The Merchant of Venice: Act 1

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

My wind cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

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?

Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo.

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?

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?

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?

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,
As who should say “I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”

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,
As who should say “I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”

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,
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 end my exhortation after dinner.

Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable
In a neat’s tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

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.

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.

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!

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!

By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

If a throstle sing, he falls straight a-cap’ring.

If he would despise me, I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behavior everywhere.

They have acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeed to return to their home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father’s imposition depending on the caskets.

If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will.

I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence.

If he have the condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.

Three thousand ducats, well.

Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies.

I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath squandered abroad.

How like a fawning publican he looks!

I hate him for he is a Christian,
But more for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls “interest.”

When Laban and himself were compromised
That all the eanlings which were streaked and pied
Should fall as Jacob’s hire

The skillful shepherd pilled me certain wands,
And in the doing of the deed of kind
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
Who then conceiving did in eaning time
Fall parti-colored lambs, and those were Jacob’s.

Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances.
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug
(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe).

You come to me and you say
“Shylock, we would have moneys”—you say so,
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold.

You come to me and you say
“Shylock, we would have moneys”—you say so,
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold.

You come to me and you say
“Shylock, we would have moneys”—you say so,
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold.

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman’s key,
With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,
Say this: “Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me ‘dog’; and for these courtesies
I’ll lend you thus much moneys”?

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman’s key,
With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,
Say this: “Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me ‘dog’; and for these courtesies
I’ll lend you thus much moneys”?

If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?

If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?