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Oscar Wilde (1854–1900).  Poems.  1881.

49. Portia


I MARVEL not Bassanio was so bold 
  To peril all he had upon the lead, 
  Or that proud Aragon bent low his head, 
Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold: 
For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold         5
  Which is more golden than the golden sun, 
  No woman Veronesé looked upon 
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold. 
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield 
  The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned  10
And would not let the laws of Venice yield 
  Antonio’s heart to that accursèd Jew— 
  O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due: 
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond. 


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