“_Salorino_. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There, where your argosies with portly sail, Like seigniors and rich burghers of the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,— Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curtsey to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. —My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats, And see my wealthy Andrew docked in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream, Enrobe the rolling waters with my silks, 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 be-chanced, would make me sad? But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise. _Antonio_. 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: Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.” SHAKSPEARE.