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
Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there
Then I am yours.
Mor.O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing. 64
'All that glisters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold: 68
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: 72
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 76
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains: go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Scene Eight
[Venice. A Street]
Enter Salarino and Salanio.
Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
With him is Gratiano gone along;
