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Updated: June 11, 2025
And opening it, he found fair Portia's portrait inside, and he turned to her and asked if it were true that she was his. "Yes," said Portia, "I am yours, and this house is yours, and with them I give you this ring, from which you must never part." And Bassanio, saying that he could hardly speak for joy, found words to swear that he would never part with the ring while he lived.
I suppose that most of us have had our ears so dulled by early familiarity with Portia's famous speech, which we probably knew by heart long before we were fit to understand it, that the heavenly quality of it, equal to almost anything in the New Testament, is obscured and lost.
Browne had declined to stir for any pretense whatever, and has been enjoying himself to the utmost, now at Portia's feet, now at Dulce's, and, when all things fail, at Julia's. Perhaps to Fabian the days have seemed longest.
Portia's stinging words went over and over through her mind. "If you let the big thing slip out of your hands because you haven't the pluck to fight ..." and her own, "I promise I won't do that." It would mean a fight. She must keep her head. She gave a last panicky shiver when she heard his latch-key, then pulled herself together.
No, I mean actions speak louder than words, so I will let the cast toast themselves." "Roast themselves, you mean," said Katherine, pushing back her chair. And then began a clever burlesque of the casket scene in which Gratiano played Portia's part, Shylock was Nerissa, Gobbo Bassanio, and Jessica the Prince of Morocco.
Is the Jew's lament for his daughter although piteous, inadequate. Is the choice of the gold and the silver by the Moor and Spaniard significant of their natures? What reason is there to find in the symbolism and the persuasion to choice each suitor employs that Portia's father has used the wisdom of a seer in prescribing the choice from the three caskets? Do you like Jessica? Why?
"Dulcinea," she says, very sweetly, holding out a soft, pale, jewelled hand, with tender meaning, "come and sit here beside me." Dulce is grateful for the unspoken sympathy, but instead of accepting half the lounging chair, which is of a goodly size, she sits down upon a cushion at Portia's feet, and leans her auburn head against her knee.
She tells you what kind of furniture to buy, and then sells it to you. Portia's terribly clever and awfully independent." "All right," he said. "That brings us down to you. What are you?" She sighed. "I'm sort of a black sheep, I guess. I'm just in the university. But I'm to be a lawyer." Whereupon he cried out "Good lord!" so explosively that she fairly jumped.
Perhaps, too, the master meant to show at any rate he has shown that the deadly sin of hatred, indulged even with a cause, ends in the dire disease of causeless hate and the rabid frenzy of a maniac. It has sometimes been objected to this wonderful scene that Portia's reticence and delay in relieving Antonio and her husband from their suspense is unnatural.
She got up and went to the window where Rose couldn't see her face, and stood looking out. "It's about mother," she concluded. Rose sat up with a jerk. "About mother!" she echoed. "Has she been ill again this week? And you haven't let me know! It's a shame I haven't been around, but I've been busy" her smile reflected some of the irony of Portia's "and rather miserable.
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