ear:
Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad.

_Salar_. Why, then, you are in love.

_Ant_. Fie, fie!

_Salar_. Not in love, neither? Then let us say you are sad,
Because you are not merry: an 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad.

_Sal_. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
We leave you now with better company.

_Salar_. I would have staid till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.

_Ant_. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.

_Enter_ BASSANIO, LORENZO, _and_ GRATIANO.

_Salar_. Good morrow, my good lords.

_Bas_. Good signiors, both, when shall we laugh? Say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?

_Salar_. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[_Exeunt_ SALARINO _and_ SALANIO.

_Lor_. 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.

_Bas_. I will not fail you.

_Gra_. 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 marvellously chang'd.

_Ant_. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

_Gra_. Let me play the fool:[6]
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[7] and mantle like a standing pond:
And do a wilful stillness entertain,[8]
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!_'[9]
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, 'twould almost damn those ears[10]
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 we