AntonioIn sooth¹ 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 stuff² ’tis made of, whereof it is borne,³
I am to4learn.And such a want-wit5sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado6to know myself.
SalarinoYour mind is tossing on the ocean,7
There where your argosies8with portly9sail
Like signiors10and rich burghers11on the flood,12
Or as it were13the pageants14of the sea,
Do overpeer15the petty traffickers16
That curtsy17to them,do them...