The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 2

I pray you tarry, pause a day or two Before you hazard, for in choosing wrong I lose your company; therefore forbear a while. There’s something tells me (but it is not love) I would not lose you, and you know yourself Hate counsels not in such a quality. But lest you should not understand me well,— And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,— I would detain you here some month or two Before you venture for me. I could teach you How to choose right, but then I am forsworn. So will I never be. So may you miss me. But if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin, That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, They have o’erlook’d me and divided me. One half of me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours. O these naughty times Puts bars between the owners and their rights! And so though yours, not yours. Prove it so, Let Fortune go to hell for it, not I. I speak too long, but ’tis to peise the time, To eche it, and to draw it out in length, To stay you from election.

Please wait, hold off for a day or two before you take the risk, because if you choose wrongly I lose your company; so hold back a while. Something tells me (but it isn't love) that I don't want to lose you, and you know yourself that hatred doesn't give advice of that sort. But in case you don't understand me properly — and yet a girl has no tongue, only her thoughts — I would keep you here a month or two before you gamble on my behalf. I could teach you how to choose correctly, but then I'd be breaking my oath. I'll never do that. So you may fail to win me. But if you do, you'll make me wish I had sinned, that I had broken my oath. Curse your eyes: they have looked me over and split me in two. One half of me is yours, the other half yours — my own, I meant to say; but if mine, then yours, and so all of me is yours. Oh, these wicked times put barriers between owners and what is rightfully theirs! And so, though I am yours, I am not yours. If it turns out that way, let Fortune go to hell for it, not me. I'm talking too long, but it's to weigh down the time, to stretch it out and draw it out to its full length, to keep you from choosing.

Let me choose, For as I am, I live upon the rack.

Let me choose, because as things stand I'm living on the rack.

Upon the rack, Bassanio! Then confess What treason there is mingled with your love.

On the rack, Bassanio! Then confess what treason is mixed in with your love.

None but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love. There may as well be amity and life ’Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.

None, except that ugly treason of mistrust, which makes me afraid I won't get to enjoy my love. Snow and fire could live together as friends just as easily as treason and my love.

Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack Where men enforced do speak anything.

Yes, but I'm afraid you're speaking on the rack, where men under force will say anything.

Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.

Promise me my life, and I'll confess the truth.

Well then, confess and live.

Well then, confess and live.

“Confess and love” Had been the very sum of my confession: O happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance! But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

"Confess and love" would have been the whole substance of my confession. What a happy torture, when my torturer teaches me the answers that will set me free! But let me go to my fate and the caskets.

Away, then! I am lock’d in one of them. If you do love me, you will find me out. Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. Let music sound while he doth make his choice. Then if he lose he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. That the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream And wat’ry death-bed for him. He may win, And what is music then? Then music is Even as the flourish when true subjects bow To a new-crowned monarch. Such it is As are those dulcet sounds in break of day That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear And 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.

Off you go, then! I am locked in one of them. If you truly love me, you'll find me. Nerissa and the rest of you, all stand back. Let music play while he makes his choice. Then if he loses he'll make an end like a swan's, fading away in music. So that the comparison fits even better, my eye will be the stream and watery deathbed for him. He may win — and what is the music then? Then the music is like the fanfare when loyal subjects bow to a newly crowned monarch. It's like those sweet sounds at daybreak that creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear and call him to his wedding. Now he goes, with no less dignity but with far more love than young Alcides when he rescued the virgin tribute that wailing Troy paid to the sea-monster. I am the sacrifice; the rest of you standing back are the Dardanian wives, who have come out with tear-stained faces to watch the outcome of the adventure. Go, Hercules! If you live, I live. I watch the fight with far, far more terror than you who are doing the fighting.

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? 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.

Tell me, where does attraction come from — in the heart or in the head? How is it conceived, how is it fed? Answer, answer. It is created in the eyes, fed by looking, and attraction dies in the very cradle where it lies. Let us all ring the bell for attraction's death: I'll start it. Ding, dong, bell.

Ding, dong, bell.

Ding, dong, bell.

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 valour’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 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 palenness moves me more than eloquence, And here choose I, joy be the consequence!

So outward appearances may be the least like what they really are. The world is always fooled by decoration. In law, is there any argument so tainted and corrupt that, once flavoured with a pleasing voice, it doesn't hide how evil it looks? In religion, is there any damnable error that some solemn-faced man won't bless and back up with a scriptural text, hiding its ugliness with fine decoration? There's no vice so plain that it doesn't put on some badge of virtue on the outside. How many cowards, whose hearts are as unreliable as stairs made of sand, still wear on their chins the beards of Hercules and scowling Mars, when if you searched them inside you'd find livers as white as milk — men who take on courage's leftovers only to make themselves feared. Look at beauty, and you'll see it's bought by weight, which works a miracle in nature, making those who wear the most of it the lightest. So it is with those curling, snake-like golden locks that dance so playfully with the wind on a supposed beauty — often known to be the inheritance from another head, the skull that grew them lying in the tomb. So decoration is only the deceiving shore beside a most dangerous sea; the lovely scarf veiling an Indian beauty; in short, the apparent truth that these crafty times put on to trap the wisest men. Therefore, you flashy gold, hard food for Midas, I'll have none of you; nor any of you either, you pale, common workhorse passed between man and man. But you, you meagre lead, that threatens rather than promises anything — your paleness moves me more than any eloquence, and I choose you here. Let joy be the result!

[Aside.] How all the other passions fleet to air, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac’d despair, And shudd’ring fear, and green-ey’d 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.

[Aside.] How all the other feelings vanish into air — doubtful thoughts, and despair too quickly embraced, and shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy. Oh love, be moderate; calm your rapture, let your joy fall in measured drops; cut back this excess! I feel your blessing too much; make it less, for fear I have more than I can hold.

What find I here? [Opening the leaden casket.] Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god 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.

What do I find here? [He opens the lead casket.] Beautiful Portia's picture! What half-god has come so close to creating life? Do these eyes move? Or do they only seem to move because they ride on the movement of my own? Here are lips slightly apart, separated by sweet breath — such a sweet barrier should be all that divides such sweet friends. Here in her hair the painter plays the spider, and has woven a golden net to catch men's hearts faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes! How could he see well enough to paint them? Having finished one, I'd think it should have the power to steal both of his own and leave itself unmatched. Yet see how far my praise falls short and wrongs this image by undervaluing it — just so far does this image limp behind the real woman. Here's the scroll, the container and summary of my fortune.

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 to where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss.

You who don't choose by appearance, may your luck be as good and your choice as true! Since this fortune has come to you, be satisfied and look for no other. If you are well pleased with this, and count your fortune as your happiness, turn to where your lady is, and claim her with a loving kiss.

A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, [Kissing her.] 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.

A kind scroll. Beautiful lady, with your permission — [He kisses her.] I come with written authority to give and to receive. Like one of two men competing for a prize, who thinks he has done well in the crowd's eyes, hearing applause and a general shout, dizzy in his mind, still staring in doubt as to whether those bursts of praise are for him or not, so, three times beautiful lady, I stand just like that, unsure whether what I see is real, until it is confirmed, signed and ratified by you.

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 would be trebled twenty times myself, A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich, That only to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account. But the full sum of me Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king. Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours Is now converted. But now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now, This house, these servants, and this same myself Are yours,—my lord’s. I give them with this ring, Which when you part from, lose, or give away, Let it presage the ruin of your love, And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

You see me, Lord Bassanio, standing here just as I am. For my own sake alone I wouldn't be ambitious enough to wish myself much better, but for you I'd wish myself twenty times more than I am, a thousand times more beautiful, ten thousand times richer, so that, only to stand high in your esteem, I might in virtues, beauty, possessions and friends be beyond all reckoning. But the whole sum of me is a sum of something which, put bluntly, is an untaught girl, unschooled, inexperienced — lucky in this, that she isn't yet too old to learn; luckier still, that she isn't born too stupid to learn; and luckiest of all, that her gentle spirit hands itself over to yours to be directed, as by her lord, her governor, her king. Myself, and everything that is mine, is now made over to you and yours. Just now I was the lord of this fine house, master of my servants, queen over myself; and now, this very moment, this house, these servants, and this same self of mine are yours — my lord's. I give them with this ring, and if ever you part with it, lose it, or give it away, let that foretell the ruin of your love, and give me grounds to denounce you.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, And there is such confusion in my powers As after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude, Where every something being blent together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy Express’d and not express’d. But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence. O then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!

Madam, you have robbed me of all words. Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, and there is such confusion among my faculties as there is, after a fine speech delivered by a beloved prince, among the buzzing, delighted crowd, where every separate sound blended together turns into a wilderness of nothing — nothing but joy, spoken and unspoken. But when this ring leaves this finger, then life will leave this body. Oh, then you may say boldly that Bassanio is dead!

My lord and lady, it is now our time, That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady!

My lord and lady, it's now our turn — we who have stood by and watched our wishes come true — to shout our congratulations. Great joy to you, my lord and lady!

My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, I wish you all the joy that you can wish; For I am sure you can wish none from me. And when your honours mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you Even at that time I may be married too.

My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, I wish you all the joy that you could wish for; because I'm sure you can't wish for any that would take from me. And when your honours plan to celebrate the contract of your promise, I beg you, let me be married at the same time.

With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

With all my heart, as long as you can get yourself a wife.

I thank your lordship, you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid. You lov’d, I lov’d; for intermission No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, And so did mine too, as the matter falls. For wooing here until I sweat again, And swearing till my very roof was dry With oaths of love, at last, (if promise last) I got a promise of this fair one here To have her love, provided that your fortune Achiev’d her mistress.

Thank you, my lord — you've got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as quickly as yours: you saw the mistress, I noticed the maid. You fell in love, I fell in love; delay belongs no more to me, my lord, than to you. Your fortune depended on those caskets there, and so did mine, as it turns out. For after wooing here until I was sweating again, and swearing until the roof of my mouth was dry with vows of love, at last — if a promise lasts — I got a promise from this beautiful girl here that she'd love me, provided your luck won her mistress.

Is this true, Nerissa?

Is this true, Nerissa?

Madam, it is, so you stand pleas’d withal.

Madam, it is, if it pleases you.

And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

And do you mean it honestly, Gratiano?

Yes, faith, my lord.

Yes, truly, my lord.

Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.

Our celebration will be greatly honoured by your marriage.

We’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

We'll bet them a thousand ducats on who has the first boy.

What! and stake down?

What! And put the stake down?

No, we shall ne’er win at that sport and stake down. But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!

No, we'll never win at that game with our stake down. But who's coming here? Lorenzo and his unbeliever? What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!

Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither, If that the youth of my new int’rest here Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome.

Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome here, if my brand-new standing in this place gives me the right to welcome you. With your permission, sweet Portia, I welcome my very own friends and countrymen.

So do I, my lord, They are entirely welcome.

So do I, my lord. They are completely welcome.

I thank your honour. For my part, my lord, My purpose was not to have seen you here, But meeting with Salerio by the way, He did entreat me, past all saying nay, To come with him along.

Thank you, your honour. For my own part, my lord, I hadn't intended to see you here, but running into Salerio on the way, he begged me — so that I couldn't possibly refuse — to come along with him.

I did, my lord, And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio Commends him to you.

I did, my lord, and I have a reason for it. Signior Antonio sends you his regards.

Ere I ope his letter, I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.

Before I open his letter, please tell me how my good friend is.

Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind, Nor well, unless in mind. His letter there Will show you his estate.

Not ill, my lord, except in his mind, and not well, except in his mind. His letter there will show you how things stand with him.

Nerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome. Your hand, Salerio. What’s the news from Venice? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? I know he will be glad of our success. We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

Nerissa, look after that stranger over there, make her welcome. Give me your hand, Salerio. What's the news from Venice? How is that princely merchant, good Antonio? I know he'll be glad of our success. We are the Jasons; we have won the fleece.

I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

I wish you had won the fleece that he has lost.

There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper That steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek. Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant man. What, worse and worse? With leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of anything That this same paper brings you.

There's something harsh in that paper over there, which is draining the colour from Bassanio's cheek. Some dear friend must be dead, or nothing in the world could so change the composure of any steady man. What, worse and worse? With your permission, Bassanio, I am half of you, and I must be freely given half of whatever that paper brings you.

O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, I freely told you all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman. And then I told you true. And yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart. When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing; for indeed I have engag’d myself to a dear friend, Engag’d my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady, The paper as the body of my friend, And every word in it a gaping wound Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? Hath all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit? From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, From Lisbon, Barbary, and India, And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks?

Oh sweet Portia, here are some of the most unpleasant words that ever stained paper. Gentle lady, when I first told you of my love, I told you honestly that all the wealth I had ran in my veins — I was a gentleman. And I told you the truth then. And yet, dear lady, when I valued myself at nothing, you'll see how much of a boaster I was. When I told you my fortune was nothing, I should have told you then that I was worse than nothing; because in fact I have bound myself to a dear friend, and bound my friend to his outright enemy, in order to fund myself. Here is a letter, lady — the paper is like my friend's body, and every word in it a gaping wound pouring out his life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? Have all his ventures failed? What, not a single one succeeded? From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, from Lisbon, Barbary and India, and not one ship escaped the dreadful touch of merchant-wrecking rocks?

Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, He would not take it. Never did I know A creature that did bear the shape of man So keen and greedy to confound a man. He plies the Duke at morning and at night, And doth impeach the freedom of the state If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants, The Duke himself, and the magnificoes Of greatest port have all persuaded with him, But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.

Not one, my lord. Besides, it seems that even if he had the ready money to pay the Jew off, he wouldn't take it. I never knew a creature in the shape of a man so eager and greedy to destroy another man. He presses the Duke morning and night, and says the freedom of the state is worthless if they refuse him justice. Twenty merchants, the Duke himself, and the magnificoes of highest rank have all tried to reason with him, but no one can move him from his malicious claim of the forfeit, of justice, and of his bond.

When I was with him, I have heard him swear To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio’s flesh Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him. And I know, my lord, If law, authority, and power deny not, It will go hard with poor Antonio.

When I was living with him, I heard him swear to Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, that he would rather have Antonio's flesh than twenty times the value of the sum Antonio owed him. And I know, my lord, that if law, authority and power don't stop it, it will go badly for poor Antonio.

Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

Is it your dear friend who is in this trouble?

The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best condition’d and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies, and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears Than any that draws breath in Italy.

The dearest friend I have, the kindest man, the best-natured and most tireless spirit in doing kindnesses, and one in whom the old Roman honour shows more than in anyone else alive in Italy.

What sum owes he the Jew?

What sum does he owe the Jew?

For me three thousand ducats.

Three thousand ducats, on my behalf.

What, no more? Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond. Double six thousand, and then treble that, Before a friend of this description Shall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault. First go with me to church and call me wife, And then away to Venice to your friend. For never shall you lie by Portia’s side With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold To pay the petty debt twenty times over. When it is paid, bring your true friend along. My maid Nerissa and myself meantime, Will live as maids and widows. Come, away! For you shall hence upon your wedding day. Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer; Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. But let me hear the letter of your friend.

What, no more than that? Pay him six thousand and cancel the bond. Double the six thousand, and then triple that, before a friend of this kind loses a single hair through Bassanio's fault. First come with me to church and call me your wife, and then off to Venice to your friend. You shall never lie beside Portia with a troubled mind. You shall have gold to pay that trivial debt twenty times over. When it's paid, bring your true friend back with you. In the meantime my maid Nerissa and I will live as unmarried women and widows. Come, let's go! You must leave here on your wedding day. Make your friends welcome, put on a cheerful face; since you cost me dearly, I will love you dearly. But let me hear your friend's letter.

Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit, and since in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear’d between you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.

"Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all been lost, my creditors are turning cruel, my finances are very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit, and since it is impossible that I should live through paying it, all debts between you and me are cancelled — if only I might see you before I die. Even so, do as you please. If your love doesn't persuade you to come, don't let my letter do it."

O love, dispatch all business and be gone!

Oh my love, finish all your business here and go!

Since I have your good leave to go away, I will make haste; but, till I come again, No bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay, Nor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.

Since I have your kind permission to leave, I'll hurry. But until I come back again, no bed shall ever be guilty of delaying me, and no rest shall come between the two of us.