The Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 9

Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight. The Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath, And comes to his election presently.

Quick, quick, please, draw the curtain back right away. The Prince of Arragon has taken his oath, and is coming to make his choice at once.

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.

Look, there stand the caskets, noble Prince. If you choose the one that holds me, our wedding ceremony will be performed immediately. But if you fail, then with no more discussion, my lord, you must leave here at once.

I am enjoin’d 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.

My oath requires me to keep three conditions. First, never to reveal to anyone which casket I chose; next, if I miss the right casket, never in my life to court a woman with marriage in mind; last, if my choice turns out unlucky, to leave you and go away immediately.

To these injunctions everyone doth swear That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Everyone who comes to take the risk for my worthless self swears to these conditions.

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 honourable 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 honour 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 honour? And how much honour 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.

And that is what I have prepared myself for. Now, Fortune, favour my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and common lead. "Whoever chooses me must give and risk everything he has." You will have to look more attractive before I give or risk anything. What does the golden chest say? Ha! Let me see: "Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire." What many men desire! That "many" may mean the foolish crowd, who choose by appearances, learning no more than their foolish eyes teach them, who don't look inside, but like the martlet build their nests out in the weather on the outer wall, right in the path and highway of accident. I will not choose what many men desire, because I won't fall in with common minds and put myself on a level with the uncivilised masses. Well then, to you, silver treasure-house — tell me once more what inscription you carry. "Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves." Well said, too; for who would try to cheat fortune and be honoured without the stamp of merit? Let no one presume to wear a rank he hasn't earned. Oh, if only property, titles and offices were not obtained by corruption, and if only pure honour were bought by the merit of the man who wears it! How many who now go bare-headed would then be wearing hats? How many who now command would be commanded? How much lowborn peasantry would then be sifted out from the true seed of honour, and how much honour picked out of the chaff and rubbish of the times, to be polished up again? Well, but to my choice. "Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves." I will take it that I deserve. Give me a key for this one, and let me unlock my fortune here at once.

Too long a pause for that which you find there.

That is too long a pause for what you find in there.

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?

What's this? The picture of a blinking idiot, holding out a written note to me! I'll read it. How unlike you are to Portia! How unlike my hopes and what I deserve! "Whoever chooses me shall have as much as he deserves." Did I deserve nothing more than a fool's head? Is that my prize? Do I deserve no better?

To offend and judge are distinct offices, And of opposed natures.

Committing the offence and judging it are separate jobs, and of opposite kinds.

What is here?

What does it say here?

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, I wis, Silver’d o’er, and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head: So be gone; you are sped.

The fire tested this seven times; the judgement that never chooses wrongly has been tested seven times. There are some who kiss shadows; they get only a shadow's happiness. There are living fools, I know, plated over with silver, and so was this one. Take whatever wife you like to bed, I will always be your head. So go; you are done for.

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.

The longer I stay here, the bigger a fool I will look. I came to court with one fool's head, but I go away with two. Sweetheart, goodbye! I'll keep my oath and bear my misfortune patiently.

Thus hath the candle sing’d the moth. O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

So the candle has scorched the moth. Oh, these careful, calculating fools! When they choose, their cleverness is exactly what makes them lose.

The ancient saying is no heresy: Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

The old saying is no false doctrine: hanging and marrying are decided by fate.

Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Where is my lady?

Where is my lady?

Here. What would my lord?

Here. What does my lord want?

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.

Madam, a young Venetian has dismounted at your gate, one who comes ahead to announce that his master is approaching. From him he brings substantial greetings: that is to say, besides compliments and courteous words, gifts of great value. I have never seen such a promising ambassador of love. A day in April never came so sweetly, promising how lavish the summer close behind would be, as this advance rider comes before his master.

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.

No more, please. I am half afraid you will say next that he's some relation of yours, you spend such holiday wit on praising him. Come, come, Nerissa, for I am eager to see this swift messenger of Cupid who comes so politely.

Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!

Let it be Bassanio, Lord Love, if that is your will!