Montague Dawson paintings
Mary Cassatt paintings
Maxfield Parrish paintings
Martin Johnson Heade paintings
There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,Then I am yours.
[He unlocks the golden casket]
MOROCCO
O hell! what have we here?A carrion Death, within whose empty eyeThere is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
[Reads]
All that glitters is not gold;Often have you heard that told:Many a man his life hath soldBut my outside to behold:Gilded tombs do worms enfold.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 grieved a heartTo 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]
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