Please wait

Act II, Scene 1

Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO [p]and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others attending

• Prince of Morocco. Mislike me not for my complexion, 515
  The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
  To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
  Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
  Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
  And let us make incision for your love, 520
  To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
  I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
  Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swear
  The best-regarded virgins of our clime
  Have loved it too: I would not change this hue, 525
  Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

• Portia. In terms of choice I am not solely led
  By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
  Besides, the lottery of my destiny
  Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: 530
  But if my father had not scanted me
  And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
  His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
  Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair
  As any comer I have look'd on yet 535
  For my affection.

• Prince of Morocco. Even for that I thank you:
  Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
  To try my fortune. By this scimitar
  That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince 540
  That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
  I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
  Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
  Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
  Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 545
  To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
  If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
  Which is the better man, the greater throw
  May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
  So is Alcides beaten by his page; 550
  And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
  Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
  And die with grieving.

• Portia. You must take your chance,
  And either not attempt to choose at all 555
  Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
  Never to speak to lady afterward
  In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

• Prince of Morocco. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

• Portia. First, forward to the temple: after dinner 560
  Your hazard shall be made.

• Prince of Morocco. Good fortune then!
  To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

[Cornets, and exeunt]

Act II, Scene 2

Venice. A street.

[Enter LAUNCELOT]

• Launcelot Gobbo. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
  this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
  tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
  Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot
  Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My 570
  conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;
  take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest
  Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
  heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
  pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the 575
  fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'
  says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience,
  hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
  to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
  man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for, 580
  indeed, my father did something smack, something
  grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
  says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
  fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
  'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,' 585
  say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my
  conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
  who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
  run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
  fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil 590
  himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
  incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
  but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
  me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
  friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are 595
  at your command; I will run.

[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

• Old Gobbo. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
  to master Jew's?

• Launcelot Gobbo. [Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father! 600
  who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
  knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

• Old Gobbo. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
  to master Jew's?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, 605
  at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at
  the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn
  down indirectly to the Jew's house.

• Old Gobbo. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can
  you tell me whether one Launcelot, 610
  that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Talk you of young Master Launcelot?
  [Aside]
  Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
  of young Master Launcelot? 615

• Old Gobbo. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,
  though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man
  and, God be thanked, well to live.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of
  young Master Launcelot. 620

• Old Gobbo. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

• Launcelot Gobbo. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
  talk you of young Master Launcelot?

• Old Gobbo. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master 625
  Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman,
  according to Fates and Destinies and such odd
  sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of
  learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say
  in plain terms, gone to heaven. 630

• Old Gobbo. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
  age, my very prop.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
  a prop? Do you know me, father?

• Old Gobbo. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: 635
  but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his
  soul, alive or dead?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Do you not know me, father?

• Old Gobbo. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of 640
  the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his
  own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of
  your son: give me your blessing: truth will come
  to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
  may, but at the length truth will out. 645

• Old Gobbo. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
  Launcelot, my boy.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but
  give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy
  that was, your son that is, your child that shall 650
  be.

• Old Gobbo. I cannot think you are my son.

• Launcelot Gobbo. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am
  Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your
  wife is my mother. 655

• Old Gobbo. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou
  be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
  Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
  got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
  Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail. 660

• Launcelot Gobbo. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows
  backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail
  than I have of my face when I last saw him.

• Old Gobbo. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
  master agree? I have brought him a present. How 665
  'gree you now?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set
  up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I
  have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: give
  him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in 670
  his service; you may tell every finger I have with
  my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me
  your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed,
  gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I
  will run as far as God has any ground. O rare 675
  fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I
  am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

[Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers]

• Bassanio. You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper
  be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See 680
  these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,
  and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

[Exit a Servant]

• Launcelot Gobbo. To him, father.

• Old Gobbo. God bless your worship! 685

• Bassanio. Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

• Old Gobbo. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,—

• Launcelot Gobbo. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that
  would, sir, as my father shall specify—

• Old Gobbo. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve— 690

• Launcelot Gobbo. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,
  and have a desire, as my father shall specify—

• Old Gobbo. His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
  are scarce cater-cousins—

• Launcelot Gobbo. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having 695
  done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I
  hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you—

• Old Gobbo. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon
  your worship, and my suit is—

• Launcelot Gobbo. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as 700
  your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,
  though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

• Bassanio. One speak for both. What would you?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Serve you, sir.

• Old Gobbo. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 705

• Bassanio. I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit:
  Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
  And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
  To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
  The follower of so poor a gentleman. 710

• Launcelot Gobbo. The old proverb is very well parted between my
  master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of
  God, sir, and he hath enough.

• Bassanio. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
  Take leave of thy old master and inquire 715
  My lodging out. Give him a livery
  More guarded than his fellows': see it done.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have
  ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in
  Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear 720
  upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to,
  here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifle
  of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
  widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
  man: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be 725
  in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
  here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
  woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,
  come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]

• Bassanio. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
  These things being bought and orderly bestow'd,
  Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
  My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

• Leonardo. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 735

[Enter GRATIANO]

• Gratiano. Where is your master?

• Leonardo. Yonder, sir, he walks.

[Exit]

• Gratiano. Signior Bassanio! 740

• Bassanio. Gratiano!

• Gratiano. I have a suit to you.

• Bassanio. You have obtain'd it.

• Gratiano. You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

• Bassanio. Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano; 745
  Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;
  Parts that become thee happily enough
  And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
  But where thou art not known, why, there they show
  Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 750
  To allay with some cold drops of modesty
  Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
  I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
  And lose my hopes.

• Gratiano. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 755
  If I do not put on a sober habit,
  Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
  Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
  Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
  Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,' 760
  Use all the observance of civility,
  Like one well studied in a sad ostent
  To please his grandam, never trust me more.

• Bassanio. Well, we shall see your bearing.

• Gratiano. Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me 765
  By what we do to-night.

• Bassanio. No, that were pity:
  I would entreat you rather to put on
  Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
  That purpose merriment. But fare you well: 770
  I have some business.

• Gratiano. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
  But we will visit you at supper-time.

[Exeunt]

Act II, Scene 3

The same. A room in SHYLOCK’S house.

[Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT]

• Jessica. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
  Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
  Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
  But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:
  And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 780
  Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
  Give him this letter; do it secretly;
  And so farewell: I would not have my father
  See me in talk with thee.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful 785
  pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play
  the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,
  adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my
  manly spirit: adieu.

• Jessica. Farewell, good Launcelot. 790
  [Exit Launcelot]
  Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
  To be ashamed to be my father's child!
  But though I am a daughter to his blood,
  I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 795
  If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
  Become a Christian and thy loving wife.

[Exit]

Act II, Scene 4

The same. A street.

[Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

• Lorenzo. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 800
  Disguise us at my lodging and return,
  All in an hour.

• Gratiano. We have not made good preparation.

• Salarino. We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

• Salanio. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, 805
  And better in my mind not undertook.

• Lorenzo. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
  To furnish us.
  [Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter]
  Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 810

• Launcelot Gobbo. An it shall please you to break up
  this, it shall seem to signify.

• Lorenzo. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
  And whiter than the paper it writ on
  Is the fair hand that writ. 815

• Gratiano. Love-news, in faith.

• Launcelot Gobbo. By your leave, sir.

• Lorenzo. Whither goest thou?

• Launcelot Gobbo. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
  Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 820

• Lorenzo. Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
  I will not fail her; speak it privately.
  Go, gentlemen,
  [Exit Launcelot]
  Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? 825
  I am provided of a torch-bearer.

• Salanio. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

• Salanio. And so will I.

• Lorenzo. Meet me and Gratiano
  At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 830

• Salarino. 'Tis good we do so.

[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO]

• Gratiano. Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

• Lorenzo. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
  How I shall take her from her father's house, 835
  What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,
  What page's suit she hath in readiness.
  If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
  It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
  And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 840
  Unless she do it under this excuse,
  That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
  Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
  Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

[Exeunt]

Act II, Scene 5

The same. Before SHYLOCK’S house.

[Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT]

• Shylock. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
  The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:—
  What, Jessica!—thou shalt not gormandise,
  As thou hast done with me:—What, Jessica!— 850
  And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;—
  Why, Jessica, I say!

• Launcelot Gobbo. Why, Jessica!

• Shylock. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

• Launcelot Gobbo. Your worship was wont to tell me that 855
  I could do nothing without bidding.

[Enter Jessica]

• Jessica. Call you? what is your will?

• Shylock. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
  There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? 860
  I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
  But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
  The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
  Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
  There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 865
  For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

• Launcelot Gobbo. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect
  your reproach.

• Shylock. So do I his.

• Launcelot Gobbo. An they have conspired together, I will not say you 870
  shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not
  for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on
  Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning,
  falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four
  year, in the afternoon. 875

• Shylock. What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
  Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
  And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
  Clamber not you up to the casements then,
  Nor thrust your head into the public street 880
  To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
  But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
  Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
  My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
  I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: 885
  But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
  Say I will come.

• Launcelot Gobbo. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at
  window, for all this, There will come a Christian
  boy, will be worth a Jewess' eye. 890

[Exit]

• Shylock. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?

• Jessica. His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

• Shylock. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
  Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 895
  More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
  Therefore I part with him, and part with him
  To one that would have him help to waste
  His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
  Perhaps I will return immediately: 900
  Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
  Fast bind, fast find;
  A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

[Exit]

• Jessica. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, 905
  I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

[Exit]

Act II, Scene 6

The same.

[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued]

• Gratiano. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
  Desired us to make stand. 910

• Salarino. His hour is almost past.

• Gratiano. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
  For lovers ever run before the clock.

• Salarino. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
  To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 915
  To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

• Gratiano. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
  With that keen appetite that he sits down?
  Where is the horse that doth untread again
  His tedious measures with the unbated fire 920
  That he did pace them first? All things that are,
  Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
  How like a younker or a prodigal
  The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
  Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 925
  How like the prodigal doth she return,
  With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
  Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

• Salarino. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

[Enter LORENZO]

• Lorenzo. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
  Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
  When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
  I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;
  Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within? 935

[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes]

• Jessica. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
  Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

• Lorenzo. Lorenzo, and thy love.

• Jessica. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed, 940
  For who love I so much? And now who knows
  But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

• Lorenzo. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

• Jessica. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
  I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 945
  For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
  But love is blind and lovers cannot see
  The pretty follies that themselves commit;
  For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
  To see me thus transformed to a boy. 950

• Lorenzo. Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

• Jessica. What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
  They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
  Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
  And I should be obscured. 955

• Lorenzo. So are you, sweet,
  Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
  But come at once;
  For the close night doth play the runaway,
  And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 960

• Jessica. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
  With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

[Exit above]

• Gratiano. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

• Lorenzo. Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 965
  For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
  And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
  And true she is, as she hath proved herself,
  And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,
  Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 970
  [Enter JESSICA, below]
  What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
  Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino]

[Enter ANTONIO]

• Antonio. Who's there?

• Gratiano. Signior Antonio!

• Antonio. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
  'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.
  No masque to-night: the wind is come about; 980
  Bassanio presently will go aboard:
  I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

• Gratiano. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight
  Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

[Exeunt]

Act II, Scene 7

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.

• Prince of Morocco. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 990
  '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.' 995
  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.

• Prince of Morocco. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
  I will survey the inscriptions back again. 1000
  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: 1005
  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, 1010
  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 1015
  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. 1020
  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, 1025
  To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:
  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 1030
  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 1035
  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 1040
  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: 1045
  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 unlocks the golden casket]

• Prince of Morocco. O hell! what have we here? 1050
  A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
  There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
  [Reads]
  All that glitters is not gold;
  Often have you heard that told: 1055
  Many a man his life hath sold
  But my outside to behold:
  Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
  Had you been as wise as bold,
  Young in limbs, in judgment old, 1060
  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 1065
  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]

Act II, Scene 8

Venice. A street.

[Enter SALARINO and SALANIO]

• Salarino. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
  With him is Gratiano gone along;
  And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

• Salanio. The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke, 1075
  Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

• Salarino. 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: 1080
  Besides, Antonio certified the duke
  They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

• Salanio. I never heard a passion so confused,
  So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
  As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: 1085
  '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, stolen from me by my daughter! 1090
  And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
  Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;
  She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.'

• Salarino. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
  Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 1095

• Salanio. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
  Or he shall pay for this.

• Salarino. Marry, well remember'd.
  I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
  Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 1100
  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.

• Salanio. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; 1105
  Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

• Salarino. 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 answer'd, 'Do not so; 1110
  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 1115
  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 affection wondrous sensible 1120
  He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

• Salanio. 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. 1125

• Salarino. Do we so.

[Exeunt]

Act II, Scene 9

Belmont. A room in PORTIA’S house.

[Enter NERISSA with a Servitor]

• Nerissa. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
  The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 1130
  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, 1135
  Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
  But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
  You must be gone from hence immediately.

• Prince of Arragon. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
  First, never to unfold to any one 1140
  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. 1145

• Portia. To these injunctions every one doth swear
  That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

• Prince of 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.' 1150
  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, 1155
  Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
  Which pries not to the 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, 1160
  Because I will not jump with common spirits
  And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
  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:' 1165
  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 undeserved dignity.
  O, that estates, degrees and offices 1170
  Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
  Were purchased 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 glean'd 1175
  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, 1180
  And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

[He opens the silver casket]

• Portia. Too long a pause for that which you find there.

• Prince of Arragon. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
  Presenting me a schedule! I will read it. 1185
  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? 1190

• Portia. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
  And of opposed natures.

• Prince of Arragon. What is here?
  [Reads]
  The fire seven times tried this: 1195
  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, I wis, 1200
  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 1205
  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. 1210

[Exeunt Arragon and train]

• Portia. Thus hath the candle singed 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, 1215
  Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

• Portia. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

[Enter a Servant]

• Servant. Where is my lady?

• Portia. Here: what would my lord? 1220

• Servant. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
  A young Venetian, one that comes before
  To signify the approaching of his lord;
  From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,
  To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 1225
  Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
  So likely an ambassador of love:
  A day in April never came so sweet,
  To show how costly summer was at hand,
  As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 1230

• Portia. No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
  Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
  Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.
  Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see
  Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 1235

• Nerissa. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

[Exeunt]