1 I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so.
2 Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
3 In sooth I know not why I am so sad, It wearies me.
4 I am much afeard my lady his mother play'd false with a smith.
5 Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy.
6 I am as like to call thee so again, To spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.
7 I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.
8 I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.
9 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.
10 Father, I am glad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries.
11 I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence.
12 Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed livery of the burnish'd sun, To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
13 I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.
14 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, I am to learn.'
15 I am debating of my present store, And by the near guess of my memory I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats.
16 In terms of choice I am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; Besides, the lott'ry of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing.
17 O my Antonio, 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 damn those ears Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
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