Original
Modern English
Go draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.
Go pull back the curtains and show The different caskets to this noble prince. Now, make your choice.
The first, of gold, who 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?
The first, gold, with this inscription, ’Who chooses me will gain what many men desire’; The second, silver, with this promise, ’Who chooses me will get as much as he deserves’; And the third, dull lead, with a warning as blunt, ’Who chooses me must give and risk everything he has.’ How will I know if I’ve made the right choice?
The one of them contains my picture, prince: If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
One of them contains my picture, prince: If you choose that one, then I am yours.
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 graved 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 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!
May a god guide my judgment! Let me think; I’ll look at the inscriptions again. What does this leaden casket say? ’Who chooses me must give and risk everything he has.’ Must give: for what? for lead? risk everything for lead? This casket seems like a threat. Men who risk everything Do it in the hope of great rewards: A noble mind doesn’t stoop to such worthless things; I won’t give or risk anything for lead. What about the silver, with its pure shine? ’Who chooses me will get as much as he deserves.’ As much as he deserves! Wait, Morocco, And consider your worth carefully: If you’re judged by your own standards, You deserve a lot; but even that might not be enough for the lady: And yet, to doubt my own worth Would be to weaken myself. As much as I deserve! That’s the lady: I deserve her by birth, by fortune, In grace and upbringing; But more than that, I deserve her in love. What if I stopped here, and chose now? Let’s look at the inscription on the gold casket again: ’Who chooses me will gain what many men desire.’ That’s the lady; everyone wants her; From every corner of the earth they come, To worship at this shrine, this living saint: The Hyrcanian deserts and the vast wilds Of Arabia are now highways for princes To come and see fair Portia: Even the sea, whose towering waves Challenge the heavens, can’t stop them, But they come, as if crossing a stream, to see Portia. One of these three holds her heavenly image. Could the lead hold it? It would be damnable To think such a base thing could contain her: it would be too vile To bury her in a dark grave. Or should I think she’s locked in silver, Ten times undervalued compared to gold? What a sinful thought! Never was such a gem Set in worse than gold. In England, They have a coin called an angel, Stamped in gold, but that’s just engraved on it; But here, an angel in a golden bed Lies within. Give me the key: I choose this one, and may I succeed!
There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there, Then I am yours.
Here, take it, prince; and if my body is here, Then I am yours.
O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing.
Oh no! What do we have here? A dead body, with an empty eye And a scroll inside! I’ll read the writing.
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.
Not everything that shines is gold; You’ve often heard that before: Many a man has sold his life Just to look at my outside: Shiny tombs hold worms inside. If you had been as wise as brave, Young in body, old in judgment, Your answer wouldn’t be written here: Farewell; your case is lost. Lost, indeed; and all your work wasted: So, goodbye, warmth, and welcome, cold! Portia, goodbye. My heart is too sad To say a long goodbye: this is how losers part.
A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so.
A polite exit. Draw the curtains, let’s go. Let everyone like him choose me, if they want.