The Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 7

Go, draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.

Go, pull the curtains aside and reveal the various caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.

The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, “Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” The second, silver, which this promise carries, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, “Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” How shall I know if I do choose the right?

The first, made of gold, carries this inscription: "Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire." The second, silver, carries this promise: "Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves." This third one, dull lead, with a warning just as blunt: "Whoever chooses me must give and risk everything he has." How shall I know if I choose the right one?

The one of them contains my picture, prince. If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

One of them contains my picture, prince. If you choose that one, then I am yours along with it.

Some god direct my judgment! Let me see. I will survey the inscriptions back again. What says this leaden casket? “Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” Must give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead! This casket threatens; men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross, I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. What says the silver with her virgin hue? “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand. If thou be’st rated by thy estimation Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady. And yet to be afeard of my deserving Were but a weak disabling of myself. As much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady: I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding; But more than these, in love I do deserve. What if I stray’d no farther, but chose here? Let’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold: “Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” Why, that’s the lady, all the world desires her. From the four corners of the earth they come To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia. The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head Spets in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits, but they come As o’er a brook to see fair Portia. One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Is’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation To think so base a thought. It were too gross To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think in silver she’s immur’d Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin that bears the figure of an angel Stamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon; But here an angel in a golden bed Lies all within. Deliver me the key. Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may.

May some god guide my judgment! Let me see. I'll go over the inscriptions again. What does this lead casket say? "Whoever chooses me must give and risk everything he has." Must give — for what? For lead? Risk everything for lead! This casket makes threats; men who risk everything do it in the hope of good returns. A golden mind doesn't stoop to worthless displays, so I'll neither give nor risk anything for lead. What does the silver say, with her virgin colour? "Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves." As much as he deserves! Stop there, Morocco, and weigh your worth with a steady hand. If you are valued by your own reputation, you deserve a great deal; and yet a great deal may not stretch far enough to reach the lady. And yet to be fearful about what I deserve would be feebly running myself down. As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady: I deserve her by birth, and by wealth, by graces, and by the qualities of my upbringing; but more than all these, I deserve her in love. What if I went no further, but chose here? Let's look once more at this saying engraved in gold: "Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire." Why, that's the lady — the whole world desires her. They come from the four corners of the earth to kiss this shrine, this living, breathing mortal saint. The Hyrcanian deserts and the vast wastes of wide Arabia are highways now for princes coming to see fair Portia. The kingdom of water, whose ambitious head spits in the face of heaven, is no barrier to stop these foreign spirits; they come as if crossing a brook to see fair Portia. One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Is it likely that lead contains her? It would be damnation to think so low a thought. It would be too crude to enclose her burial cloth in the dark grave. Or shall I think she's shut up in silver, worth ten times less than refined gold? What a sinful thought! Never was so rich a gem set in anything worse than gold. In England they have a coin with the figure of an angel stamped in gold; but that is only engraved on the surface. Here, though, an angel lies entirely inside a golden bed. Give me the key. Here is my choice, and may I prosper as I may.

There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours.

There, take it, prince, and if my likeness lies in there, then I am yours.

O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.

Oh hell! What do we have here? A rotting skull, and inside its empty eye socket there's a written scroll. I'll read what it says.

All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told. Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold. Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscroll’d, Fare you well, your suit is cold.

Not everything that glitters is gold — you have often heard that said. Many a man has sold his life just to look at my outside. Gilded tombs hold worms inside them. If you had been as wise as you were bold, young in body and old in judgment, your answer would not have been written on this scroll. Goodbye — your courtship is dead.

Cold indeed and labour lost, Then farewell heat, and welcome frost. Portia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.

Dead indeed, and my effort wasted. So farewell, warmth, and welcome, frost. Portia, goodbye! My heart is too full of grief to make a long-drawn-out farewell. This is how losers leave.

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so.

A mild way to be rid of him. Draw the curtains, go. I hope everyone of his colouring chooses the same way.