Antonio hates me because I'm a Jew;
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands;
Organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
Subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
Warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter,
As a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh? if you poison us
Do we not die? and if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
The villainy you teach me, I will execute!"_

Tubal, the Hebrew friend of Shylock, says:

_"But Antonio is certainly undone."_

Shylock delighted says:

_"That's true, that's very true.
Tubal, fee me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before.
I will have the heart of Antonio if he forfeit the bond.
Go, Tubal, meet me at our synagogue."_

Portia again appears for the third time to undergo matrimonial choice.

Bassanio, the particular friend of Antonio, is the real love suitor for the
hand and heart of the beautiful Portia, and appears at her palace, attended
by his faithful Venetian friends. He is a high-toned, but impecunious
Italian gentleman, whose heart and soul are ninety per cent. larger than
his pockets.

Portia seems to be fascinated with Bassanio, and wishes him to remain at
her home and take time in choosing the right casket, but he wants to act
instanter, confessing his love.

Portia says:

_"Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
Now he goes,
With no less dignity, but with much more love
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea monster!"_

Bassanio, standing before the leaden casket, utters this high sounding,
moral, truthful speech:

_"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 beard of Hercules, and frowning Mars;
Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk?
And these assume but valor's excrement,
To render them redoubted. Look on