What find I here? [Opening the leaden casket.
115 Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
[117] Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips,
[119] Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
120 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
[122] A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her eyes,—