Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO
ANTONIO. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
SALARINO. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; there, where your argosies with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
SALANIO. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.
SALARINO. My wind, cooling my broth, would blow me to an ague,
When I thought what harm a wind too great might do.
ANTONIO. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one. Years of care and tossing
Hath made me melancholy; it is not that I have any cause
To be sad, but that I feel myself so. The other men
Are all transported by the hopes of gain and love;
I am sad because I am Antonio.