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BASSANIO: Thus ornament is but the guilèd shore To a most dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. [ Aloud ] Therefore, thou gaudy gold, Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee. [ To the silver casket ] Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge ‘Tween man and man. But thou, thou meager lead, Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught, Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, And here choose I. Joy be the consequence! PORTIA [ aside ]: How all the other passions fleet to air, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, And shudd’ring fear, and green-eyed jealousy. O love, be moderate! Allay thy ecstasy. In measure rain thy joy; scant this excess. I feel too much thy blessing: make it less, For fear I surfeit. [BASSANIO opens the leaden casket ] BASSANIO: What find I here? Fair Portia’s counterfeit. What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Of whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion? Here are severed lips Parted with sugar breath. So sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider, and hath woven A golden mesh t’untrap the hearts of men Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes — How could he see to do them? Having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his And leave itself unfurnished. Yet look how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. “You that choose not by the view Chance as fair and choose as true. Since this fortune falls to you, Be content, and seek no new. If you be well pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss.” A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, I come by note to give and to receive, Like one of two contending in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes, Hearing applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no. So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so, As doubtful whether what I see be true Until confirmed, signed, ratified by you. PORTIA: You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand. Such as I am. - William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
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