ll, a while;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.[11]

_Lor_. 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.

_Gra_. Well, keep me company but two years more,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

_Ant_. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.[12]

_Gra_. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dried,[13] and a maid not vendible.

[_Exeunt_ GRATIANO _and_ LORENZO.

_Ant_. Is that any thing now?

_Bas_. 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.

_Ant_. Well; tell me now, what lady is the same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

_Bas_. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port[14]
Than my faint means would grant continuance.
To you, Antonio, I owe the most in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots and purposes,
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

_Ant_. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

_Bas_. 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 wasteful 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

_Ant_. You know me well; and herein spend but time,
To wind about my love with circumstance;
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:[15] therefore speak.

_Bas_. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wond'rous virtues. Sometimes[16] from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is