Portia in her palace awaits foreign and domestic suitors for her hand, heart and wealth.
The Prince of Morocco and his train first appear.
Portia in her splendid drawing room receives the Prince, and says to her waiting maid:
_"Go draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince;-- Now make your choice!"_
The Prince reads the inscriptions on the three caskets, gold, silver and lead:
"Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire."
"Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves."
"Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath."
_"How shall I know if I do choose the right?"_
_"The one of them contains my picture, Prince; If you choose that then I am yours withal."_
The Prince of Morocco makes a long speech on the beauty and glory of Portia, and then decides to open the golden casket. Portia hands him the key, and when the contents come to view he exclaims:
_"A carrion death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll? 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 infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old Your answer had not been enscrolled, Fare you well, your suit is cold.'"_
_"Portia, adieu! I have too grieved a heart To take a tedious leave; thus lovers part."_
_"A gentle riddance; draw the curtains, go Let all of his complexion choose me so!"_
When Shylock returned home, found his house deserted and robbed, he rushed into the street, and cried:
_"My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian? O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter! And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones Stolen by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl! She hath the stones upon her and the ducats!"_
The frantic raging of the old broken down, soul lacerated Jew, only brought from that Christian audience, laughter, yells, and howling jeers. The mob spirit was there, and the appeal for justice by Shylock fell upon deaf ears and stony hearts.
Portia still holds court for her hand and heart at beautiful "Belmont," setting like an Egyptian Queen in the circling, blooming hills of the blue Adriatic.