Portia
That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Nerissa
When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.
Portia
So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king
Unto the king be by, and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!
Nerissa
It is your music, madam, of the house.
Portia
Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Nerissa
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.