Bassanio,
A rose is a thing of beauty. They are widely grown due to their pulchritude and fragrance, they have the reputation across the land as to being quite the handful to grow and manage. Surely they are not worth the extra effort, not worth all the aggravation, a proposal not worth consideration?
Maybe, Bassanio, they are worth nothing.
You are blind to the things right in front of you, so you cannot see what it truly there. For if you questioned anything about the world then you may be able to make concise judgements on what it beholds. My darling, inept to see the truth. Why not look a little closer at that beautiful rose? See the sharp thorns that coat the flower's surface on a cold autumn morning. They are neither defenceless nor inadequate.
I was desperate to be loved and desperate to love another. I yearned for something: love. Or so I was lead to believe. I married you because I love you, not because it was my father's will. It wasn't too much to ask for the ring I gave you to be honoured, because it wasn't just the exchange of goods, it was a symbol. It is a symbol showing our love for each other; our undying, irrevocable adoration for one another.
My fantasies of conversations by the crackling fireplace have dwindled… faded away. The light in your eyes has begun to wink and darkle, I let you in, gave you my heart and soul. No one has ever promised so much and delivered so little.
Bassanio, when we were apart I was much closer than you would have thought. I, in fact, played witness to your exchange in goods with Balthazar. I was there, but not as your wife, as the young, male doctor of the law; it was all me. Where would you be without me Bassanio? Where would Antonio be? By winning my hand in marriage you became the envy of neighbouring men. But I fear that you may lose everything you have ever desired. I fear for you.
And yet this doesn't change my feelings for you,
Yours, forever yours,
Portia