Ant.

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 merchandise makes me not sad.
Salarino.

Why, then you are in love.

Fie, fie!

Ant.

Salarino.

Not in love neither? Then let us say, you are sad
Because you are not merry.

Solanio.

Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.

Salarino.

I would have stayed till I had made you merry, [Crosses. 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,

And you embrace th' occasion to depart.

[Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano L. 3. E.

Salarino.

Good-morrow, my good lords.

Bass.

[To them.

Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?

Salarino.

We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt Salarino and Solanio R. I. E.

Lor.

My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you; but at dinner-time

I pray you have in mind where we must meet.

I will not fail you.

Bass.

Gra.

You look not well, signior Antonio;

You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

Ant.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

Let me play the Fool:

Gra.

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 dressed 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!"