The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (465 page)

Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;

And these assume but valour's excrement

To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,

And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;

Which therein works a miracle in nature,

Making them lightest that wear most of it:

So are those crisped snaky golden locks

Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,

Upon supposed fairness, often known

To be the dowry of a second head,

The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.

Thus ornament is but the guiled shore

To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf

Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,

The seeming truth which cunning times put on

To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,

Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;

Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge

'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,

Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,

Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;

And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

What shows on the outside does not reveal what is inside:

The world is often deceived with pretty attire.

In the court, people can plead not guilty when they are tainted and corrupt,

And if they do in a pleasing voice

May cover any signs of guilt. In religion,

Some men can defend a sinful act by putting on a serious face

And make it seem good by reading from the Bible,

And in that way hide the sin with pretty words.

There is no common sin that can’t be made to take on

The appearance of seeming good by changing how it looks.

How many cowards, whose courage is about as strong

As a staircase made of sand, wear on their chins

Beards like Hercules or Mars, the god of war,

Even though if you look inside you will find them fearful?

But they wear these beards as signs of strength

To try to make people afraid of them! Look at beauty, too—

And you will see it can be acquired with lots of makeup,

Which works miracles on natural looks,

Making those that wear it most seem promiscious.

It’s the same thing with curly, blond hair—

Which blows so playfully and spirited in the wind,

And is supposed to make a woman seem more beautiful, but it is

Often a wig made from the head of a woman

Whose skull is in the grave.

So outward beauty is but a golden shore

Leading to a dangerous sea, like a beautiful scarf

Can hide a dark woman. Plainly put—

What seems to be true is often a cunning disguise

To trap even the wisest. So because of this, you brilliant gold—

Unpleasant food for Midas to eat—I won’t choose.

And not the pale silver, either, which serves as a slave

As coins for men to do business. But you, lead, that is of no real value

And which looks more threatening than promising,

And which moves me beyond eloquence—

It is the one I choose. I hope I’m happy with the outcome.

PORTIA

[Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air,

As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,

And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,

Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,

In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.

I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,

For fear I surfeit.

[Aside] All my other feelings are flying to the air—

Doubtful thoughts and quickly embraced sadness,

And fear that left me shaking and awful jealousy—they all leave! Oh, I feel love,

And I need to take things slowly and quiet my happiness,

I need to contain my joy and try not to feel so much.

I’m feeling too much happiness. I need to feel less

Because I am afraid I feel too much.

BASSANIO

What find I here?

What’s in here?

Opening the leaden casket

Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god

Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?

Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,

Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,

Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar

Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs

The painter plays the spider and hath woven

A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,

Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,--

How could he see to do them? having made one,

Methinks it should have power to steal both his

And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far

The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow

In underprizing it, so far this shadow

Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,

The continent and summary of my fortune.

Beautiful Portia’s picture! What God-like

Artist made this picture that looks so much like her? Are the eyes moving?

Or do they just seem to be moving when

I move my eyes? Look are her open lips

Parted with sweet breath—so sweet a way

To part such sweet lips. Here in her hair

The painter played like a spider and wove

A golden mesh that can entrap the hearts of men

Faster than small flies in cobwebs. But her eyes—

How could he keep looking to paint them? After he painted the first,

It seems it would have the power to make him stop seeing

And unable to paint the second one. But look, how much

The subject of the picture I praise outdoes its shadow

And makes it seem small, and the picture is nowhere as beautiful

As its subject. Here’s a paper

That contains the summary of my fortune.

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

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.

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 these pearls of praise be his or no;

So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;

As doubtful whether what I see be true,

Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

You who has chosen not by looks

Have had good luck and made the right choice!

Since this good fortune falls to you,

Be happy and seek nothing else.

If you are happy with this

And accept this fortune for your state of being,

Turn toward where your lady is

And claim her as yours with a loving kiss.

A nice note. Fair lady, with your permission,

This note tells me to give you a kiss and to receive you.

But like someone struggling in a contest,

That things he has done well in people’s eyes,

Draws applause and shouting—

I am still excited and energized, but wondering and not sure

Whether this praise is mine or not.

So, wonderfully beautiful lady, I’m standing here,

Doubting if what I see is true,

Until it is confirmed, signed and made official by you.

PORTIA

You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,

Such as I am: though for myself alone

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;

That only to stand high in your account,

I might in virtue, 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;

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,

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,

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.

You see me, Lord Bassanio, as I stand here,

And I am what I am, though I alone wouldn’t wish

To be better for myself,

I wish I could be better for you.

I would be twenty times what I am—

A thousand times more beautiful and ten thousand times richer—

So you might value me more.

My talents, beauties, possessions and friends,

Would be more than you could want. However, the full worth of me

Is something that amounts to the total of

An unlearned girl—uneducated and innocent—

And happy that she is not too old

That she can learn new things, and even happier

That she was not raised without the ability to be capable of learning,

And happiest of all that her spirit

Commits itself to you to be taught.

By her lord, her governor, her king.

Myself and all that is mine is now to you

Transferred. Until now I was the lord

Of this beautiful mansion. I was master of my servants,

And Queen of myself. But even as we speak

This house, these servants and even me

Are yours, my lord. I give them to you with this ring.

If you ever part with it, lose it or give it away,

It means our love is over,

And I’ll have the right to be angry with you.

BASSANIO

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

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:

O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

Madam, you’ve left me speechless.

My blood is pounding in my veins in response to you.

I feel so confused right now about everything,

Like after there is a wonderful speech

Made by a prince you admire, and among

The crowd is applause and cheers.

Everything—all blending together—

Becomes nothing but wild joy

Both shouted and not shouted about. If this ring

Ever leaves my finger, you can be sure I am dead.