‘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?

PORTIA

The one of them contains my picture, Prince.

If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO

Some god direct my judgement! Let me see.

I will survey th‘inscriptions back again.

What says this leaden casket? 15

‘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

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?

‘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 beest rated by thy estimation

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.

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 strayed no farther, but chose here?

Let’s see once more this saying graved 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 immured,

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

Stamped in gold, but that’s insculped 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.

He is given a key

PORTIA

There, take it, Prince; and if my form lie there,

Then I am yours.

Morocco opens the golden casket

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 judgement old,

Your answer had not been enscrolled.

Fare you well; your suit is cold.’

Cold indeed, and labour lost.

Then farewell heat, and welcome frost.

Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart

To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.

⌈Flourish of cornetts.⌉ Exit with his train

PORTIA

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so.

The curtains are drawn. Exeunt

2.8 Enter Salerio and Solanio

SALERIO

Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail.

With him is Graziano gone along,

And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SOLANIO

The villain Jew with outcries raised 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 confused,

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 I

Justice! The law! My ducats and my daughter!

A sealed bag, two sealèd 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,