The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 342

GRATIANO. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo Desired us to make stand.

SALERIO. His hour is almost past.

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

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

GRATIANO. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast With that keen appet.i.te 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 enjoyed.

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

SALERIO. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.

LORENZO. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode!

Not I, but my affairs, 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

JESSICA. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO. Lorenzo, and thy love.

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

LORENZO. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA. 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.

LORENZO. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

JESSICA. 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.

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

But come at once, For the close night doth play the runaway, And we are stay'd for at Ba.s.sanio's feast.

JESSICA. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some moe ducats, and be with you straight.

Exit above

GRATIANO. Now, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.

LORENZO. 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 SALERIO

Enter ANTONIO

ANTONIO. Who's there?

GRATIANO. Signior Antonio?

ANTONIO. 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; Ba.s.sanio presently will go aboard; I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANO. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight Than to be under sail and gone to-night. Exeunt

SCENE VII.

Belmont. PORTIA's house

Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains

PORTIA. Go draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this n.o.ble Prince.

Now make your choice.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO. 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?

PORTIA. The one of them contains my picture, Prince; If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Some G.o.d direct my judgment! Let me see; I will survey th' 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 beest 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 farther, 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 throughfares 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 d.a.m.nation 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 tried 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 Stamp'd 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!

PORTIA. There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket]

PRINCE OF MOROCCO. O h.e.l.l! 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; Many a man his life hath sold But 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 with his train. Flourish of cornets PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt