Por.
Go, draw aside the Curtain, and discover
The several Caskets to this Noble Prince.
Now make your Choice. [Three Caskets are discovered.

Mor.
The first of Gold, who this Inscription bears,
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many Men desire.
The second Silver, which this Promise carries,
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull Lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do chuse the right?

Por.
The one of them contains my Picture, Prince,
If you chuse 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 chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give for what? 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 ought for Lead.
What says the Silver with her virgin hue?
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.

As much as he deserves; pause there, Morrochius,
And weigh thy value with an even hand,
If thou beest rated by the estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the Lady;
And yet to be afraid of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of my self.
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 farther, but chuse here?
Let's see once more this Saying grav'd in Gold.
Who chuseth 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 Hircanian Desarts and the vast Wilds
Of wide Arabia are as Thorough-Fares now
For Princes to come view fair Portia.
The Watery Kingdom, whose ambitious Head
Spits in the Face of Heav'n, is no Bar
To stop the foreign Spirits, but they come,
As o'er a Brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contain her heav'nly Picture.
Is't like that Lead contains her? 'Twere Damnation
To think so base a thought; it were too gross
To rib her Searcloth 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 Jem
Was set in worse than Gold! They have in England
A Coin that bears the Figure of an Angel
Stampt in Gold, but that's insculpt upon:
But here an Angel in a Golden Bed
Lyes all within. Deliver me the Key;
Here do I chuse, and thrive I as I may.

Por.
There take it, Prince, and if my Form lye there,
Then I am yours. [Unlocking the Gold Casket.

Mor.
O Hell! What have we here, a carrion Death,
Within whose empty Eye there is a written Scrowl;

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 Timber do Worms infold:
Had you been as Wise as Bold,
Young in Limbs, in Judgment old,
Your Answer had not been inscrold,
Fare you well, your Suit is cold.

Mor.
Cold indeed, and Labour lost,
Then farewel 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, go;
Let all of his Complexion chuse me so. [Exeunt.

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