_Gra_. I thank your lordship; you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid; You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission[87] No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the caskets there; And so did mine too, as the matter falls: For wooing here, until my roof was dry With oaths of love, at last,--if promise last,-- I got a promise of this fair one here, To have her love, provided that your fortune Achiev'd her mistress. _Por_. Is this true, Nerissa? _Ner_. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. _Bas_. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? _Gra_. Yes, faith, my lord. _Bas_. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. _Gra_. But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel? What, and my old Venetian friend, Solanio. _Enter_ LORENZO, JESSICA, _and_ SALANIO. _Bas_. Lorenzo, and Solanio, welcome hither; If that the youth of my new interest here Have power to bid you welcome:--By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome. _Por_. So do I, my lord; They are entirely welcome. _Lor_. I thank your honour:--For my part, my lord, My purpose was not to have seen you here; But meeting with Solanio by the way, He did entreat me, past all saying nay, To come with him along. _Sal_. I did, my lord, And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio Commends him to you. [_Gives_ BASSANIO _a letter_. _Bas_. Ere I ope this letter, I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. _Sal_. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind: Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there Will show you his estate. _Gra_. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. Your hand, Solanio. What's the news from Venice? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? I know he will be glad of our success; We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. _Sal_. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost! _Por_. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper, That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek; Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man.[88] What, worse and worse?-- With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of any thing That this same paper brings you.