_Por._ There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper, 245 That steals 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. What, worse and worse! With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, 250 And I must freely have the half of any thing That this same paper brings you. _Bass._ O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, 255 I freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman; And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart. When I told you 260 My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, I have engaged myself to a dear friend, Engaged my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 265 The paper as the body of my friend, And every word in it a gaping wound, Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? Have all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit? From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 270 From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks? _Saler._ Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, 275 He would not take it. Never did I know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen and greedy to confound a man: He plies the Duke at morning and at night; And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 280 If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, The Duke himself, and the magnificoes Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 285 _Jes._ When I was with him I have heard him swear To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio’s flesh Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him: and I know, my lord, 290 If law, authority and power deny not, It will go hard with poor Antonio. _Por._ Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? _Bass._ The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best-condition’d and unwearied spirit 295 In doing courtesies; and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears Than any that draws breath in Italy. _Por._ What sum owes he the Jew? _Bass._ For me three thousand ducats.