Portia

Oscar Wilde

I marvel not Bassanio was so bold
    To peril all he had upon the lead,
    Or that proud Aragon bent low his head,
Or that Morocco's fiery heart grew cold:
For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold
    Which is more golden than the golden sun,
    No woman Veronese looked upon
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield
    The sober-suited lawyer's gown you donned 10
And would not let the laws of Venice yield
    Antonio's heart to that accursed Jew--
    O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due:
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.