Por. Go draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice. Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 005 ‘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.’ 010 How shall I know if I do choose the right? Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince: 012 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see; I will survey the inscriptions back again. 015 What says this leaden casket? ‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’ Must give,—for what? for lead? hazard for lead? 018 This casket threatens. Men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages: 020 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; 021 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.’ 024 As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, 025 And weigh thy value with an even hand: 026 If thou be’st rated by thy estimation, Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady: 029 And yet to be afeard of my deserving 030 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; 034 But more than these, in love I do deserve. 035 What if I stray’d no further, but chose here? Let’s see once more this saying graved 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, 040 To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint: 041 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 045 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 damnation 050 To think so base a thought: it were too gross 051 To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think in silver she’s immured, Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem 055 Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin that bears the figure of an angel 057 Stamped in gold, but that’s insculp’d upon; But here an angel in a golden bed Lies all within. Deliver me the key: 060 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, 062 Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. Mor. O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 064 There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing. [Reads. 065 All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: 069 Gilded tombs do worms infold. 070 Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, 072 Your answer had not been inscroll’d: Fare you well; your suit is cold. Cold, indeed; and labour lost: 075 Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart 077 To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets. Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt.