Bas.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted ^note and corrupt,
But, being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow

Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice ^note so simple, but assumes
Some mark ^note of virtue on his outward parts.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars;
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk?
And these assume but valour's excrement,
To render them redouted. Look on beauty,
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature,
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped snaky golden locks,
Which make ^{note note} such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The scull that bred them in the sepulcher.
Thus ornament is but the gilded ^note shore
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou ^note gaudy gold,
Hard food for ^note Midas, I will none of thee:
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meager lead,
Which rather threaten'st than dost promise ought,
Thy plainness ^note moves me more than eloquence,
And here choose I; Joy be the consequence!

Por.
How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-ey'd jealousy.

O love, be moderate, allay thy extasy,
In measure rain thy ^note joy, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!

Bas.
Ha! what find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demy-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
Parted with sugar ^note breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her eyes,—
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfurnish'd ^note: Yet, look, how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the † scrowl,
The continent and summary of my fortune.

You, that choose not by the view,
Chance as fair, and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content, and seek no new.
If you be well pleas'd with this,
And hold your fortune for your blis,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kis.
A gentle scrowl;—Fair lady, by your leave:
I come by note, to give, and to receive.
Like one of two contending in a prize,

That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause, and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of ^note praise be his or no;
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratify'd by you.

Por.
You see me, lord Bassanio ^note, where I stand,
Such as I am: though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebl'd twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich; that to ^note stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of something; ^note14Q0278 which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractic'd:
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this ^note, in that
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours,
Is now converted: but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord; ^note [give them with this &dagger2; ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,

And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

Bas.
Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins:
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Exprest, and not exprest: But when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead.

Ner.
My lord, and lady, it is now our time,
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper,
To cry, good joy; Good joy, my lord, and lady!

Gra.
My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me:
And, when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
Even at that time I may be marry'd too.

Bas.
With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

Gra.
I thank your lordship; you have got ^note me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission14Q0279
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the caskets ^note there;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing here, until I sweat again;
And swearing, 'till my very roof was ^note dry
With oaths of love; at last,—if promise last,—

I got a promise of this fair one here,
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Atchiev'd her mistress.

Por.

Is this true, Nerissa?

Ner.

Madam, it is, so ^note you stand pleas'd withal.

Bas.

And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

Gra.

Yes, 'faith, my lord.

Bas.

Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.

Gra.

We'll play with them, the first boy, for a thousand ducats.

Ner.

What, and stake down?

Gra.
No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down.—
But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel?
What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio? Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerino.

Bas.
Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome:—By your leave,
I bid my very ^note friends, and countrymen,
Sweet Portia, welcome.

Por.
So do I, my lord;
They are entirely welcome.

Lor.
I thank your honour:—For my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have seen you here;
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
To come with him along.

Sal.
I did, my lord;
And I ^note have reason for it. Signior Antonio
Commends him to you. delivering a Letter.

Bas.
Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

Sal.
Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will show ^note you his estate.

Gra.
Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger, bid her welcome.—
Your hand, Salerio; What's the news from Venice?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know, he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

Sal.
I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

Por.
There are some shrowd ^note contents in yon' same paper,
That steals the colour from Bassanio's ^note cheek:
Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?—
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself,
And I ^note must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.

Bas.
O sweet Portia,
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love to you,
I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart: When I told you
My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
Engag'd my friend to his meer enemy,
To feed my means. Here † is a letter, lady;
The paper as the body of my friend,

And every word in it a gaping wound
Issuing life-blood.—But is it true, Salerio?
Have all ^note his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,
And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?

Sal.
Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that, if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it: Never did I know
A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
So keen and greedy to confound a man:
He plies the duke at morning, and at night;
And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
The duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.

Jes.
When I was with him, I have heard him swear,
To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen,
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh,
Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,
If law, authority, and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.

Por.
Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble?

Bas.
The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best-condition'd and unweary'd ^note spirit
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,

Than any that draws breath in Italy.

Por.
What sum owes he the Jew?

Bas.
For me, three thousand ducats.

Por.
What, no more?
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Should lose a hair through Bassanio's ^note fault.
First, go with me to church, and call me wife;
And then away to Venice to your friend;
For never shall you lye by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
When it is pay'd, bring your true friend along:
My maid Nerissa, and myself, meantime,
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
Bid your friends welcome, show ^note a merry cheer;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
But let me hear the letter of your friend.

Bas. [reads.]

Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarry'd, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear'd between you and me, if I might but ^note see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.

Por. ^note
O love, dispatch all business, and be gone.

Bas.
Since I have your good leave to go away,
  I will make haste: but, 'till I come again,
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,
  Nor rest ^note be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt.