The Merchant of Venice

By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great world.

If to do were as as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces.

The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.

Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow’s bliss

Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
Fading in music: that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
And wat’ry death-bed for him.

The world is still deciv’d with ornament

How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rain thy jolt, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing; make it less.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words;
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;

a wild of nothing, save of joy.
Expressed, and not expressed.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless’d;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown,
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
but mercy is above the this scepter’d sway, —
It is enthroned in the heart of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice.

How many good things by season season’d are
To their right praise and true perfection! —

Let me give light, but let me not be light.