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Bass.

Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?

You grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?

Sal.

We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.

Exeunt Salerio and Solanio.

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.

Bass.

I will not fail you.

Gra.

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 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,

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 alablaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundies

By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—

I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks—