Por.
Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The sev'ral caskets to this noble Prince.
Now make your choice. [Three caskets are discover'd.

Mor.
The first of gold, which 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 th'inscriptions back again;
What says this leaden casket?
Who chuseth 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 not 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, Morocchius,
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 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 chose 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.
Th' Hircanian deserts and the vastie wilds
Of wide Arabia are as thorough-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 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 undervalu'd 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 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 scrowl:
I'll read the writing.

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 wood may worms infold:

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.

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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