---

Скачать книгу

---

summon him to marriage. Now he goes,

      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,

      With bleared visages, come forth to view

      The issue of th’ 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, the whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself.

      Tell me where is fancy bred,

      Or in the heart or in the head?

      How begot, how nourished?

       [All.]

      Reply, reply.

      It is engend’red in the [eyes],

      With gazing fed, and fancy dies

      In the cradle where it lies.

      Let us all ring fancy’s knell.

      I’ll begin it.Ding, dong, bell.

       All.

      Ding, dong, bell.

       Bass.

      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,

      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.

      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 valor’s excrement

      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,

      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

      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 then, thou gaudy gold,

      Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;

      Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge

      ’Tween man and man; but thou, thou meagre lead,

      Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught,

      Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence,

      And here choose I. Joy be the consequence!

      Por. [Aside.]

      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 rain thy joy, scant this excess!

      I feel too much thy blessing; make it less,

      For fear I surfeit.

       Bass.

      What find I here?

       [Opening the leaden casket.]

      Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demigod

      Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?

      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

      A golden mesh t’ 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

      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.

       [Reads.]

      “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 pleas’d 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 confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.

       Por.

      You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,

      Such as I am. Though for myself alone

      I would not be ambitious in my wish

      To wish myself much better, yet for you,

      I

---

Скачать книгу