Act II, Scene 7
It is now time for the Prince of Morocco to try his luck on opening the caskets. Before choosing though, he carefully reads the inscription on each one. He desides that the one that he should choose is the gold casket because the inscription states that he will get what many men desire, which to him is Portia. Unfortunatly for him, he did not choose the correct casket, and recieves a note that explains that just because the casket he choose was the made of the most coveted metal of the three, it did not mean that it was the correct casket. The prince then leaves, and Portia is releaved that she does not have to marry him.

Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF
MOROCCO, and their trains

PORTIA.
Go draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble Prince.
Cornet
Cornet

Now make your choice.

PRINCE OF MOROCCO.
The first, of gold, who this inscription bears:
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' 5
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? 10

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

Morocco
Some god my direct judgement! Let me see:
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; 20
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. 25
If thou beest 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. 30
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? 35
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. 40
Do you think that the many remarks made by the Prince of Morocco really impress Portia




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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
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 45
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 likethat lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
To think so base a thought; it were too gross 50
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 55
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamp'd 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! 60

PORTIA.
There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket]

PRINCE OF MOROCCO.
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
Carrion Death
Carrion Death

There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
'All that glisters is not gold, 65
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, 70
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd.
Fare you well, your suit is cold.'
Cold indeed, and labour lost,
Then farewell, heat, and welcome, frost. 75
Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave; thus losers part.
Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets

PORTIA.
A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt