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I marvel not
Bassanio was so bold
To peril all he had upon the
lead,
Or that proud Aragon bent low his head
Or
that Morocco's fiery heart grew cold:
For in that
gorgeous dress of beaten gold
Which is more golden
than the golden sun
No woman Veronese looked upon
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.
Yet
fairer when with wisdom as your shield
The
sober-suited lawyer's gown you donned,
And would not
let the laws of Venice yield
Antonio's heart to that
accursed Jew -
O Portia! take my heart: it is thy
due:
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.
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