PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA. It is not so express'd. But what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCK. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIA. Come, merchant, have you anything to say?"

Antonio answers, "But little." He is prepared for death, and
takes leave of Bassanio. But Shylock is impatient. "We trifle
time," he cries; "I pray thee, pursue sentence."

"PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine;
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge!

PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast;
The law allows it; and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK. Most learned judge!--A sentence; come, prepare.

PORTIA. Tarry a little;--there is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: