_Mor_. What have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing.

"All that glitters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told:

"Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'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.

[_Exit_.

_Por_. A gentle riddance:--go:--
Let all of his complexion choose me so.

END OF ACT FIRST.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 40: _--whose blood is reddest, his, or mine_.; _Red_ blood is
a traditionary sign of courage, as cowards are said to have livers as
white as milk. It is customary in the East for lover's to testify the
violence of their passion by cutting themselves in the sight of their