By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance

as your good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick

that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no

mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity come

sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Good sentences, and well pronounc’d.

They would be better if well followed.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been

churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine

that follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were

good to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own

teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper

leaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip

o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not

in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may

neither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of

a living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,

Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good

inspirations. Therefore the lott’ry that he hath devised in these three

chests of gold, silver, and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning

chooses you, will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly but one who

you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection

towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?

I pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe

them, and according to my description level at my affection.

First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse,

and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can

shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with

a smith.

Then is there the County Palatine.

He doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me,

choose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the

weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly

sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a

bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these

two!

How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it

is a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the

Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine.

He is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight

a-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I

should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive

him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.

What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?

You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he

hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the

court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a

proper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How

oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round

hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.

What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the

ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was

able. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for

another.

How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?

Very vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the

afternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than

a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. And the

worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.

If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should

refuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept

him.

Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of

Rhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and

that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do anything,

Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.

You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords. They have

acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeed to return to

their home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won

by some other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the

caskets.

If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana,

unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this

parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but

I dote on his very absence. And I pray God grant them a fair departure.

Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar

and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of

Montferrat?

Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d.

True, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon,

was the best deserving a fair lady.

I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.

How now! what news?

The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there

is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings

word the Prince his master will be here tonight.

If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the

other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. If he have the

condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he

should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles

we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.