Arrived unto Belmont, we doth make haste. Bassanio leading, his heart in a race. Unto the fair Portia, Bassanio doth ascend, and there learneth of her father’s challenge. For he who chooseth the casket that ‘tis right, wins her hand; yet he who chooseth wrong, no mistress wilt he gain. No wed for he, not now, nor ever; the loser forever hast lost. Three caskets lay awaiting, one of silver, one of gold, one cladden with lead: Bassanio’s fate lie in this choice alone. I pray thee, dear Bassanio, choose well!