Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted:
Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now transferred:
Portia · Act 3, Scene 2
Portia surrenders her legal personhood and all her property to Bassanio upon their marriage, a moment played as romantic in the text but legally devastating for her. The line matters because it crystallizes the play's unspoken anxiety about female power—Portia can be witty and wise, but the law strips her agency the moment she marries. Her later disguise as a male lawyer is necessary because women have no standing.
Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there Will show you his estate.
Not sick, my lord, unless it’s in his mind; Nor well, unless it’s in his mind: his letter there Will show you his condition.
Salerio · Act 3, Scene 2
Salerio reports that Antonio is not physically ill but mentally tormented, his whole being consumed by worry for Bassanio and his bond. The observation matters because it distinguishes between sickness of body and sickness of soul, suggesting that Antonio's devotion has made him vulnerable in ways he cannot defend against. His love is his weakness.
So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts: How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars; 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!
So let the outer appearances be less than what they seem: The world is always deceived by looks. In law, what plea is so corrupt, But, if spoken with a sweet voice, It hides the evil within? In religion, What wrong belief, but some serious face Will bless it and justify it with a quote, Hiding the filth with pretty words? There’s no vice so simple that it doesn’t Have some mark of virtue on its surface: How many cowards, whose hearts are as false As sand, wear the beards of Hercules and angry Mars; Who, when looked at inside, are as pure as milk; And they wear courage like a false costume To make themselves feared! Look at beauty, And you’ll see it’s bought with weight; Which works a miracle in nature, Making those who wear it lighter: So, those golden curly locks Which play so carelessly in the wind, On supposed beauty, often turn out To be the gift of a second head, The skull from which they grew. So, appearance is like a trap Leading to a dangerous sea; the pretty scarf Covering an Indian’s beauty; in short, The seeming truth that time uses To trick even the wisest. Therefore, you, shiny gold, Food for Midas, I don’t want you; Nor you, pale and common silver Between man and man: but you, lean lead, Which promises nothing, but threatens a lot, Your dullness moves me more than words; And here I choose; may joy come from it!
Bassanio · Act 3, Scene 2
Bassanio warns that ornament and appearance deceive everywhere—in law, religion, beauty, and human nature itself—then argues for choosing the dull lead casket over glittering gold. The speech lives because it perfectly diagnoses the play's central problem: that surfaces lie, that words hide meanings, and that the wisest choice is to distrust what looks valuable. It is also ironic, because Bassanio himself will spend the play making choices based on beautiful surfaces.
