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In a neat’s tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

Exeunt [Gratiano and Lorenzo].

Ant. It is that—any thing now!

Bass. 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?

Bass.

’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 abridg’d

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 gag’d. 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.