THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

ACT I.

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 born,
I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

1 In the old copies there is much confusion in the printing of these names, especially in this first scene; and as no list of the Persons is there given, we are not a little puzzled how to put them. In the folio the first stage-direction is, - Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. In the dialogue, however, the abbrevia. tion for Salanio presently becomes Sola., which is soon changed to Sol., and then comes the stage-direction, Exeunt Salarino. and Solanio. And the names are spelt the same way in several other stage-directions; and after the first scene the abbreviated prefixes to the speeches uniformly are Sal. and Sol. So that we have abundant authority for reading Solanio instead of Salanio, as it is in most modern editions. As to the distribution of the first few speeches, we have to go partly by conjecture, the names being so perplexed as to afford no sure guidance. The last two speechos before the entrance of Bassanio, which are usually assigned to Solanio, we agree with Knight and Verplanck in transferring to Salarino, not only because he is the more lively and talkative person, but as according best with the general course of the dia logue and with his avowed wish to make Antonio merry, and especially because the quartos favor that arrangement. H.

Sal. 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 courtesy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sol. 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.

Sal.
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,

3

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,

2 Argosies are large ships either for merchandise or for war The name was probably derived from the classical ship Argo, which carried Jason and the Argonauts in quest of the golden fleece. Readers of Milton will of course remember the passage describing Satan's voyage through chaos:

"Harder beset

And more endanger'd than when Argo pass'd
Through Bosphorus betwixt the justling rocks."

H.

To rail is to lower, to let fall: from the French raler. The Venetian merchants, it would seem, were much used to name their ships for Andrew Doria, the great admiral.

H

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 merchandise.

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.
Sal. Why, then, you are in love.

Ant.

Sal. Not in love neither?

are sad,

Fie, fie!

Then let's say, you

Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry: Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed

Janus,

Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper;

And other of such vinegar aspect,

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.

Sol. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins

man,

Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare ye well:

We leave you now with better company.

Sal. I would have stay'd 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,

And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Sal. Good morrow, my good lords.

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh'
Say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Sal. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt SALAR. and SOLAN.
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.
Bass. I will not fail you.

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 chang'd.

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 snould 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; when, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool-gudgeon, this opinion. -
Come, good Lorenzo.

Fare ye well, awhile: I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinnertime.

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 commendable

All the old copies read when here; and as in such cases the Poet often leaves the subject of a verb understood, the changing of when into who, though common, is hardly admissible. The following lines apparently refer to the judgment pronounced in the Gospel against him who says to his brother, Thou fool." The ineaning, therefore, is, that if those who "only are reputed wise for saying nothing" should go to talking, they would be apt to damn their hearers, by provoking them to utter this foul reproach Fool-gudgeon, a little below, appears to mean such a fish as any fool might catch, or none but fools would care to catch. Gudgeon was the name of a small fish very easily caught. The expression is commonly, but injuriously, changed to fool's-gudgeon.

Gear, from the Anglo-Saxon gearwe, and originally meaning any thing prepared or made ready, was formerly used for any matter or business in hand. Thus, in an old ballad, entitled The Merry Puck, or Robin Goodfellow :

"Now Robin Goodfellow, being plac'd with a tailor, as you heare He grew a workman in short space, so well he ply'd his geare."

H