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 Stamp'd 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! PORTIA. There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket] PRINCE OF MOROCCO. 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. Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt SCENE 8. Venice. A street Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO