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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 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.

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 obscur'd.


So are you, sweet, Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

But come at once;

For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.

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; Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. [Exit with Jessica and Salarino.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio?

Ant. 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,

Bassanio presently will go aboard:

I have sent twenty out to seek for


Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight, Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exe. 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


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;
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 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:
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 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 rib1 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 set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin, that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in goid: but that's insculp'd2 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


Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. "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:

(1) Enclose.

(2) Engraven.

Many a man his life hath sold,
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 :

Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost.-Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart

To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit. Por. A gentle riddance :- -Draw the curtains,


Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.-Venice. A street.

larino and Salanio.

Enter Sa

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


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!-O my ducats!-O my daughter!
Fled with a Christian?-Omy Christian ducats!—
Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed 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'd1 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,
Slubber2 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
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
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Salan. 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.


(1) Conversed.

Do we so. [Exeunt.

(2) To slubber is to do a thing carelessly.

(3) Shows, tokens.

(4) The heaviness he is fond of.

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