1 Beshrew your eyes, They have o'erlook'd me and divided me.
2 There will come a Christian by Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
3 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.
4 He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look'd upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.
5 Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.
6 That the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream And wat'ry death-bed for him.
7 It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
8 Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child.
9 Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages: Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu'd To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
10 In terms of choice I am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; Besides, the lott'ry of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing.
11 Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper.
12 Beshrew me but I love her heartily, For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself.
13 And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
14 I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; And if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd My purse, my person, my extremest means Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
15 But hear thee, Gratiano, Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice, Parts that become thee happily enough, And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; But where thou art not known, why there they show Something too liberal.
16 By this scimitar That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince, That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look, Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, To win thee, lady.
17 Like one of two contending in a prize That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, Hearing applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no, So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so, As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.
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