Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.
Salar. Marry, well remember'd: I reason'd[[78]] with a Frenchman yesterday, who told me that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas that part the French and English,—the Goodwins, I think they call the place—a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word.
Sal. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapp'd ginger,[[79]] or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband: But it is true, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,—O, that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!—
Salar. Come, the full stop.
Sal. Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.
Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses!
Sal. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.
Enter SHYLOCK.
Salar. How now, Shylock? what news among the merchants?