The merchant of venice scene 7
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A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. Let all of his complexion choose me so
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 enfold. Had you been as wise as bold, 70 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 heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part
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