Scene II

[Belmont]

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, and all their train.

PORTIA:

I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two,
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
I lose your company; therefore, forbear awhile:
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,)
I would not lose you; and you know yourself,(5)
Hate counsels not in such a quality:
But lest you should not understand me well,
(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,)
I would detain you here some month or two,
Before you venture for me. I could teach you(10)
How to choose right, but then I am forsworn;
So will I never be: so may you miss me;
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
They have o'erlook'd me, and divided me;(15)
One half of me is yours, the other half yours,—
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
And so, all yours: O! these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights;
And so, though yours, not yours.—Prove it so,(20)
Let fortune go to hell for it,—not I.
I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time;
To eke it, and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.

PORTIA:

Please wait; wait a day or two
Before you choose; because, in choosing wrong,
I lose your company; so wait a while.
I have a feeling, but it is not love, that
I would not lose you; and you yourself
Don’t hate premonitions like that.
But for fear that you don’t understand me well,—
And still a maiden only has thought for a voice,—
I would keep you here for a month or two
Before you gamble for me. I could teach you
How to choose right, but then I’m breaking my oath;
I’ll never do that; you may not win me;
And if you don’t, you'll make me wish I had sinned,
That I had broken my oath. Curse your eyes,
They have looked me over and divided me:
One half of me is yours, the other half is also yours,
My own love, I would say; but if my love, then yours,
And so everything yours. Oh! these wicked times
Put up bars between the owners and their rights;
And so, though I am yours, I am not yours. Prove it like that,
Let fortune come on hell for it, not me.
I’m talking too long, but it’s to balance the time,
To lengthen it, and to draw it out in length,
To keep you from choosing.

BASSANIO:

Let me choose;(25)
For, as I am, I live upon the rack.

BASSANIO:

Let me choose;
Because as I am, I live in torture.

PORTIA:

Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess
What treason there is mingled with your love.

PORTIA:

In torture, Bassanio! Then confess
What evil is there mingled with your love.

BASSANIO:

None, but that ugly treason of mistrust,
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:(30)
There may as well be amity and life
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

BASSANIO:

None but that ugly evil of mistrust,
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
There may as well be friendship and life
Between snow and fire as evil and my love.

PORTIA:

Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
Where men enforced do speak anything.

PORTIA:

Yes, but I’m afraid you speak out of torture,
Where men will say anything.

BASSANIO:

Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.(35)

BASSANIO:

PORTIA:

Well, then, confess, and live.

PORTIA:

Well then, confess and live.

BASSANIO:

Confess, and love,
Had been the very sum of my confession:
O happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance!(40)
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

BASSANIO:

“Confess” and “love”
Have been the very sum of my confession:
Oh, happy torment, when my torturer
Teaches me answers for escape from evil!
But let me go to my fortune and the chests.

PORTIA:

Away then: I am lock'd in one of them;
If you do love me, you will find me out.
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof.
Let music sound, while he doth make his choice;(45)
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
Fading in music: that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream,
And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
And what is music then? Then music is(50)
Even as the flourish, when true subjects bow
To a new-crowned monarch: such it is,
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day,
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,(55)
With no less presence, but with much more love,
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice,
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,(60)
With bleared visages, come forth to view
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!
Live thou, I live:—with much-much more dismay
I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray.

Here music. A song whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself.

Tell me where is fancy bred,(65)
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?

Reply, Reply.

It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies(70)
In the cradle where it lies;
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it,—
Ding, dong, bell.

PORTIA:

Away, then! I am locked in one of them:
If you do love me, you will find me out.
Nerissa and the rest, stand away;
Let music sound while he makes his choice;
Then, if he loses, he will die as a swan,
Fading in music: so that the comparison
May be extended, my eyes shall be the stream
And watery deathbed for him. He may win;
And what is music then? Then music is
Sounds as the trumpets when true subjects bow
To a new-crowned king; music is
Those sweet sounds at sunrise
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
With no less confidence, but with much more love,
Than young Alcides went to redeem
The sacrifice of young women made by howling Troy
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
With tear-stained faces coming out to view
The outcome of the event. Go, Hercules!
If you live, I live. I view the fight with much, much
more sadness than you that are fighting.

Tell me where is fancy bred,
In the heart or in the head,
How begot, how nourished?
Answer; answer.
It is born in the eyes,
Fed with gazing; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let’s all ring fancy's knell:
I'll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell.

ALL:

Ding, dong, bell.(75)

ALL:

Ding, dong, bell.

BASSANIO:

So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
But, being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,(80)
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.(85)
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;
And these assume but valour's excrement(90)
To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature,
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped snaky golden locks,(95)
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The skull, that bred them, in the sepulchre.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore(100)
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. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee:(105)
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
'Tween man and man. But thou, thou meagre lead,
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught,
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,
And here choose I. Joy be the consequence!(110)

BASSANIO:

These chests may not be what they seem outside:
The world is still tricked by ornament.
In law, what plea is so tainted and corrupt
That, being delivered with a gracious voice,
Obscures the evil underneath? In religion,
What damned error is there that some sober face
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with a beautiful ornament?
There is no vice so simple that it takes on
Some mark of virtue on outside.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, still wear the beards of Hercules and
frowning Mars on their chins,
Who, if searched inside, would have livers as white as milk;
And the only thing these men do to look fearful
Is to put on velvet clothes Look on beauty
And you shall see it’s bought by the pound:
Which works a miracle in nature,
Making them who wear most of it look the lightest:
So are those crisp, snaky, golden locks
Which are playing games with the wind,
On made-up beauty, often known
Actually to be wigs of human hair,
The head that bred them is in the tomb.
Thus decoration is only the deceived shore
To a most dangerous sea; the beautiful scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which skillful times dress in
To fool the wisest men. So, you gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I don’t anything from you;
And not from you either, you pale and common exchange
Between man and man: but you, you lowly lead,
Which threatens rather than promises anything,
Your plainness moves me more than any speech,
And I choose you: joy be the result!

PORTIA:

How all the other passions fleet to air,
As, doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
And shudd'ring fear, and green-eyed jealousy.
O Love, be moderate. Allay thy ecstasy.
In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess;(115)
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!

PORTIA:

How all the other passions fly to the air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy!
Oh, love! behave; hold back your thrills;
Be happy slowly; limit this excess;
I feel your blessing too much; make it less,
Because I’m afraid of having too much joy!

BASSANIO:

What find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?(120)
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd 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(125)
A golden mesh to entrap 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 unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far,(130)
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,(135)
Chance as fair, and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content, and seek no new.
If you be well pleas'd with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,(140)
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,(145)
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;(150)
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

BASSANIO:

What do I find here?

Beautiful Portia's picture! What minor god
Has come so near to making a woman? Do these eyes move?
Or do they seem to be moving
Because they are riding on my eyeballs?,
Here are parted lips,
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should tear such sweet friends apart. Here
The painter plays the spider in her hair, and has woven
A golden mesh to capture the hearts of men
Faster than gnats are caught in cobwebs: but her eyes!—
How could he see to do them? Having made one eye,
I think it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself poor: yet look, how far
The body of my praise insults this shadow
By valuing it less, so far this shadow
Limps behind the substance. Here's the scroll,
The world and summary of my luck.
“'You that choose not by looks,
Gamble as fair and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content and seek no other new one.
If you are well pleased with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn to where your lady is
And claim her with a loving kiss.”
A gentle scroll. Beautiful lady, excuse me;

I come off to the side, to give and to receive.
Like one of two contenders for a prize,
That thinks he has done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise are his or not;
So, three times beautiful lady, I stand I, even like this,
As doubtful of whether what I see is true,
Until it is confirmed, signed, and ratified by you.