1 His words were "Farewell, mistress," nothing else.
2 Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.
3 To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.
4 Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
5 Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice.
6 I will have nothing else but only this, And now methinks I have a mind to it.
7 And yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart.
8 And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing.
9 Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man.
10 Here's a small trifle of wives, alas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man.
11 Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages: Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu'd To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
12 Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse, and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can shoe him himself.
13 You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.
14 When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing; for indeed I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means.
15 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.
16 Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, And there is such confusion in my powers As after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude, Where every something being blent together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy Express'd and not express'd.