Antonio

 A tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.
 Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain.
Master
Boatswain!
Boatswain
Here, master. What cheer?

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea
for an acre of barren ground: long heath, brown
furze, anything.

Master
Good,
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Antonio
In sooth 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,Epistrophe
What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.
And such a want-wit sadness makes of meHyperbaton
That I have much ado to know myself.
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Gratiano
You look not well, Signior Antonio.
You have too much respect upon the world.
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvelously changed.
Antonio
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
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And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honor, be assured
My purse, my person, my extremest meansAnaphora
Lie all unlocked to your occasions.Alliteration
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.Simile
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!Personification
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Shylock
Signior Antonio, many a time and oftHendiadys
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances.
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug
(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe).
You call me misbeliever, cutthroat dog,
And spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,
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To perform an act
Whereof what’s past is prologue.
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
Beseech you, sir, be merry. You have cause—
So have we all—of joy, for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe. But for the miracle—
I mean our preservation—few in millions
Can speak like us.
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as
the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.
Antonio
That “sort” was well fished for.
Gonzalo, to Alonso
When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in.
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Antonio
Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drowned?
Sebastian
He’s gone.
Antonio
Then tell me,
Who’s the next heir of Naples?
Sebastian
Claribel.

We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again,
And by that destiny to perform an act
Whereof what’s past is prologue

Antonio
She that is Queen of Tunis;
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