Act 2, Scene 7 — The Merchant of Venice

The argument Morocco draws aside the curtain, reads each casket inscription aloud, deliberates at length, and chooses gold — finding inside a skull and a scroll telling him his suit is cold. He departs in grief. Portia closes with a couplet dismissing him by his complexion.

Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both

their trains.

PORTIA ≋ verse

Go, draw aside the curtains and discover

The several caskets to this noble prince.

Now make your choice.

Go, draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.

Go, draw aside the curtains and discover The several caskets to this noble prince Now make your choice

PRINCE OF MOROCCO ≋ verse

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, 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 has.” How shall I know if I do choose the right?

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 has ” How shall I know if I do choose the right

Why it matters Morocco's long deliberation is not stupidity — it's a sophisticated man making a coherent argument that happens to be wrong. He reads the caskets as an external matching exercise (gold mind = gold casket) rather than an inward test of values. The audience already senses the answer; watching someone smart fail anyway is the scene's real subject.

PORTIA ≋ verse

The one of them contains my picture, prince.

If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

The one of them contains my picture, prince. If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

The one of them contains my picture, prince If you choose that, then I am yours withal

PRINCE OF MOROCCO ≋ verse

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 farther, but chose here?

Let’s see once more this saying grav’d 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 throughfares now

For princes to come view fair Portia.

The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head

Spets 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 immur’d

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.

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 has.” 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 your value with an even hand. If you be’st rated by your estimation you do 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 farther, but chose here? Let’s see once more this saying grav’d 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 throughfares now For princes to come view fair Portia. The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head Spets 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 immur’d 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.

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 has ” Must give, for what

"A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross" Morocco's reasoning here is internally coherent but fatally inverted: he argues that someone of his stature (a 'golden mind') would naturally choose gold. He mistakes material correspondence for insight — gold for gold. The test is designed to catch exactly this move.

🎭 Dramatic irony Morocco's elaborate case for gold is logically coherent within his value system — which is precisely why it fails. The audience, having heard Portia's description of the test in 1-2, knows the caskets reward a very different kind of thinking.

PORTIA ≋ verse

There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there,

Then I am yours.

There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours.

There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours

[_He unlocks the golden casket._]

PRINCE OF MOROCCO ≋ verse

O hell! what have we here?

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye

There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.

_All that glisters 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 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 griev’d a heart

To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.

O hell! what have we here? A carrion Death, within whose empty I There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing. Cold indeed and labour lost, Then farewell heat, and welcome frost. Portia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.

O hell what have we here A carrion Death, within whose empty I There is a written scroll I’ll read the writing Cold indeed and labour lost, Then farewell heat, and welcome frost Portia, adieu

"All that glisters is not gold" The most famous line in this scene — and one of Shakespeare's most quoted sayings. The irony is that Morocco has already heard this proverb ('Often have you heard that told') and chose gold anyway. Wisdom known is not wisdom applied.

Why it matters Morocco's exit is genuinely moving. He doesn't rage or bargain — he reads the scroll, accepts the verdict, and goes. 'Thus losers part' is one of the most dignified exits in the play. The skull inside the gold casket is the perfect visual: glittering surface, death inside.

[_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._]

PORTIA ≋ verse

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.

Let all of his complexion choose me so.

A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so.

A gentle riddance Draw the curtains, go Let all of his complexion choose me so

"Let all of his complexion choose me so" Portia's closing couplet is one of the play's most discussed lines. 'Complexion' meant both skin colour and general character — but the context makes the racial reading impossible to dismiss. She is relieved he's gone, and the relief is explicitly tied to how he looks. The play offers no corrective voice here.

Why it matters Portia's exit couplet lands like a slap after Morocco's dignified departure. The play has just shown us a man of genuine worth who fails a rigged test — and the woman he was pursuing responds with what amounts to a racial slur. Shakespeare puts this line in and gives it the weight of a scene-closing couplet, which is the most emphatic position in the play. He doesn't explain it away.

↩ Callback to 2-1 In 2-1 Morocco pre-emptively defended his complexion: 'Mislike me not for my complexion.' Portia's closing couplet here answers that speech — and not kindly.

[_Exeunt._]

The Reckoning

The first casket test plays out in full, and Morocco — for all his confident rhetoric — fails exactly as predicted: he chooses by show, by the glitter of what 'many men desire.' But Shakespeare doesn't make him a fool. His reasoning is sophisticated, even internally consistent; he simply has the wrong values. The gut punch of the scene isn't Morocco's failure. It's Portia's exit couplet: 'Let all of his complexion choose me so.' She has just watched a man humiliate himself in pursuit of her, and her response is racial relief. The play deposits this line and walks away without comment.

If this happened today…

A reality show contestant deliberates at length in front of three doors, building an impressive case for why the gold one must contain the prize. He opens it. Inside is a skull and a note that says: 'Wrong.' He leaves with dignity, saying only: 'I can't stay.' The host watches him go, then turns to camera and says: 'Here's hoping the next one isn't his shade.' The studio audience laughs. The viewer is left sitting with that.

Continue to 2.8 →