Page 412 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

ACT II IT

Scene I IT

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a tawny Moor all in white,
and three or four followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa, and their train.

MOROCCO
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,

To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phoebus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles, [5]
And let us make incision for your love
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.

I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath feared the valiant. By my love I swear,
The best-regarded virgins of our clime [10]

Have loved it too. I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA
In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes.
Besides, the lott’ry of my destiny [15]

Bars me the right of voluntary choosing,
But if my father had not scanted me,
And hedged me by his wit to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means I told you,

Yourself, renownèd Prince, then stood as fair [20]
As any comer I have looked on yet
For my affection.