The Merchant of Venice (The Jew of Venice) · chunk 2 of 42
Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1596-1598] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 484 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it your own business calls on you, And you embrace th' occasion to departed. Good morrow my good Lords. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? we'll make our leisures to attend on yours. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Anthonio We two will leave you, but at dinner time I pray you have in mind where we must meet. I will not fail you. You look not well signior Anthonio, You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it that do buy it with much care, Believe me you are marvellously changed. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Let me play the fool, With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, And let my Liver rather heat with wine, Then my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man whose blood is warm within, Sat like his Grandsire, cut in Alabaster? Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what Anthonio, 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 dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, As who should say, I am sir an Oracle, And when I open my lips, let no dog bark. O my Anthonio, 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 dam those ears Which hearing them would call their brother's fools: I'll tell thee more of this another time. But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool Gudgin, this opinion: Come good Lorenzo, fareyewell a while, I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Well, we will leave you then till dinner time. I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never let's me speak. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Far you well, I'll grow a talker for this gear. Thanks i'faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. It is that any thing now. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice, his reasons are two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, & when you have them they are not worth the search. 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?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Your worth is very deere in my regard. I take it your owne buſines calls on you, And you embrace th' occaſion to depart. Good morrow my good Lords. Good ſigniors both, when ſhall we laugh? ſay, when? You grow exceeding ſtrange: muſt it be ſo? Wee'll make our leyſures to attend on yours. My Lord Baſſanio, ſince you haue found Anthonio We two will leaue you, but at dinner time I pray you haue in minde where we muſt meete. I will not faile you. You looke not well ſignior Anthonio, You haue too much reſpect vpon the world: They looſe it that doe buy it with much care, Beleeue me you are maruellouſly chang'd. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A ſtage, where euery man muſt play a part, And mine a ſad one. Let me play the foole, With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come, And let my Liuer rather heate with wine, Then my heart coole with mortifying grones. Why ſhould a man whoſe bloud is warme within, Sit like his Grandſire, cut in Alablaſter? Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies By being peeuiſh? I tell thee what Anthonio, I loue thee, and it is my loue that ſpeakes: There are a ſort of men, whoſe viſages Do creame and mantle like a ſtanding pond, And do a wilfull ſtilneſſe entertaine, With purpoſe to be dreſt in an opinion Of wiſedome, grauity, profound conceit, As who ſhould ſay, I am ſir an Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke. O my Anthonio, I do know of theſe That therefore onely are reputed wiſe, For ſaying nothing; when I am verie ſure If they ſhould ſpeake, would almoſt dam thoſe eares Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles: Ile tell thee more of this another time. But fiſh not with this melancholly baite For this foole Gudgin, this opinion: Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while, Ile end my exhortation after dinner. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time. I muſt be one of theſe ſame dumbe wiſe men, For Gratiano neuer let's me ſpeake. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo, Thou ſhalt not know the ſound of thine owne tongue. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare. Thankes ifaith, for ſilence is onely commendable In a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible. It is that any thing now. Gratiano ſpeakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reaſons are two graines of wheate hid in two buſhels of chaffe: you ſhall ſeeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the ſearch. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the ſame To whom you ſwore a ſecret Pilgrimage That you to day promis'd to tel me of?