The Merchant of Venice Act 2 Scene 9
Belmont. Portia's house.
The Original
Plain Modern English
Enter Nerissa and a Servitor.
Nerissa
Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.
The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath
And comes to his election presently.
Nerissa
Quick, quick — draw the curtain back at once.
The Prince of Arragon has taken his oath
and is coming to make his choice right away.
Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and Portia.
Portia
Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince.
If you choose that wherein I am contained,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized.
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Portia
There stand the chests, noble prince.
If you choose the one I'm contained in,
our wedding will be held immediately.
But if you fail, then without another word, my lord,
you must leave here at once.
Arragon
I am enjoined by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to anyone
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.
Arragon
I'm bound by oath to observe three conditions.
First, never to reveal to anyone
which chest I chose. Second, if I miss
the right chest, never in my life
to court a woman with marriage in mind.
Lastly, if my choice turns out unlucky,
to leave you immediately and be gone.
Portia
To these injunctions everyone doth swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Portia
Everyone swears to these conditions
who comes to gamble for my worthless self.
Arragon
And so have I addressed 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 undeservèd dignity.
O, that estates, degrees, and offices
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor
Were purchased 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
Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnished? 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.
Arragon
And I've prepared myself accordingly. Now, fortune,
grant my heart's hope. Gold, silver, and common lead.
'Whoever chooses me must give and risk everything he has.'
You'll have to look better than that before I give or risk anything.
What does the golden chest say? Let me see:
'Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire.'
What many men desire — that 'many' may well mean the
foolish crowd who choose by appearances,
learning nothing beyond what the doting eye tells them,
never looking inside — like the house martin
that builds its nest out in the weather on an open wall,
right in the path of whatever happens to come along.
I won't choose what many men desire,
because I won't fall in with ordinary minds
and class myself with the ignorant masses.
So — to you, then, silver treasure-house.
Tell me once more what inscription you carry.
'Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves.'
Well said, too. Who would set out
to cheat his way to luck and still be honourable
without the stamp of merit on him? Let nobody presume
to wear a rank he hasn't earned.
If only estates and ranks and offices
weren't obtained corruptly, and clean honour
were bought by the worth of the man wearing it!
How many who stand bareheaded now would be wearing hats?
How many who give orders would be taking them?
How much low peasant stock would be sifted out
from the true seed of honour? And how much honour
picked out of the chaff and wreckage of the age,
to be polished up again? But — to my choice. (He has just argued, seriously and rather well, that rank should be earned rather than inherited. He is a prince, and his next move is to claim he has earned her.)
'Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves.'
I'll take it that I deserve. Give me the key to this one, (he is given a key)
and let me unlock my fortune right now. (he opens the silver casket)
Portia
Too long a pause for that which you find there.
Portia
That's a long pause for what you've found in there.
Arragon
What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.—
How much unlike art thou to Portia!
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings.
"Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves"?
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?
Arragon
What's this? A picture of a blinking idiot,
holding out a note to me. I'll read it. —
How unlike Portia you are!
How unlike my hopes and what I deserve.
'Whoever chooses me shall have as much as he deserves'?
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? Am I worth no more than that? (Morocco asked not to be judged by his outside and lost by judging by an outside. Arragon insists that nothing should be had without deserving it, and is handed exactly what he deserves. The test destroys each man with his own argument.)
Portia
To offend and judge are distinct offices
And of opposèd natures.
Portia
Committing the offence and judging it are two different jobs,
and opposite in kind.
Arragon
What is here?
Arragon
What's this here?
He reads.
Arragon
The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgment is
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss.
There be fools alive, iwis,
Silvered o'er—and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head.
So begone; you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here.
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.
Arragon
'The fire has tested this silver seven times over;
seven times tested is the judgement
that never once chose wrongly.
Some men kiss only shadows,
and get no more than a shadow's happiness.
There are living fools, I promise you,
silvered over — and so was this one.
Take whatever wife you like to bed;
I will always be your head.
So off you go — you're finished here.
I'll only look more of a fool
the longer I hang about here.
I came courting with one fool's head,
and I leave with two. (The scroll makes the joke and he finishes it himself — the second head being the portrait, and his own being the first.)
Farewell, sweet lady. I'll keep my oath
and bear my ruin patiently.
He exits with his train.
Portia
Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O, these deliberate fools, when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
Portia
So the candle has singed the moth.
Oh, these careful fools — when they come to choose,
they're clever enough to lose by their own cleverness.
Nerissa
The ancient saying is no heresy:
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
Nerissa
The old saying isn't heresy after all:
hanging and marrying both go by fate.
Portia
Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Portia
Come on, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter Messenger.
Messenger
Where is my lady?
Messenger
Where is my lady?
Portia
Here. What would my lord?
Portia
Here. What does my lord want?
Messenger
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify th' approaching of his lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit (besides commends and courteous breath),
Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love.
A day in April never came so sweet,
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
Messenger
Madam, there's just arrived at your gate
a young Venetian who's come ahead
to announce his master's approach.
He brings greetings you can hold in your hand:
that is, besides compliments and courteous words,
gifts of great value. I've never seen
so promising an ambassador of love.
No April day ever came so sweetly,
promising how lavish the coming summer would be,
as this outrider comes ahead of his master.
Portia
No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him!
Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.
Portia
That's enough, please. I'm half afraid
you'll tell me next that he's a relative of yours,
you're spending such holiday wit on praising him.
Come on, Nerissa — I'm longing to see
this nimble messenger of Cupid's with the fine manners.
Nerissa
Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!
Nerissa
Let it be Bassanio, Lord of Love, if you're willing. (Two suitors have been sent away in two scenes and neither woman has said a warm word about either. Nerissa's line is a prayer, and it is the first time in the play that anyone at Belmont wants a particular man to arrive.)
They exit.