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 thoroughfares 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 immured, 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! PORTIA There,take it,prince;and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. He unlocks the golden casket MOROCCO O hell!what have we here? A carrion Death,within whose empty eye There is a written scroll!I'll read the writing. Reads All that glitters 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 enfold. 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 grieved a heart To take a tedious leave:thus losers part.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 thoroughfares 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 immured, 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! PORTIA There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. He unlocks the golden casket MOROCCO O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing. Reads All that glitters 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 enfold. 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 grieved a heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part