<SPEECH 1><ACT 2><SCENE 1><18%>
<MOROCCO>	<19%>
	Mislike me not for my complexion,
	The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
	To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
	Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
	Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
	And let us make incision for your love,
	To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
	I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
	Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love, I swear
	The best regarded virgins of our clime
	Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue,
	Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 2><SCENE 1><19%>
<MOROCCO>	<20%>
	Even for that I thank you:
	Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
	To try my fortune. By this scimitar,—
	That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince
	That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,—
	I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
	Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
	Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
	Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
	To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
	If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
	Which is the better man, the greater throw
	May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
	So is Alcides beaten by his page;
	And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
	Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
	And die with grieving.
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 2><SCENE 1><20%>
<MOROCCO>	<21%>
	Nor will not: come, bring me unto my chance.
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 2><SCENE 1><20%>
<MOROCCO>	<21%>
	Good fortune then!
	To make me blest or cursed'st among men!
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 2><SCENE 7><36%>
<MOROCCO>	<37%>
	The first, of gold, which 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?
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 2><SCENE 7><36%>
<MOROCCO>	<37%>
	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 further, 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
	Spits 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 undervalu'd 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!
</MOROCCO>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 2><SCENE 7><38%>
<MOROCCO>	<39%>
	O hell! what have we here?
	A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
	There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing.

	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.

	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.
</MOROCCO>

