Act III

I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,

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,

And I must freely have the half of anything

That this same paper brings you.

Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words

That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,

When I did first impart my love to you,

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,