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THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
ACT I.
SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET.
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salamo.
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 much ado to know myself. Salar: 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 overpeer the petty traffickers, That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salan. 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 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 cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great at sea might do. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 100