May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I
deserve? Why, that's the lady!
I do in birth
deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do
deserve.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this
saying grav'd in gold:
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
Why, that's the lady! All the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this
shrine, this mortal-breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For
princes to come view fair Portia.
The
watery kingdom, whose
ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come
As o'er a brook to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her
heavenly picture.
Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
To think so base a thought; it were too gross
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamp'd in gold; but that's insculp'd upon.
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliver me the key;
Here do I choose, and
thrive I as I may!
PORTIA. There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours. [He opens the golden
casket]
PRINCE OF MOROCCO. O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
'All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd.
Fare you well, your suit is cold.'
Cold indeed, and labour lost,
Then
farewell, heat, and
welcome, frost.
Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a
tedious leave; thus losers part.
Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets
PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his
complexion choose me so. Exeunt
SCENE VIII.
Venice. A street
Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO
SALERIO. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.
SOLANIO. The
villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
SALERIO. He came too late, the ship was under sail;
But there the Duke was given to understand
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica;
Besides, Antonio certified the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
SOLANIO. I never heard a
passion so confus'd,
So strange,
outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets.
'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
And jewels- two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl;
She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.'
SALERIO. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
SOLANIO. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.
SALERIO. Marry, well rememb'red;
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A
vessel of our country
richly fraught.
I thought upon Antonio when he told me,
And wish'd in silence that it were not his.
SOLANIO. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may
grieve him.
SALERIO. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
Of his return. He answered 'Do not so;
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time;
And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love;
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To
courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall
conveniently become you there.'
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with
affectionwondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.
SOLANIO. I think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee, let us go and find him out,
And
quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.
SALERIO. Do we so. Exeunt
SCENE IX.
Belmont. PORTIA'S house
Enter NERISSA, and a SERVITOR
NERISSA. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;
The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his
election presently.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,
PORTIA, and their trains
PORTIA. Behold, there stand the
caskets, noble Prince.
If you choose that
wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our
nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
ARRAGON. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
First, never to
unfold to any one
Which
casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right
casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage;
Lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
PORTIA. To these injunctions every one doth swear
That comes to
hazard for my
worthless self.
ARRAGON. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.
'Who chooseth me must give and
hazard all he hath.'
You shall look fairer ere I give or
hazard.
What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
What many men desire- that 'many' may be meant
By the fool
multitude, that choose by show,
Not
learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to th'
interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the
outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits
And rank me with the
barbarousmultitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house!
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he
deserves.'
And well said too; for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an un
deserved dignity.
O that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover that stand bare!
How many be commanded that command!
How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice.
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he
deserves.'
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
And
instantlyunlock my fortunes here.
[He opens the silver
casket]
PORTIA. [Aside] Too long a pause for that which you find there.
ARRAGON. What's here? The
portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
How much
unlike art thou to Portia!
How much
unlike my hopes and my deservings!
'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he
deserves.'
Did I
deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?
PORTIA. To
offend and judge are
distinct offices
And of opposed natures.
ARRAGON. What is here? [Reads]
'The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgment is
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss,
Such have but a shadow's bliss.
There be fools alive iwis
Silver'd o'er, and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head.
So be gone; you are sped.'
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I
linger here.
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth. Exit with his train
PORTIA. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O, these
deliberate fools! When they do choose,
They have the
wisdom by their wit to lose.
NERISSA. The ancient
saying is no
heresy: