Love's Labour's Lost (version 2) - Бесплатная аудиокнига

ACT I.

000 Scene I. Venice. A street.

TMOV I. 1 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio.

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:

It wearies me; you say it wearies you;

But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,

What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,

005 I am to learn;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,

That I have much ado to know myself.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;

There, where your argosies with portly sail,

010 Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,

Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,

Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

013 That curt’sy to them, do them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.

015 Salan. 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;

019 Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;

020 And every object that might make me fear

Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt

Would make me sad.

Salar.

My wind, cooling my broth,

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought

024 What harm a wind too great at sea might do.

025 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,

But I should think of shallows and of flats,

027 And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand

Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs

To kiss her burial. Should I go to church

030 And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,

Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,

033 Would scatter all her spices on the stream;

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;

035 And, in a word, but even now worth this,

And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought

To think on this; and shall I lack the thought,

That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?

But tell not me; I know, Antonio

040 Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate

Upon the fortune of this present year:

045 Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

046 Salar. Why, then you are in love.

Ant.

Fie, fie!

047 Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,

048 Because you are not merry: and ’twere as easy

For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry,

050 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:

Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,

And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;

054 And other of such vinegar aspect,

055 That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile,

056 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,

058 Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:

We leave you now with better company.

060 Salar. I would have stay’d till I had made you merry,

If worthier friends had not prevented me.

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.

I take it, your own business calls on you,

And you embrace the occasion to depart.

065 Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?

You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

068 Salar. We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.

069 Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,

070 We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time,

I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

072 Bass. I will not fail you.

Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio;

You have too much respect upon the world:

075 They lose it that do buy it with much care:

Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;

078 A stage, where every man must play a part,

And mine a sad one.

Gra.

Let me play the fool:

080 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;

And let my liver rather heat with wine

082 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,

084 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

085 Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice

By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—,

087 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,—

There are a sort of men, whose visages

089 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;

090 And do a wilful stillness entertain,

With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

093 As who should say, ‘I am Sir Oracle,

And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!’

095 O my Antonio, I do know of these,

That therefore only are reputed wise

097 For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,

098 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.

100 I’ll tell thee more of this another time:

But fish not, with this melancholy bait,

102 For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

103 Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:

I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.

105 Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time:

I must be one of these same dumb wise men,

For Gratiano never lets me speak.

108 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe,

Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

110 Ant. Farewell: I’ll grow a talker for this gear.

Gra. Thanks, i’faith; for silence is only commendable

112 In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.

113 Ant. Is that any thing now?

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more

115 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.

119 Ant. Well, tell me now, what lady is the same

120 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,

That you to-day promised to tell me of?

Bass. ’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,

How much I have disabled mine estate,

124 By something showing a more swelling port

125 Than my faint means would grant continuance:

Nor do I now make moan to be abridged

From such a noble rate; but my chief care

Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,

Wherein my time, something too prodigal,

130 Hath left me gaged. 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.

135 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;

And if it stand, as you yourself still do,

Within the eye of honour, be assured,

My purse, my person, my extremest means,

Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.

140 Bass. 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,

143 To find the other forth; and by adventuring both,

I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,

145 Because what follows is pure innocence.

146 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,

150 As I will watch the aim, or to find both,

Or bring your latter hazard back again,

And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time

To wind about my love with circumstance;

155 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,

160 And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left;

And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,

163 Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes

164 I did receive fair speechless messages:

165 Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued

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

170 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;

171 Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,

172 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,

175 I have a mind presages me such thrift,

That I should questionless be fortunate!

Ant. Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;

178 Neither have I money, nor commodity

To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;

180 Try what my credit can in Venice do:

That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermost,

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.

Go, presently inquire, and so will I,

Where money is; and I no question make,

185 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.