You, merchant, have you anything to say?

Portia, as Balthazar
You, merchant, have you anything to say?
Antonio
But little. I am armed and well prepared.—
Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well.

Commend me to your honorable wife,
Tell her the process of Antonio’s end,
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death,
And when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.

Grieve not that I am fall’n to this for you,
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom: it is still her use
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
An age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honorable wife,
Tell her the process of Antonio’s end,
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death,
And when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent but you that you shall lose your friend
And he repents not that he pays your debt.
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
I’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.
Bassanio
Antonio, I am married to a wife
Which is as dear to me as life itself,
But life itself, my wife, and all the world
Are not with me esteemed above thy life.
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
Portia, aside
Your wife would give you little thanks for that
If she were by to hear you make the offer.
Gratiano
I have a wife who I protest I love.
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
Nerissa, aside
’Tis well you offer it behind her back.
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
Shylock
These be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter—
Would any of the stock of Barabbas
Had been her husband, rather than a Christian!
We trifle time. I pray thee, pursue sentence.
Portia, as Balthazar
A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shylock
Most rightful judge!