Portia, sweet Portia.
How it is that thou look free,
yet art bound in captivity.
Not by chains, or ropes, or knives,
but by the will of thy father, who dies.

How wealthy thou art in Belmont,
and it is that same wealth that makes none nonchalant.

Thou art bound because of thy father,
but shall be made free by thy lover.
And that true lover who's name is Bassanio.
And thou did save the life of his friend, Antonio.
Not from a man with a flintlock,
but from he who's name is Shylock.

Thou art beauty and beauty art thou.
Thy face, the meaning of love.
Such beauty thou do possess,
that beauty chooses none other to caress.

It is true that some heiresses art beauty on the outside,
but art rotting evil on the inside!
Though for thou, gladly, I cannot say the same.
For thy pure heart goes as far as thy fame.

Nothing! Nothing at all matches thy beauty.
Only that which art thy perspicacity

Oh, Portia. Sweet, loving Portia.
I knoweth that thou waiteth with a patient heart to be free.
And so I sweareth unto thee, that thou wilt not wait long,
as free thou shalt soon be.