingmaid. la'jeLhU friend. JESSICA>^^ Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. Scene - Partly at Venite, and fiartly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. ACT L Scene I. Venice. A street. Enter Antonio , Salarino , and Solanio. Ant. 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 bora, I am to learn; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have mucb ado to know myself,2 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, [act h Satar. Your mind is tossíng on the ocean; There, where your argosies with portly sail, - Lite signiors and rieh burghers of the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, - Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they % by them with their woven wings, Solan. Believe me, sir, had I sueh venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be stiil Plueking 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. Salar.My wind, eooling 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 doek'd in sand, Yailing her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to ehureh, And see the holy edifice of stone, Aoid not bethink me straight of dangerous roeks, Whieh touching but my gentle vesseFs side, Would scatter all her spiees 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 sueh a thing bechanc'd would make me sad? But teli not me; I know Antonio Is sad to think upon his merehandise. Arit. 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