Belmont. A Room in PORTIA’S House. | |
| |
Flourish of Cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their Trains. | |
| Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover | |
| The several caskets to this noble prince. | 4 |
| Now make your choice. | |
| Mor. The first, of gold, which this inscription bears: | |
| Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. | |
| The second, silver, which this promise carries: | 8 |
| Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. | |
| This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt: | |
| Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. | |
| How shall I know if I do choose the right? | 12 |
| Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince: | |
| If you choose that, then I am yours withal. | |
| Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see: | |
| I will survey the inscriptions back again: | 16 |
| What says this leaden casket? | |
| Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. | |
| Must give: For what? for lead? hazard for lead? | |
| This casket threatens. Men that hazard all | 20 |
| Do it in hope of fair advantages: | |
| A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; | |
| I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. | |
| What says the silver with her virgin hue? | 24 |
| Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. | |
| As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, | |
| And weigh thy value with an even hand. | |
| If thou be’st rated by thy estimation, | 28 |
| Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough | |
| May not extend so far as to the lady: | |
| And yet to be afeard of my deserving | |
| Were but a weak disabling of myself. | 32 |
| 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. | 36 |
| What if I stray’d no further, 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; | 40 |
| 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 | 44 |
| 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, | 48 |
| 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 | 52 |
| To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. | |
| Or shall I think in silver she’s immur’d, | |
| Being ten times undervalu’d to tried gold? | |
| O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem | 56 |
| Was set in worse than gold. They have in England | |
| A coin that bears the figure of an angel | |
| Stamped in gold, but that’s insculp’d upon; | |
| But here an angel in a golden bed | 60 |
| Lies all within. Deliver me the key: | |
| Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! | |
| Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, | |
| Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. | 64 |
| Mor. 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: | 68 |
| 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. | |
| Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains: go. | 72 |
| Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. | |
