14
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
GRATIANO. Well, keep me company but two years moe, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
ANTONIO. Fare you well; I ' ll grow a talker for this gear.
GRATIANO. Thanks, i ' faith, for silence is only commendable In a neat ' s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
[ Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO.]
ANTONIO. Is that anything now?
BASSANIO. 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.
ANTONIO. 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?
BASSANIO. ' 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