William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William Shakespeare

Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!

       Justice! the law! my ducats and my daughter!

       A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,

       Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!

       And jewels! two stones, two rich and precious stones,

       Stol’n by my daughter! Justice! find the girl!

       She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.’

       SALARINO.

       Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,

       Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

       SALANIO.

       Let good Antonio look he keep his day,

       Or he shall pay for this.

       SALARINO.

       Marry, well remember’d.

       I reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,

       Who told me,—in the narrow seas that part

       The French and English,—there miscarried

       A vessel of our country richly fraught.

       I thought upon Antonio when he told me,

       And wish’d in silence that it were not his.

       SALANIO.

       You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;

       Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

       SALARINO.

       A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.

       I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:

       Bassanio told him he would make some speed

       Of his return. He answer’d ‘Do not so;

       Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,

       But stay the very riping of the time;

       And for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,

       Let it not enter in your mind of love:

       Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts

       To courtship, and such fair ostents of love

       As shall conveniently become you there.’

       And even there, his eye being big with tears,

       Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,

       And with affection wondrous sensible

       He wrung Bassanio’s hand; and so they parted.

       SALANIO.

       I think he only loves the world for him.

       I pray thee, let us go and find him out,

       And quicken his embraced heaviness

       With some delight or other.

       SALARINO.

       Do we so.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE 9. Belmont. A room in PORTIA’s house.

       [Enter NERISSA, with a SERVITOR.]

       NERISSA.

       Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;

       The Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath,

       And comes to his election presently.

       [Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their Trains.]

       PORTIA.

       Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince:

       If you choose that wherein I am contain’d,

       Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d;

       But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,

       You must be gone from hence immediately.

       ARRAGON.

       I am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:

       First, never to unfold to any one

       Which casket ‘twas I chose; next, if I fail

       Of the right casket, never in my life

       To woo a maid in way of marriage;

       Lastly,

       If I do fail in fortune of my choice,

       Immediately to leave you and be gone.

       PORTIA.

       To these injunctions every one doth swear

       That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

       ARRAGON.

       And so have I address’d me. Fortune now

       To my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.

       ‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’

       You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.

       What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:

       ‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’

       What many men desire! that ‘many’ may be meant

       By the fool multitude, that choose by show,

       Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;

       Which pries not to th’ interior, but, like the martlet,

       Builds in the weather on the outward wall,

       Even in the force and road of casualty.

       I will not choose what many men desire,

       Because I will not jump with common spirits

       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 glean’d

       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.

       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