The Merchant of Venice E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 106

Beschreibung

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 stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne, I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes of mee, That I have much ado to know myself

Leseprobe

The Merchant of Venice

The Merchant of VeniceActus primus.Actus Secundus.Actus Tertius.Actus Quartus.Actus Quintus.Copyright

The Merchant of Venice

William Shakespeare

Actus primus.

Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio.Anthonio. 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 stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne,I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes ofmee,That I have much ado to know myselfSal. Your minde is tossing on the Ocean,There where your Argosies with portly saileLike Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood,Or as it were the Pageants of the sea,Do ouer-peere the pettie TraffiquersThat curtsie to them, do them reuerenceAs they flye by them with their wouen wingsSalar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth,The better part of my affections, wouldBe with my hopes abroad. I should be stillPlucking the grasse to know where sits the winde,Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes:And euery obiect that might make me feareMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubtWould make me sadSal. My winde cooling my broth,Would blow me to an Ague, when I thoughtWhat harme a winde too great might doe at sea.I should not see the sandie houre-glasse runne,But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats,And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand,Vailing her high top lower then her ribsTo kisse her buriall; should I goe to ChurchAnd see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks,Which touching but my gentle Vessels sideWould scatter all her spices on the streame,Enrobe the roring waters with my silkes,And in a word, but euen now worth this,And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thoughtTo thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thoughtThat such a thing bechaunc'd would make me sad?But tell me, I know AnthonioIs sad to thinke vpon his merchandizeAnth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it,My ventures are not in one bottome trusted,Nor to one place; nor is my whole estateVpon the fortune of this present yeere:Therefore my merchandize makes me not sadSola. Why then you are in loueAnth. Fie, fieSola. Not in loue neither: then let vs say you are sadBecause you are not merry: and 'twere as easieFor you to laugh and leape, and say you are merryBecause you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ianus,Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time:Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes,And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.And other of such vineger aspect,That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,Though Nestor sweare the iest be laughable.Enter Bassanio, Lorenso, and Gratiano.Sola. Heere comes Bassanio,Your most noble Kinsman,Gratiano, and Lorenso. Faryewell,We leaue you now with better companySala. I would haue staid till I had made you merry,If worthier friends had not preuented meAnt. Your worth is very deere in my regard.I take it your owne busines calls on you,And you embrace th' occasion to departSal. Good morrow my good LordsBass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?  Sal. Wee'll make our leysures to attend on yours.Exeunt. Salarino, and Solanio.Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you haue found AnthonioWe two will leaue you, but at dinner timeI pray you haue in minde where we must meeteBass. I will not faile youGrat. You looke not well signior Anthonio,You haue too much respect vpon the world:They loose it that doe buy it with much care,Beleeue me you are maruellously chang'dAnt. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano,A stage, where euery man must play a part,And mine a sad oneGrati. Let me play the foole,With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come,And let my Liuer rather heate with wine,Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.Why should a man whose bloud is warme within,Sit like his Grandsire, cut in Alablaster?Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the IaundiesBy being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio,I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes:There are a sort of men, whose visagesDo creame and mantle like a standing pond,And do a wilfull stilnesse entertaine,With purpose to be drest in an opinionOf wisedome, grauity, profound conceit,As who should say, I am sir an Oracle,And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke.O my Anthonio, I do know of theseThat therefore onely are reputed wise,For saying nothing; when I am verie sureIf they should speake, would almost dam those earesWhich hearing them would call their brothers fooles:Ile tell thee more of this another time.But fish not with this melancholly baiteFor this foole Gudgin, this opinion:Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while,Ile end my exhortation after dinnerLor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time.I must be one of these same dumbe wise men.For Gratiano neuer let's me speakeGra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo,Thou shalt not know the sound of thine owne tongueAnt. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geareGra. Thankes ifaith, for silence is onely commendableIn a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible.Enter.Ant. It is that any thing nowBas. Gratiano speakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reasons are two graines of wheate hid in two bushels of chaffe: you shall seeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the searchAn. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the sameTo whom you swore a secret PilgrimageThat you to day promis'd to tel me of?  Bas. Tis not vnknowne to you AnthonioHow much I haue disabled mine estate,By something shewing a more swelling portThen my faint meanes would grant continuance:Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'dFrom such a noble rate, but my cheefe careIs to come fairely off from the great debtsWherein my time something too prodigallHath left me gag'd: to you AnthonioI owe the most in money, and in loue,And from your loue I haue a warrantieTo vnburthen all my plots and purposes,How to get cleere of all the debts I oweAn. I pray you good Bassanio let me know it,And if it stand as you your selfe still do,Within the eye of honour, be assur'dMy purse, my person, my extreamest meanesLye all vnlock'd to your occasionsBass. In my schoole dayes, when I had lost one shaftI shot his fellow of the selfesame flightThe selfesame way, with more aduised watchTo finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both,I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe,Because what followes is pure innocence.I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth,That which I owe is lost: but if you pleaseTo shoote another arrow that selfe wayWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,As I will watch the ayme: Or to finde both,Or bring your latter hazard backe againe,And thankfully rest debter for the firstAn. You know me well, and herein spend but timeTo winde about my loue with circumstance,And out of doubt you doe more wrongIn making question of my vttermostThen if you had made waste of all I haue:Then doe but say to me what I should doeThat in your knowledge may by me be done,And I am prest vnto it: therefore speakeBass. In Belmont is a Lady richly left,And she is faire, and fairer then that word,Of wondrous vertues, sometimes from her eyesI did receiue faire speechlesse messages:Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewdTo Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia,Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,For the four windes blow in from euery coastRenowned sutors, and her sunny locksHang on her temples like a golden fleece,Which makes her seat of Belmont Cholchos strond,And many Iasons come in quest of her.O my Anthonio, had I but the meanesTo hold a riuall place with one of them,I haue a minde presages me such thrift,That I should questionlesse be fortunateAnth. Thou knowst that all my fortunes are at sea,Neither haue I money, nor commodityTo raise a present summe, therefore goe forthTry what my credit can in Venice doe,That shall be rackt euen to the vttermost,To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia.Goe presently enquire, and so will IWhere money is, and I no question makeTo haue it of my trust, or for my sake.Exeunt.Enter Portia with her waiting woman Nerissa.Portia. By my troth Nerrissa, my little body is a wearie of this great worldNer. You would be sweet Madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I see, they are as sicke that surfet with too much, as they that starue with nothing; it is no smal happinesse therefore to bee seated in the meane, superfluitie comes sooner by white haires, but competencie liues longerPortia. Good sentences, and well pronounc'dNer. They would be better if well followedPortia. If to doe were as easie as to know what were good to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages Princes Pallaces: it is a good Diuine that followes his owne instructions; I can easier teach twentie what were good to be done, then be one of the twentie to follow mine owne teaching: the braine may deuise lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, such a hare is madnesse the youth, to skip ore the meshes of good counsaile the cripple; but this reason is not in fashion to choose me a husband: O mee, the word choose, I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike, so is the wil of a liuing daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Nerrissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse noneNer. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good inspirations, therefore the lotterie that hee hath deuised in these three chests of gold, siluer, and leade, whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you, wil no doubt neuer be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly loue: but what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these Princely suters that are already come? Por. I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe them, and according to my description leuell at my affectionNer. First there is the Neopolitane PrincePor. I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing but talke of his horse, and hee makes it a great appropriation to his owne good parts that he can shoo him himselfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid false with a SmythNer. Than is there the Countie PalentinePor. He doth nothing but frowne (as who should say, and you will not haue me, choose: he heares merrie tales and smiles not, I feare hee will proue the weeping Phylosopher when he growes old, being so full of vnmannerly sadnesse in his youth.) I had rather to be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to either of these: God defend me from these twoNer. How say you by the French Lord, Mounsier Le Boune? Por. God made him, and therefore let him passe for a man, in truth I know it is a sinne to be a mocker, but he, why he hath a horse better then the Neopolitans, a better bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, he is euery man in no man, if a Trassell sing, he fals straight a capring, he will fence with his owne shadow. If I should marry him, I should marry twentie husbands: if hee would despise me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue me to madnesse, I should neuer requite himNer. What say you then to Fauconbridge, the yong Baron of England? Por. You know I say nothing to him, for hee vnderstands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & sweare that I haue a poore pennie-worth in the English: hee is a proper mans picture, but alas who can conuerse with a dumbe show? how odly he is suited, I thinke he bought his doublet in Italie, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germanie, and his behauiour euery whereNer. What thinke you of the other Lord his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, for he borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him againe when hee was able: I thinke the Frenchman became his suretie, and seald vnder for another