Go, draw aside the curtains and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.
Now make your choice.
Go, draw back the curtains and reveal the three caskets to this noble prince. Now make your choice.
Open the curtains so the prince can see the three caskets. Make your choice.
open the curtains here are the caskets choose one
The casket test is usually described as testing against materialism — don't choose gold. But it's subtler than that. Each inscription encodes a philosophy: gold is 'what many men desire' (popular appetite, externality), silver is 'as much as he deserves' (meritocracy, self-assessment), lead is 'give and hazard all he hath' (self-abnegation, risk). Morocco fails not just because he values gold but because he reads the caskets as an external matching problem — his 'golden mind' should correspond to a golden box. Arragon fails because he trusts his own deserving. Only Bassanio, who distrusts ornament itself, passes. The test is designed to reveal how a man thinks about worth — and only a man who has already absorbed the lesson that surfaces lie can choose correctly.
The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”
The second, silver, which this promise carries,
“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”
How shall I know if I do choose the right?
The first is gold, which bears this inscription: 'Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire.' The second is silver, which carries this promise: 'Whoever chooses me shall get as much as he deserves.' This third is dull lead, with a warning just as blunt: 'Whoever chooses me must give and risk all he has.' How shall I know if I choose the right one?
The gold one says 'Whoever chooses me will get what many men want.' The silver one says 'Whoever chooses me gets what he deserves.' And the lead one says 'Whoever chooses me must give and risk everything he has.' How do I know which one is right?
gold: many men want this silver: get what u deserve lead: give and risk everything how do i know which is right?
The one of them contains my picture, prince.
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
My portrait is hidden within one of these caskets, my lord. Should you select the correct one and find it there, then I shall be your wife.
One of these caskets has my picture in it. If you pick the right one, you get me.
one has my picture pick it and u get me
Some god direct my judgment! Let me see.
I will survey the inscriptions back again.
What says this leaden casket?
“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”
Must give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead!
This casket threatens; men that hazard all
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross,
I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver with her virgin hue?
“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”
As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand.
If thou be’st rated by thy estimation
Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady.
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray’d no farther, but chose here?
Let’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold:
“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”
Why, that’s the lady, all the world desires her.
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For princes to come view fair Portia.
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spets in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come
As o’er a brook to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation
To think so base a thought. It were too gross
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she’s immur’d
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliver me the key.
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may.
May some god guide my judgment! Let me look again at the inscriptions. What does the lead casket say? 'Whoever chooses me must give and risk all he has.' Must give—for what? For lead? Risk everything for lead? This casket threatens. Men who risk all do so hoping for great rewards. A noble mind doesn't stoop to cheap shows. I won't give or risk anything for lead. What does the silver casket say with its pure appearance? 'Whoever chooses me gets what he deserves.' What he deserves! Wait, Morocco, think carefully. Value yourself fairly. If you judge yourself honestly, you deserve enough, but even so, you may not deserve to reach so far as to the lady. And yet to be afraid of my own worth would be to undervalue myself. I deserve what I deserve! And that's the lady! I deserve her by birth, by fortune, by grace and breeding. But more than all that—I deserve her through love. What if I don't look further and choose right here? Let me see once more this inscription carved in gold: 'Whoever chooses me shall gain what many men desire.' Why, that's the lady! Everyone in the world desires her. From every corner of the earth they come to kiss this shrine, this living saint. The Hyrcanian deserts and the vast wilds of Arabia are now just highways for princes to come view fair Portia. The water kingdom, whose ambitious waves strike at the face of heaven, is no barrier to stop foreign nobles—they come as easily as crossing a stream to see fair Portia. One of these three caskets contains her heavenly picture. Is it likely lead contains her? It would be damnation to think such a base thought. It would be too gross to wrap her burial shroud in the dark grave. Or shall I think she's locked in silver, being worth ten times more than undervalued gold? What a sinful thought! Never was such a precious gem set in anything worse than gold. In England they have a coin with an angel figure stamped in gold, but that's only carved on the surface. But here an angel lies in a golden bed, all within. Give me the key. Here I choose, and may I prosper.
God help me decide! Let me look at these again. What's the lead saying? 'Whoever picks me has to give and risk everything.' Why would I give everything for lead? That's crazy. A truly noble person doesn't care about cheap things. I'm not doing that. What about silver? 'Whoever picks me gets what he deserves.' What I deserve? Well, if I'm being honest about myself, I deserve a lot. I deserve her by my birth, my wealth, my education, and my character. But most of all, I deserve her through love. So that must be it, right? Let me read the gold one more time: 'Whoever picks me will get what many men desire.' That's definitely her! Everyone wants her. People come from all over the world just to see her. Deserts and wild lands are nothing compared to the desire to see her. Even the ocean doesn't stop people from coming to see her. She's holy, like a saint. So it has to be gold. Lead? That would be saying she belongs in a tomb in the ground. That's evil! Silver? That would mean she's less valuable than gold, and she's worth everything. So it has to be gold. Give me the key!
help me choose lead means give everything for nothing silver means i only deserve what i deserve but gold is what everyone wants and that's portia give me the gold key
The Merchant of Venice is classified as a comedy, and in Elizabethan terms comedy means it ends in marriage and social order is restored. But Portia's closing couplet — 'Let all of his complexion choose me so' — sits inside that comic structure and refuses to be comfortable. Morocco is not a villain. He is courteous, eloquent, and genuinely in love. His exit speech is one of the most dignified in the play. And Portia's response to his departure is racial relief. Critics who argue this is simply Elizabethan convention (that audiences would have laughed) are probably right about historical audiences — but Shakespeare has just spent a scene building Morocco's humanity, which makes the couplet land harder, not softer. The play seems to know what it's doing.
There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours.
There, take it, prince. If my portrait lies within, then I am yours.
Here's the key. If my picture is in there, you win.
here's the key if my picture's inside u win
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.
_All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
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 griev’d a heart
To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.
Oh no! What do we have here? A rotting skull—death itself—with an empty eye containing a written scroll. Let me read it: 'All that glitters is not gold / Often you have heard this told / Many a man his life has sold / For my exterior to behold / Golden tombs hide worms inside / Had you been as wise as bold / Young in body, old in judgment / Your answer would not have been written / Farewell, your suit is over.' Cold indeed—all my work is wasted. So farewell warmth and welcome cold. Portia, goodbye! My heart is too heavy to say a long farewell. This is how losers leave.
Oh no! What's this? A skull? And there's a note inside? Let me read it: 'Shiny things aren't always gold / You've heard this story told / Many men have sold their souls / Just to see what's on the outside / Golden tombs are full of worms / If you were as wise as you are bold / Young body, old in judgment / You wouldn't be in this situation / Your chances are dead and gone.' So that's it. All my hopes are gone. Goodbye, Portia. My heart's too broken to say more. That's what happens to losers—we just leave.
oh no it's a skull with a note saying shiny things aren't gold i made the wrong choice my heart is broken i'm done
The scroll that Morocco opens begins: 'All that glisters is not gold — / Often have you heard that told.' This is the scroll's indictment, not its wisdom: Morocco has heard this proverb. He knows it. He chose gold anyway. Shakespeare is interested in the gap between knowing wisdom and embodying it. Morocco can state the principle that surfaces deceive — and immediately ignore it. This gap between articulation and action is one of the play's central preoccupations. Bassanio, who succeeds, doesn't deliver a lecture about ornament being deceptive (though he does at some length in 3-2). But he feels the truth of it rather than citing it.
A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.
A welcome farewell. Close the curtains. Let all men of his appearance choose me the same way.
Good riddance. Close the curtains. I hope everyone like him chooses me and fails.
glad he's gone close the curtains
The Reckoning
The first casket test plays out in full, and Morocco — for all his confident rhetoric — fails exactly as predicted: he chooses by show, by the glitter of what 'many men desire.' But Shakespeare doesn't make him a fool. His reasoning is sophisticated, even internally consistent; he simply has the wrong values. The gut punch of the scene isn't Morocco's failure. It's Portia's exit couplet: 'Let all of his complexion choose me so.' She has just watched a man humiliate himself in pursuit of her, and her response is racial relief. The play deposits this line and walks away without comment.
If this happened today…
A reality show contestant deliberates at length in front of three doors, building an impressive case for why the gold one must contain the prize. He opens it. Inside is a skull and a note that says: 'Wrong.' He leaves with dignity, saying only: 'I can't stay.' The host watches him go, then turns to camera and says: 'Here's hoping the next one isn't his shade.' The studio audience laughs. The viewer is left sitting with that.