[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]
LORENZO: 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.
BASSANIO: I will not fail you.
GRATIANO: 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 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 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 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 dinner-time:
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
GRATIANO: Well, keep me company but two years moe, 
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
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day 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 honour, be assured,
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
BASSANIO: In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way with more advised 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 wilful 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 
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest 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 
Renowned 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 rack'd, 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.