ACT 1.
1. SCENE I. Venice. A street
 (continued)
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
 
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 unburden all my plots and purposes
 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
ANTONIO.
 
I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
 
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd
 
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 
 
BASSANIO.
 
In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
 
The self-same way, with more advised watch,
 
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
 
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
 
Because what follows is pure innocence.
 
I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
 
That which I owe is lost; but if you please
 
To shoot another arrow that self way
 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
 
Or bring your latter hazard back again
 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
ANTONIO.
 
You know me well, and herein spend but time
 
To wind about my love with circumstance;
 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
 
In making question of my uttermost
 
Than if you had made waste of all I have.
 
Then do but say to me what I should do
 
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
 
And I am prest unto it; therefore, speak. 
 
BASSANIO.
 
In Belmont is a lady richly left,
 
And she is fair and, fairer than that word,
 
Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
 
I did receive fair speechless messages:
 
Her name is Portia--nothing undervalu'd
 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
 
For the four winds blow in from every coast
 
Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
 
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strond,
 
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
 
O my Antonio! had I but the means
 
To hold a rival place with one of them,
 
I have a mind presages me such thrift
 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
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