[_Reads_] 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, 135 And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss. A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave; I come by note, to give and to receive. 140 Like one of two contending in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes, Hearing applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no; 145 So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so; As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you. _Por._ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am: though for myself alone 150 I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better; yet, for you I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich; 155 That only to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account; but the full sum of me Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractised; 160 Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, 165 As from her lord, her governor, her king. Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted: but now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now, 170 This house, these servants, and this same myself, Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring; Which when you part from, lose, or give away, Let it presage the ruin of your love, And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 175 _Bass._ Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; And there is such confusion in my powers, As, after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear 180 Among the buzzing pleased multitude; Where every something, being blent together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, Express’d and not express’d. But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence: 185 O, then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead! _Ner._ My lord and lady, it is now our time, That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!