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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.”

       Sal.

      Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,

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

       Sol.

      Let good Antonio look he keep his day,

      Or he shall pay for this.

       Sal.

      Marry, well rememb’red.

      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.

       Sol.

      You were best to tell Antonio what you hear,

      Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

       Sal.

      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 answered, “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.

       Sol.

      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.

       Sal.

      Do we so.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

[Scene IX]

       Enter Nerissa and a Servitor.

       Ner.

      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 cornets.] Enter [the Prince of] Arragon, his Train, and Portia.

       Por.

      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.

       Ar.

      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.

       Por.

      To these injunctions every one doth swear

      That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

       Ar.

      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 honorable

      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 honor

      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 honor? and how much honor

      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 unlocks the silver casket.]

       Por.

      Too

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