There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts: How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stayers of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; Who, inward search’d, have livers white as milk! And these assume but valor’s excrement, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, And you shall see ’t is purchased by the weight; Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it: So are those crispèd snaky golden locks, Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposèd fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The skull that bred them in the sepulcher. Thus ornament is but the guilèd shore To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian feature; in a word, The seeming truth which cunning times put on T’ entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee: Nor none of thee, thou stale and common drudge ’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meager lead, Which rather threatenest, than dost promise aught, Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence; And here choose I: Joy be the consequence! [_Opening the leaden casket._ ----What find I here? Fair Portia’s counterfeit! ----Here’s the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune:-- _You that choose not by the view Chance as fair, and choose as true: Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss._ PORTIA.