Prince Of Morocco Monologue from The Merchant of Venice

From The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare

male · anguished · 56 sec

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 infold. Had you been as wise as bold, 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 griev’d a heart To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.

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