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And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.

Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house!

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'

And well said too; for who shall go about

To cozen fortune, and be honourable

Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume

To wear an undeserved dignity.

O that estates, degrees, and offices,

Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear honour

Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!

How many then should cover that stand bare!

How many be commanded that command!

How much low peasantry would then be gleaned

From the true seed of honour! and how much honour

Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,

To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice.

'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'

I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,

And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

[He opens the silver casket]

PORTIA.

[Aside] Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON.

What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot

Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.

How much unlike art thou to Portia!

How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!

'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'

Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?

Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?

PORTIA.

To offend and judge are distinct offices

And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON.

What is here? [Reads]

'The fire seven times tried this;

Seven times tried that judgment is

That did never choose amiss.

Some there be that shadows kiss,

Such have but a shadow's bliss.

There be fools alive iwis

Silver'd o'er, and so was this.

Take what wife you will to bed,

I will ever be your head.

So be gone; you are sped.'

Still more fool I shall appear

By the time I linger here.

With one fool's head I came to woo,

But I go away with two.

Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,

Patiently to bear my wroth. Exit with his train

PORTIA.

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.

O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,

They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA.

The ancient saying is no heresy:

Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA.

Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Enter a SERVANT

SERVANT.

Where is my lady?

PORTIA.

Here; what would my lord?

SERVANT.

Madam, there is alighted at your gate

A young Venetian, one that comes before

To signify th' approaching of his lord,

From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;

To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,

Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen

So likely an ambassador of love.

A day in April never came so sweet

To show how costly summer was at hand

As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA.

No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard

Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,

Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.

Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see

Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA.

Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be! Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE I. Venice. A street

Enter SOLANIO and SALERIO

SOLANIO.

Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALERIO.

Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath a ship

of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins I think

they call the place, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the

carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my

gossip Report be an honest woman of her word.

SOLANIO.

I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapp'd

ginger or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a

third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or

crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the

honest Antonio- O that I had a title good enough to keep his name

company!-

SALERIO.

Come, the full stop.

SOLANIO.

Ha! What sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.

SALERIO.

I would it might prove the end of his losses.

SOLANIO.

Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer,

for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

Enter