The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare

If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond,
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew.

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it;
Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

Shy. O, father Abraham, what these Christians
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this:
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?

A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forth with at the notary's;
Give him direction for this merry bond,
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently
I will be with you.

are;

[Exit.

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew.
This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on; in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion, when he roars for prey,
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;

And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that, which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

Por. You must take your chance;

And either not attempt to choose at all,

Or swear, before you choose,-if you choose wrong,
Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advised!

Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance! Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made.

Laun. 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 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 fiends bids me pack; via! says the fiend; away! says the 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,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,say

SCENE I.-Belmont. Aroom in Portia's house. Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and other of her Attend-I, you counsel well: to be ruled by my conscience, I

ants.

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,
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,
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 lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen!
Por. 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:
But, if my father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd 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,

For my affection.

Mor. 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,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,-
would out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,

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 himself: certainly, the
Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscien-
ce, 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 at your commandment, I will run.
Enter old GOBBO, with a basket.
Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which is
the way to master Jew's?

Laun. [Aside.] Oheavens, this is my true begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,knows me not:-I will try conclusions with him. Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next turning, but, 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.

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

Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ?--Mark me now; [aside.] now will I raise the waters: you of young master Launcelot?

talk

Gob. 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.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you; talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob. Of Launcelot, au't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master 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.

Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.

Laun. Dollook like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?-Do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of 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, in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up; Iam sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall specify,--
Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's re-
verence) are scarce cater-cousins:-

Laun. 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 be.

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew
having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father,
being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you,-
Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow
upon your worship; and my suit is,-
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself,
as your worship shall know by this honest old man;
and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor man,
my father.

Gob. I cannot think you are my son.
Laun. Iknow 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.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am sure he had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; How 'gree you now?

Bass. One speak for both ;-what would you?
Laun. Serve you, sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass. 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.

Laun. 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."

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy

son:

Take leave of thy old master, and enquire My lodging out!-Give him a livery To his Followers. More guarded than his fellows. See it done! Laun. Father, in :-I cannot get a service, no ; I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well; [Looking on his palm.] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear 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 in peril of my life with the edge of a featherbed;-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.

Laun. 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 famish'd in 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 fortune! here comes the man;-to him, father: for I am a Jew, if serve the Jew any longer.

[Exeunt Launcelot and old Gobbo. Bass. 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 estem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go! Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Enter GRATIANO. Gra. Where is your master? Leon. Youder, sir, he walks. Gra. Signior Bassanio,Bass. Gratiano!

[Exit Leonardo.

Gra. I have a suit to you. Bass. You have obtain❜d it. Gra. You must not deny me; I must go with you Belmont.

Bass.Why, then you must.-But hear thee,Gratiano; 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, také pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behaviour, I be misconstrued in the place I go to, And lose my hopes.

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 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;

Use all the observance of civility,

Like one well studied in a sad ostent

To please his grandam, never trust me more. Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing.

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all: she hath directed,
How I shall take her from her father's house;
What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with;

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me What page's suit she hath in readiness.

By what we do to-night.

Bass. 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,

I have some business.

SCENE III.-The same. A room in Shylock's house.

Enter JESSICA and LAUNCelot.

Jes. 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
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 talk with thee.

Laun. Adieu!-tears exhibit my tongue.-Most beautiful pagan,-most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit; adieu!

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot!-
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: 0 Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

SCENE IV.-The same. A street.

[Exit.

Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Lor. Nay, we will slink away at supper-time; Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an hour.

Gra. We have not made good preparation. Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd; And better, in my mind, not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock; we have two hours To furnish us:—

Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter. Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.

Lor. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on,

Is the fair hand that writ.

Gra. Love-news, in faith. Laun. By your leave, sir! Lor. Whither goest thon?

Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. Lor. 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 to-night? I am provided of a torch-bearer. Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. Salan. And so will I.

Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano,

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

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,
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.

SCENE V.-The same. Before Shylock's house. Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT.

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

Laun. Why, Jessica!

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing without bidding.

Enter JESSICA.
Jes. Call you? What is your
will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon

The prodigal Christiau.-Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house!-I am right loath to go;
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.
Laun. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth
expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not say, you 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, fallng out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the afternoon.

Shy. What! are there masques? Hear me,Jessica:
you
Lock up my doors: and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street,
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces;
But stop my house's cars, 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:
But I will go.-Go you before me, sirrah:
Say, I will come.

Laun. I will go before, sir.-
Mistress, look out at window, for all this;
There will come a Christianby,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

[Exit Laun.

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress; nothing else. Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder, Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me Therefore I part with him; and part with him To one, that I would have him help to waste His borrow'd purse.-Well, Jessica, go in; Perhaps, I will return immediately; Do, as I bid you,

Shut doors after you; Fast bind, fast find;

Salar.'Tis good we do so. [Exeunt Salar. and Salan. A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.-The same.

Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Desir'd us to make stand.

Salar. His hour is almost past.

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

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

Gra. 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,
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!
How like the prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

Enter LORENZO.

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode!
Not I, but my allairs, 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?

Enter JESSICA above, in boy's clothes.
Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

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

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that

thou art.

Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much asham'd 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.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. Jes. 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the Prince of Morocco, and both their trains. Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince:-Now make your choice!

Mor. 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?
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:
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,

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
[Exit, from above.
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily
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 prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Enter JESSICA, below.

What, art thou come?-On, gentlemen, away;

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 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..
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 ifI 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:
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 through-fares now,
For princes to come view fair Portia :
The wat'ry 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 immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was get 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! ·

Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket.

Mor. O hell! what have we here?

A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll? I'll read thee writing.

All that glisters is not gold,

Often have you heard that told:

Many a man his life hath sold,

But outside to behold.
my

Gilded tombs do worms unfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed; and labour lost;

Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost.

Portia, adien! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
Por. A gentle riddance. -Draw the curtains,
Let all of his complexion choose me so !

SCENE VIII.-Venice. A street.
Enter SALARINO and SALANIO.

[Exit.
go;
[Exeunt.

Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.
Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke;
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Salar. 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 certify'd the duke,
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets :
My daughter!-Omy ducats!-O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian?-Omy Christian ducats!
Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
Asealed bag, two sealed 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!
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.

Salar. Marry, well remember'd.
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday;
Who told me,- in the narrow seas, that part
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.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Salar. 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,
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:
Bemerry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince!
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to any one,

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.

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

Ar. 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.
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,
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,
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.
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,

Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare?
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
How many be commanded, that command?
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 the key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

Por. Too long a pause for that, which you find there.
Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule? I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia !
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings!

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