The Merchant of Venice


Enter Antonio, Salerio, and Solanio.


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;(5)

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,

That I have much ado to know myself.


Your mind is tossing on the ocean;

There, where your argosies, with portly sail,—

Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,(10)

Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,—

Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.

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