ACT II SCENE VII | Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house. | |
[
Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the
PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains
] |
PORTIA | Go draw aside the curtains and discover |
| The several caskets to this noble prince. |
| Now make your choice. |
MOROCCO | The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, |
| 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;' |
| The second, silver, which this promise carries, |
| '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? | 10 |
PORTIA | The one of them contains my picture, prince: |
| If you choose that, then I am yours withal. |
MOROCCO | Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; |
| I will survey the inscriptions back again. |
| 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 |
| Do it in hope of fair advantages: |
| A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; | 20 |
| 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 be'st 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. | 30 |
| 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 further, 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: | 40 |
| The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds |
| Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares 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 | 50 |
| 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 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! | 60 |
PORTIA | There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, |
| Then I am yours. |
[He unlocks 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. |
[Reads] |
| 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 enfold. |
| Had you been as wise as bold, | 70 |
| 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 grieved 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. | 79 |
[Exeunt] |