ORIGINAL TEXT
Enter ANTONIO , SALARINO , and SOLANIO
ANTONIO
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.
SALARINO
Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
There, where your argosies with portly sail,
Like signors 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.
SOLANIO
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.
SALARINO
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 hourglass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats
And see my wealthy Andrew docked 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
MODERN TEXT
ANTONIO , SALARINO , and SOLANIO enter.
ANTONIO
To be honest, I don’t know why I’m so sad. I’m
tired of it, and you say you’re tired of it too. But I
have no idea how I got so depressed. And if I can’t
figure out what’s making me depressed, I must not
understand myself very well.
SALARINO
You’re worried about your ships. Your mind is out
there getting tossed around on the ocean with
them. But they’re fine. They’re like huge parade
floats on the sea. They’re so big they look down on
the smaller ships, which all have to bow and then
get out of the way. Your ships fly like birds past
those little boats.
SOLANIO
Yes, believe me, if I had such risky business
ventures in other countries, I’d be sad too. I’d
worry about it every second. I’d constantly be
tossing blades of grass into the air to find out
which way the wind was blowing. I’d be peering
over maps to figure out the best ports, piers, and
waterways. Everything that made me worry about
my ships would make me sad.
SALARINO
I’d get scared every time I blew on my soup to cool
it, thinking of how a strong wind could wipe out
my ships. Every time I glanced at the sand in an
hourglass I’d imagine my ships wrecked on
sandbars. I’d think of dangerous rocks every time I
went to church and saw the stones it was made of.
If my ship brushed up against rocks like that, its
whole cargo of spices would be dumped into the
sea. All of its silk shipments would be sent flying
into the roaring waters. In one moment I’d go
bankrupt. Who wouldn’t get sad thinking about
things like that? It’s obvious. Antonio is sad
because he’s so worried about his cargo.
That such a thing bechanced would make me
sad?
But tell not me. I know Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
ANTONIO
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.
SOLANIO
Why then, you are in love.
ANTONIO
Fie, fie!
SOLANIO
Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad
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 framed strange fellows in her time.
Some that will evermore peep through their
eyes
And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper,
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
Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well.
We leave you now with better company.
SALARINO
I would have stayed till I had made you merry
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
ANTONIO
Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it your own business calls on you
And you embrace th' occasion to depart.
SALARINO
(to BASSANIO, LORENZO, GRATIANO)
ANTONIO
No, that’s not it, trust me. Thankfully my financial
situation is healthy. I don’t have all of my money
invested in one ship, or one part of the world. If I
don’t do well this year, I’ll still be okay. So it’s not
my business that’s making me sad.
SOLANIO
Well then, you must be in love.
ANTONIO
Oh, give me a break.
SOLANIO
You’re not in love either? Fine, let’s just say you’re
sad because you’re not in a good mood. You know,
it’d be just as easy for you to laugh and dance
around and say you’re in a good mood. You could
just say you’re not sad. Humans are so different.
Some people will laugh at anything, and others are
so grouchy they won’t even crack a smile when
they hear something hysterically funny.
BASSANIO , LORENZO , and GRATIANO enter.
Here comes your cousin Bassanio. And Gratiano
and Lorenzo too. Goodbye, then. We’ll leave you
to talk to them. They’re better company.
SALARINO
I would’ve stayed to cheer you up, if your nobler
friends hadn’t shown up.
ANTONIO
You’re both very precious to me. But I understand.
You need to leave to take care of your own
business.
SALARINO
Good morrow, my good lords.
BASSANIO
(to SALARINO and SOLANIO)
Good signors 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
LORENZO
My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you. But at dinnertime
I pray you have in mind where we must meet.
BASSANIO
I will not fail you.
GRATIANO
You look not well, Signor Antonio.
You have too much respect upon the world.
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvelously changed.
ANTONIO
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano—
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
GRATIANO
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 ’tis my love that speaks—
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a willful stillness entertain
With purpose to be dressed in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
(to BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO)Good
morning, gentlemen.
BASSANIO
(to SALARINO and SOLANIO) Hello, friends. When
are we going to have fun together again? Just
name the time. We never see you anymore. Does
it have to be that way?
SALARINO
Let us know when you want to get together. We’re
available.
SALARINO and SOLANIO exit.
LORENZO
Bassanio, we’ll say goodbye for now, since you’ve
found Antonio. But don’t forget, we’re meeting for
dinner tonight.
BASSANIO
Don’t worry, I’ll be there.
GRATIANO
You don’t look well, Antonio. You’re taking things
too seriously. People with too much invested in
the world always get hurt. I’m telling you, you
don’t look like yourself.
ANTONIO
For me the world is just the world, Gratiano—a
stage where every person has a part to play. I play
a sad one.
GRATIANO
Then I’ll play the happy fool and get laugh lines on
my face. I’d rather overload my liver with wine
than starve my heart by denying myself fun. Why
should any living man sit still like a statue? Why
should he sleep when he’s awake? Why should he
get ulcers from being crabby all the time? I love
you, and I’m telling you this because I care about
you, Antonio—there are men who always look
serious. Their faces never move or show any
expression, like stagnant ponds covered with
scum. They’re silent and stern, and they think
they’re wise and deep, important and respectable.
When they talk, they think everybody else should
keep quiet, and that even dogs should stop
barking. I know a lot of men like that, Antonio. The
As who should 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.
LORENZO
Well, we will leave you then till dinnertime.
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
GRATIANO
Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own
tongue.
ANTONIO
Farewell. I’ll grow a talker for this gear.
GRATIANO
Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
In a neat’s tongue dried and a maid not vendible.
Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO
ANTONIO
Is that any thing now?
BASSANIO
Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as
two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff—
you shall seek all day ere you find them, and
when you have them they are not worth the
search.
ANTONIO
Well, tell me now what lady is the same
only reason they’re considered wise is because
they don’t say anything. I’m sure if they ever
opened their mouths, everyone would see what
fools they are. I’ll talk to you more about this some
other time. In the meantime, cheer up. Don’t go
around looking so glum. That’s my opinion, but
what do I know? I’m a fool.—Let’s go, Lorenzo.—
Goodbye for now. I’ll finish my lecture after
dinner.
LORENZO
All right, we’ll see you at dinnertime. I must be
one of these silent so-called wise men Gratiano’s
talking about, because he never lets me get a
word in.
GRATIANO
If you hang around me for two more years, you’ll
forget the sound of your own voice. I won’t ever
let you speak.
ANTONIO
Goodbye. After that lecture of yours, I’ll start
talking a lot.
GRATIANO
Thank you. The only tongues that should be silent
are ox-tongues on a dinner plate and those that
belong to old maids.
GRATIANO and LORENZO exit.
ANTONIO
Is he right?
BASSANIO
Gratiano talks more nonsense than any other man
in Venice. His point is always like a needle in a
haystack—you look for it all day, and when you
find it you realize it wasn’t worth the trouble.
ANTONIO
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you today promised to tell me of?
BASSANIO
'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance.
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate. But my chief care
Is to come fairly off from the great debts
Wherein my time something too prodigal
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most in money and in love,
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
ANTONIO
I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it.
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honor, be assured
My purse, my person, my extremest means
Lie all unlocked to your occasions.
BASSANIO
In my school days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight
The selfsame way with more advisèd watch
To find the other forth—and by adventuring
both,
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a willful youth,
That which I owe is lost. But if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both
Or bring your latter hazard back again
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
ANTONIO
You know me well, and herein spend but time
To wind about my love with circumstance.
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
In making question of my uttermost
Than if you had made waste of all I have.
Then do but say to me what I should do
So, who’s this girl, the one you said you were
going to take a special trip for? You promised to
tell me.
BASSANIO
Antonio, you know how bad my finances have
been lately. I’ve been living way beyond my
means. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining
about having to cut back.
I just want to be honorable and pay off the big
debts that piled up when I was living the high life.
I’m in debt to many people, and I owe most to
you, Antonio—both money and gratitude. And
because you care about me, I know you’ll let me
tell you my plan to clear all my debts.
ANTONIO
Please let me know your plan, Bassanio. As long as
it’s honorable, you can be sure that I’ll let you use
all my money and do everything I can to help you.
BASSANIO
Back when I was a schoolboy, if I lost an arrow I
would try to find it by shooting another arrow in
the same direction, watching the second arrow
more carefully than I had the first. By risking the
second arrow, I’d often get both of them back. I’m
telling you this story for a reason. I owe you a lot,
and like a spoiled kid I’ve lost what I owe you. But
if you’d be willing to shoot another arrow the
same way you shot the first, I’ll watch your arrow
more carefully this time. Either we’ll get back all
the money I owe you, or else we’ll get back what
you lend me this time, and I’ll just owe you what I
already owe you.
ANTONIO
You know me better than that. You’re wasting
your breath. All of this talk means you have doubts
about my friendship. That’s worse than if you
bankrupted me. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do
it. Tell me.
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am pressed unto it. Therefore speak.
BASSANIO
In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair and—fairer than that word—
Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
To Cato’s daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renownèd suitors, and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos'
strand,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift
That I should questionless be fortunate!
ANTONIO
Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea.
Neither have I money nor commodity
To raise a present sum. Therefore go forth,
Try what my credit can in Venice do—
That shall be racked even to the uttermost
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is, and I no question make
To have it of my trust or for my sake.
Exeunt
https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/merchant/act-1-scene-1/
BASSANIO
There’s a girl in Belmont who’s inherited a huge
amount of money, and she’s beautiful and—even
better—she’s a good person. I think she likes me.
Sometimes the expression on her face tells me she
likes me. Her name is Portia. She’s as rich as that
famous Roman heroine Portia, the daughter of
Cato and wife of Brutus. Her wealth is world-
famous. Famous and important men have come in
from all over the world to try to marry her. The
hair that hangs down on her forehead is like gold,
calling every adventurer to Belmont like a gold
rush. Antonio, if I only had enough money to hold
my own against those suitors, I know I could win
her!
ANTONIO
You know right now all my money’s tied up in that
cargo that’s still at sea. I can’t give you the cash
you need because I don’t have it. But go ahead
and charge things to me on credit, as much credit
as I can get in Venice. I’ll use all my lines of credit
to help you get to Belmont, to Portia. Go see who
will lend money, and I’ll do the same. I’m sure I
can get something either as a business loan, or as
a personal favor.
They exit.