she says.

But Bassanio cannot wait:--

"Let me choose;
For, as I am, I live upon the rack."

And so he stands before the caskets, longing to make a choice,
yet fearful. The gold he rejects, the silver too, and lays his
hand upon the leaden casket. He opens it. Oh, joy! within is a
portrait of his lady. He has chosen aright. yet he can scarce
believe his happiness.

"I am," he says,

"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 pearls 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, ratifi'd by you."

And Portia, happy, triumphant, humble, no longer the great lady
with untold wealth, with lands and palaces and radiant beauty,
but merely a woman who has given her love, answers:--

"You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,