[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO
and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others
MOROCCO: Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
And let us make incision for your love,
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swear
The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
PORTIA: In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
But if my father had not scanted me
And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
As any comer I have look'd on yet
For my affection.