Hold, hold, Sir Knight! no more of this, I find

That you mistake me. He who hath learnt much

Must needs have many cares. I know but one----

But hark, behold! here comes the very man!

'Tis he, so stay; he has perceived us both.

Scene II.

The Patriarch, after marching up one of the aisles with great pomp, approaches.

TEMPLAR.

I'd rather shun him--he is not my man--

A round, red smiling prelate! And what state!

FRIAR.

But you should see him at a festival,

Now he but comes from visiting the sick.

TEMPLAR.

Great Saladin will then have cause to blush.

PATRIARCH (coming forward, makes signs to the Friar).

Was that the Templar? What's his business here?

FRIAR.

I know not.

PATRIARCH (advancing, whilst the Friar and his train retire.)

Well, Sir Knight, I'm truly glad

To meet so brave a youth. So very young,

Something may come of him, if Heaven assist.

TEMPLAR.

Not more than has already come of him,

But rather less, my reverend father.

PATRIARCH.

Well,

It is my prayer that so devout a Knight

May for the cause of Christendom and God

Be long preserved; nor can it fail to be,

If valour will give ear to aged words.

Then say, how can I serve you, Sir?

TEMPLAR.

With that

In which my youth's deficient--sound advice.

PATRIARCH.

Most gladly, if you'll follow my advice.

TEMPLAR.

Not blindly, though.

PATRIARCH.

Whose words are those? Indeed,

None should neglect to use the intellect

Bestowed by God, when it is suitable.

But is it always suitable? O no!

If God, through one of the celestial choir--

That is, through one of the blest ministers

Of His most sacred word--should condescend

To show some way by which the Church's weal,

Or else the general good of Christendom,

Might be secured, what man would venture then

To weigh the laws of intellect against

His will, who fashioned intellect itself?

Or measure the unchanged decrees of Heaven

By empty rules that suit this petty world?

But of all this enough. Now tell me, Knight,

Wherefore you seek our counsel?

TEMPLAR.

Reverend father!

Suppose a Jew possessed an only child--

A girl--whom he with fond parental care

Trained to each virtue, treasured as his soul,

Whilst she, with love as ardent as his own,

Repaid his love,--suppose it rumoured then

That she was not the daughter of this Jew,

But a poor orphan, purchased in her youth,

Or stolen, or found--or anything, but still

Of Christian birth, and in her youth baptised,

And that the Jew had reared her in his faith,

Allowed her to be thought a Jewish maid,

And firmly to believe herself his child,--

Say, reverend father, what should then be done?

PATRIARCH.

I shudder at the thought! But, worthy Sir,

Say, is this fact, or mere hypothesis?

That is, if your own head has framed the case,

Or has it happened--does it still exist?

TEMPLAR.

That's unimportant, and could not assist

Your reverence to pronounce upon the point.

PATRIARCH.

What! unimportant! See, Sir Knight, how apt

Proud reason is to err in sacred things.

'Tis of deep import; though, 'tis true, the case

May be the offspring of your sportive wit,

When we should straight dismiss it from our thoughts,

And I should then refer you to the stage

Where pros and cons like these are oft discussed

With loud applause. But if the object be,

By something better than a sleight of hand,

To sound my judgment, if the thing be fact,

And may have happened in our diocese,

Here in our dear Jerusalem itself,

Why then----

TEMPLAR.

What then?

PATRIARCH.

Then were it well, Sir Knight,

To execute at once upon the Jew

The penalty provided for the case,

By Papal and Imperial laws, against

So foul a crime, such dire iniquity.

TEMPLAR.

Indeed!

PATRIARCH.

The laws I mention have decreed

That if a Jew shall to apostasy

Seduce a Christian, he shall die by fire.

TEMPLAR.

Indeed!

PATRIARCH.

How much more when a Jew by force

Tears from baptismal bonds a Christian child?

For all that's done to children is by force,

Save what the Church shall order and perform.

TEMPLAR.

What if the child were steeped in misery,

And must have died, but for this bounteous Jew?

PATRIARCH.

It matters not: the Jew should still be burnt.

'Twere better to expire in misery,

Than live to suffer never-ending pains.

The Jew moreover should not have forestalled

The hand of God, whom had He willed to save,

Could save without him.

TEMPLAR.

Make him happy too,

In spite of him.

PATRIARCH.

It matters not, the Jew

Must still be burnt.

TEMPLAR.

That grieves me very much,

And all the more, as people say that he

Has reared the child not in his own belief,

So much as in no faith at all, and taught

Her neither more nor less of God than is

By reason asked.

PATRIARCH.

It matters not, the Jew

Must still be burnt--and for this very cause

Would merit threefold death. To rear a child

Without a faith! Not even teach a child

The greatest of all duties--to believe!

'Tis heinous, and I'm rapt in wonder, Knight,

That you yourself----

TEMPLAR.

Oh, reverend Sir, the rest

In the confessional, if God allow. (Is going.)

PATRIARCH.

What, going! and not await my questioning!

Not name to me this infidel, this Jew!

Not find him out for me at once! But, hold!

A thought occurs. I'll to the Sultan straight.

According to the treaty we have sworn

With Saladin, he must protect our creed

With all the privileges, all the rights

That appertain to our most holy faith.

Thank God! we have retained the deed itself,

With seal and signature affixed, and we

Can readily convince him, make him feel

How full of peril for the state it is

Not to believe. All civil bonds are rent

Asunder, torn to pieces, Knight, when men

Have no belief. Away, away for ever

With such impiety!

TEMPLAR.

I much deplore

That I want time to relish this discourse,

This holy sermon. Saladin awaits

My coming.

PATRIARCH.

Ah, indeed!

TEMPLAR.

And I'll prepare

The Sultan for your presence, reverend Sir,

If you desire.

PATRIARCH.

Why, yes! for I have heard

You have found favour in the Sultan's sight.

I beg to be remembered with respect.

Zeal in the cause of God impels me on,

And all excesses are performed for Him.

Weigh that in kindness, then, most noble Sir!

But, tell me, was your case about the Jew

A problem merely?

TEMPLAR.

Problem! (He retires.)

PATRIARCH.

(Of the facts,

I must have fuller knowledge. I must be

Better informed; 'twill be another job

For brother Bonafides.) Son, come hither!

(Speaks with the Friar as he retires.)

Scene III.

Saladin's Palace.

(Slaves are employed in bringing bags of gold, and piling them on the floor.)

Saladin, Sittah.

SALADIN.

In truth, this weary business ne'er will end;

Say, is it nearly done?

A SLAVE.

One half is done.

SALADIN.

Then take the rest to Sittah? Where's Al-Hafi?

He must take charge of what is here. But, hold,

Were it not best to send it to my father?

Here 'twill be quickly spent. I feel, in truth,

That I am growing miserly. At last

He must be skilful who gets much from me,

And till from Egypt further treasure comes,

Our poverty must be content to struggle.

Yet, at the Holy Sepulchre, the cost

Of all the Christian pilgrims must be paid;

They must, at least, not go with empty hands.

SITTAH.

Why, what is this? wherefore this gold to me?

SALADIN.

Recoup yourself with it, if aught is left,

Keep it in store.

SITTAH.

Are Nathan and the Knight

Not yet arrived?

SALADIN.

The former everywhere

Is seeking him.

SITTAH.

Behold what I have found

In turning o'er my ornaments and jewels (showing a small portrait).

SALADIN.

Ha! what is here! a portrait! yes, my brother!

'Tis he--'tis he! Was he--was he, alas!

Oh dear, brave youth! so early lost to me!

With thee at hand what had I not achieved!

Give me the portrait, Sittah. I recall

This picture well. He gave it to his Lilla--

Your elder sister--when one summer morn

He tore himself away reluctantly.

She would not yield, but clasped him in her arms.

'Twas the last morning that he e'er rode forth,

And I, alas! I let him ride alone.

Poor Lilla died of grief, and ne'er forgave

My error that I let him ride alone.

He ne'er returned.

SITTAH.

Poor brother!

SALADIN.

Say no more.

A few short years, and we shall ne'er return.

And then who knows? But 'tis not death alone

That blights the hopes and promises of youth,

They have far other foes, and oftentimes

The strongest, like the weakest, is o'ercome.

But be that as it may, I must compare

This portrait with the Templar, that I may

Observe how much my fancy cheated me.

SITTAH.

'Twas for that purpose that I brought it here.

But give it, and I'll tell thee if 'tis like:

We women are best judges of such things.

SALADIN (to the doorkeeper who enters).

Who's there? the Templar? Bid him come at once.

SITTAH.

Not to disturb you, or perplex him with

My curious questions, I'll retire awhile. (Throws herself upon the sofa, and lets her veil fall.)

SALADIN.

That's well. (And now his voice--will that be like?

For Assad's voice still slumbers in my soul!)

Scene IV.

The Templar and Saladin.

TEMPLAR.

I am your prisoner, Sultan.

SALADIN.

You my prisoner!

Shall I refuse him liberty, whose life

I freely spared?

TEMPLAR.

It is my duty, Sire,

To hear, and not anticipate, your will.

Yet it but ill becomes my character

And station, Sultan, to be thus profuse

Of gratitude because you've spared my life--

A life which henceforth is at your command.

SALADIN.

Only forbear to use it to my hurt.

Not that I grudge my mortal enemy

Another pair of hands; but such a heart

As yours I do not yield him willingly.

You valiant youth! I have not gauged you ill:

In soul and body, you are truly Assad.

I fain would learn where you have been so long

Concealed. In what dim cavern you have slept?

What spirit, in some region of the blest,

Has kept this beauteous flower so fresh in bloom?

Methinks I could remind you of our sports

In days gone by; and I could chide you, too,

For having kept one secret from my ear,

For having dared one gallant deed alone.

I'm happy that so much of this deceit

At least is true, that in my sear of life

An Assad blooms for me once more. And you,

You too are happy, Knight!

TEMPLAR.

Whate'er you will--

Whatever be your thought--lies as a wish

Within mine inmost soul.

SALADIN.

We'll prove you, then.

Will you abide with me?--cling to my side,

Whether as Christian or as Mussulman,

In turban or white mantle? Choose your garb--

Choose for yourself. I never have desired

That the same bark should grow on every tree.

TEMPLAR.

Else, Saladin, you never had become

The hero that you are--who'd rather be

The gardener of the Lord.

SALADIN.

If thus you think

Of Saladin, we're half agreed, already----

TEMPLAR.

Nay, quite!

SALADIN (offering his hand).

One word!

TEMPLAR (taking it).

One man! and with this hand

Take more than you can e'er take back again.

Henceforth I'm wholly yours.

SALADIN.

This is too much--

For one day 'tis too much! Came he not with you?

TEMPLAR.

Who?

SALADIN.

Who? Nathan.

TEMPLAR.

No; I came alone.

SALADIN.

Oh, what a deed was thine! what happiness

That such a deed should serve so good a man!

TEMPLAR.

'Twas nothing.

SALADIN.

Why so cold, O valiant youth!

When God makes man His minister of good,

He need not be so cold, nor modestly

Wish to appear so cold.

TEMPLAR.

But in the world

All things have many sides, and who is he

Can comprehend how they may fit each other?

SALADIN.

Cling ever to what's noble, and praise God!

He knows how all things fit. But if you are

So scrupulous, young man, I must beware.

I too have many sides, and some of them

May seem to you not always made to fit.

TEMPLAR.

That grieves me; for suspicion, at the least,

Is not a sin of mine.

SALADIN.

Then, tell me, whom

Do you suspect? Not Nathan, surely? What!

Nathan suspected, and by you? Explain--

Afford me this first proof of confidence.

TEMPLAR.

I've nothing against Nathan. I am vexed,

But with myself alone.

SALADIN.

Why so?

TEMPLAR.

For dreaming

That any Jew can think himself no Jew.

I dreamt this waking.

SALADIN.

Tell me all your dream.

TEMPLAR.

You know that Nathan has a daughter, Sultan!

And what I did for her, I did--because

I did it. Far too proud to reap the thanks

I had not sown, from day to day I shunned

The maiden's sight. Her father was afar.

He comes, he hears, he seeks me, give me thanks;

Wishes that she might please me, and he talks

Of dawning prospects. Well, I hear it all,

I listen to him, go and see the maid--

O! such a maiden, Sultan. But, I blush.

SALADIN.

Why blush? Blush that a Jewish maid should win

Your admiration? 'Tis a venial fault.

TEMPLAR.

But oh! that, through her father's sweet discourse,

To this impression my o'er-hasty heart

Such weak resistance offered! Fool. I leaped

A second time into the flame, and then

I wooed, and was denied.

SALADIN.

Denied?--denied?

TEMPLAR.

The prudent father does not plainly say

No, to my suit--but he must first inquire--

He must reflect. Well, be it so. Had I

Not done the same? I looked about, inquired--

Reflected--ere I plunged into the flames

Where she was shrieking. Oh, by Heaven! it is

A splendid thing to be so circumspect!

SALADIN.

Nay, but you must concede somewhat to age.

His doubts will pass away, nor will he wish

You to become a Jew.

TEMPLAR.

Who knows?

SALADIN.

Who knows!

One who knows Nathan better than yourself.

TEMPLAR.

And yet the superstitions we have learned

From education, do not lose their power

When we have found them out; nor are all free

Whose judgment mocks the galling chains they wear.

SALADIN.

'Tis wisely said; but Nathan, surely Nathan----

TEMPLAR.

That superstition is the worst of all

Which thinks itself the easiest to be borne----

SALADIN.

'Tis possible. But Nathan----

TEMPLAR.

And to trust

To it alone a blind humanity

Till it is used to truth's more brilliant light.

To it alone----

SALADIN.

Well, well! But Nathan's fate

Is not to be so weak----

TEMPLAR.

I thought so once,

But what if this bright pattern to mankind

Were such a thorough Jew that he seeks out

For Christian children to bring up as Jews?

How then?

SALADIN.

Who speaks so of him?

TEMPLAR.

E'en the maid

For whom I'm so distressed, with hopes of whom

He seemed so glad to recompense the deed

He would not suffer me to do for naught.

This maid is not his daughter; no, she is

A kidnapped Christian child.

SALADIN.

Whom Nathan now

Refuses you!

TEMPLAR (earnestly).

Refuse or not refuse,

He is found out--the prating hypocrite

Is now found out; but on this Jewish wolf,

For all his philosophical sheep's garb,

Dogs I can loosen who will tear his hide.

SALADIN (earnestly).

Peace, Christian!

TEMPLAR.

What! peace, Christian? Wherefore so?

Shall Jew and Mussulman be free to boast

Their creeds, and shall the Christian be ashamed

To own his faith?

SALADIN (more earnestly).

Peace, Christian!

TEMPLAR (calmly).

Yes, I feel

What weight of blame lies in your calm reproof--

In that one word pronounced by Saladin.

Oh! that I knew what Assad would have done

Had he but fill'd my place!

SALADIN.

He had not done

Much better; nay, perhaps, had been more warm.

Where did you learn to bribe me with a word?

And yet, in truth, if all has happened so

As you narrate, it is not much like Nathan.

But Nathan is my friend, and of my friends

One must not quarrel with the other. So

Take counsel, act with prudence. Do not loose

On him the fanatics among your race.

Keep silence. All the clergy of your sect

Would call to me for vengeance upon him

With far more show of right than I could wish.

Let not revenge impel you to become

A Christian to the Jew or Mussulman.

TEMPLAR.

Thanks to the Patriarch's bloodthirsty rage,

Your counsel almost comes too late; and I

Had nearly proved his cruel instrument.

SALADIN.

How so? and did you see the Patriarch

Before you came to me?

TEMPLAR.

Yes, in the storm

Of passion--in the whirl of doubt----Forgive me.

I fear you will no longer find in me

One feature of your Assad.

SALADIN.

Yes, that fear

Is like him. But, methinks, I know full well

The weaknesses from which our virtues spring:

Attend to these--the former cannot hurt.

But go, seek Nathan, as he sought for you,

And bring him hither. Be but reconciled.

Are you in earnest, Knight, about this maid?

Be calm--she shall be yours. Nathan shall feel

That without swines-flesh he has dared to rear

A Christian child. Now, Templar, leave me. Go!

(Exit the Templar. Sittah leaves the sofa.)

Scene V.

Saladin and Sittah.

SITTAH.

'Tis strange, indeed.

SALADIN.

What say you now, my Sittah?

Was not our Assad once a handsome youth?

SITTAH.

If this were like him, and 'twere not the knight

Who had his portrait taken. But, dear brother,

How could you ever so forget yourself

As not to make inquiry for his parents?

SALADIN.

And more especially about his mother?

That was your meaning--eh?

SITTAH.

You are too quick.

SALADIN.

But nothing is more possible; for he,

My brother Assad, was so favoured by

The Christian ladies--handsome Christian ladies--

That a report once spread----But 'tis not right

We should refer to that. We'll be content

That he is here again, with all his faults,

The faults and wildness of his gentle heart--

That he is here again. Oh, Nathan must

Give him the maid. What think you?

SITTAH.

What, to him?

SALADIN.

Ay! for what claim has Nathan to the girl

If he is not her father? He, who saved

Her life, may properly assume the rights

Of him who gave existence to the maid.

SITTAH.

Then might not Saladin lay claim to her,

Withdrawing her from the unrightful owner?

SALADIN.

There is no need of that.

SITTAH.

No actual need,

But female curiosity suggests

That counsel to me. There are certain men

Of whom I feel impatient till I know

What maidens they can love.

SALADIN.

Well send for her.

SITTAH.

Brother, may I do that?

SALADIN.

But hurt not Nathan.

He must not think that we, by violence,

Would separate them.

SITTAH.

Fear it not.

SALADIN.

Farewell!

I must find out where this Al-Hafi is.

Scene VI.

The hall in Nathan's house, looking towards the palm-trees, as in the first Act. Part of the merchandise and treasures unpacked and displayed.

Nathan and Daja.

DAJA.

O, how magnificent are all these things!

How rich! they're such as none but you could give.

Where was this silver stuff with sprigs of gold

Woven? What might it cost? 'Tis what I call

A wedding garment. Is there any queen

Could wish aught richer?

NATHAN.

Why a wedding robe?

DAJA.

In buying it, you never thought of that.

But, Nathan, it must be so--it must, indeed--

'Twas made for that. See, here, the pure white ground,

Emblem of innocence; that branching gold,

Covering the virgin white on every side,

Emblem of wealth. Say, is it not divine?

NATHAN.

Why all this ingenuity of speech?

Over whose wedding dress would you display

This learning? Have you found a lover, Daja?

DAJA.

What, I?

NATHAN.

Who, then?

DAJA.

I, gracious Heaven?

NATHAN.

Who, then?

Whose wedding garment would you speak of, Daja?

All this is yours, 'tis meant for no one else.

DAJA.

What, mine! for me! I thought it was for Recha.

NATHAN.

No, what I bought for her is elsewhere packed;

'Tis in another bale. But, come, away

With all this rubbish.

DAJA.

Nathan, tempt me not,

For were these things the very costliest

In all the world, I'll touch not one of them

Till you have sworn to seize a happy chance

Which Heaven ne'er offers twice.

NATHAN.

What happy chance?

What must I seize?

DAJA.

Nathan, feign not such ignorance.

But, in one word--the Templar loves your Recha--

Give her to him, and then your sin, which I

Can hide no longer, will for ever cease.

The maid will then once more resume her place

Amongst the Christians, will again become

What she was born to, and what once she was;

And you, whom we can never thank enough

For all your goodness, will not then have heaped

More burning coals of fire upon your head.

NATHAN.

Still harping on the same old string again,

New tuned, but neither to accord nor hold.

DAJA.

How so?

NATHAN.

The Templar pleases me; 'tis true

I'd rather he, than any one, had Recha.

But patience.

DAJA.

Patience! and, say, is not that

The string you always harp on?

NATHAN.

Still, have patience

But for a few days longer. Ha! who comes?

A friar! Go ask him what his errand is.

DAJA (going).

What can he want?

NATHAN.

Give--give before he begs.

(Oh, that I knew how I could sound the Knight

Without betraying what my motive is!

For should I tell it, and my thoughts prove false,

I shall have staked the father's rights in vain.)

What is the matter?

DAJA.

He would speak with you.

NATHAN.

Let him approach. Leave us together, Daja.

Scene VII.

Nathan and the Friar.

NATHAN.

(Aside. Gladly I would continue Recha's father!

And can I not be so, though I may cease

To bear the name? To her--at least to her--

I should be father still, if she but knew

How willingly I bore that title once.)

What can I do to serve you, pious brother?

FRIAR.

Not much; and yet it gives me pleasure, Nathan,

To see at least that you are still so well.

NATHAN.

You know me, then, it seems?

FRIAR.

Who knows you not?

You have impressed your name on many a hand--

It has been stamped on mine these many years.

NATHAN (feeling for his purse).

Come, brother, come; here's to refresh it.

FRIAR.

Thanks.

That would be robbing poorer men. I will

Take nothing; but I beg of you, permit

That I refresh your memory with my name;

For I can boast of having formerly

Placed something in your hand you should not scorn.

NATHAN.

Excuse me--I'm ashamed--what was it? Say,

And then take for atonement sevenfold

The value of the thing.

FRIAR.

Well, first of all,

Hear how this very day has brought to mind

The pledge I gave you.

NATHAN.

What! a pledge to me?

FRIAR.

Not long ago I led a hermit's life

On Quarantana, near to Jericho.

Some Arab thieves came and attacked my cell;

They robbed my oratory, forcing me

To follow them. But fortune favoured me.

I fled, came hither to the Patriarch,

And sought from him another calm retreat,

Where I might serve my God in solitude

Till death should bless me.

NATHAN.

Ah! I am on thorns.

Be quick! What pledge did you entrust to me?

FRIAR.

Yes, Nathan, presently. The Patriarch

Has promised I shall have a hermitage

On Tabor, when 'tis vacant; and meanwhile

Employs me in this convent as a brother,

And here I am at present. But I pine

For Tabor fifty times a day; for here

He makes me toil at work which I detest.

NATHAN.

Be speedy, I beseech you.

FRIAR.

Well, it chanced

Some one has whispered in his ear to-day

That a Jew lives hard by, who educates

A Christian as his daughter.

NATHAN.

How?

FRIAR.

Nay, hear.

He has commissioned me, if possible,

To find this Jew out for him; and he raves

Loudly and bitterly against the crime,

Which he pronounces as the actual sin

Against the Holy Ghost--that is, the sin

The greatest, which a sinner can commit.

But luckily we can't exactly tell

Its nature. But my conscience all at once

Was roused, and it occurred to me that I

Had once, perhaps, been guilty of this sin.

Do you remember, eighteen years ago,

When a knight's squire committed to your hands

A female infant but a few weeks old?

NATHAN.

What say you? Well, in fact there was----

FRIAR.

Ay, look--

Look well at me--for I'm that squire: 'twas I.

NATHAN.

What! you?

FRIAR.

And he from whom I brought the child

Was, if I recollect the matter right,

A Lord of Filneck--Wolf von Filneck.

NATHAN.

Right.

FRIAR.

Because the mother died not long before;

And he, the father, was obliged to fly

To Gaza suddenly. The helpless child

Could not accompany him, and therefore he

Committed it to you: that was my task.

I found you out at Daran.

NATHAN.

Right, quite right.

FRIAR.

It were no wonder had my memory

Deceived me. I have served so many lords.

The one who fled was not my master long,

He fell at Askalon. His heart was kind.

NATHAN.

Yes, yes, and I have much to thank him for.

Not once, but many times he saved my life.

FRIAR.

O, glorious! then the greater joy for you

To educate his daughter.

NATHAN.

You say well.

FRIAR.

Where is she now? She is not dead, I hope.

Let me not hear, I pray, that she is dead.

If no one else have found the secret out,

All is yet safe.

NATHAN.

Indeed!

FRIAR.

Oh, Nathan, trust me.

This is my way of thinking: if the good

That I propose to do is intertwined

With mischief, then I let the good alone;

For we know well enough what mischief is,

But not what is the best. 'Twas natural,

If you intended to bring up the child

With care, that you should rear it as your own.

And to have done this lovingly and well,

And be thus recompensed, is piteous.

It were perhaps more prudent, if the child

Had been brought up by some good Christian's hand,

In her own faith. But then you had not loved

Your dear friend's orphan child; and children need

Love--were it but the affection of a brute--

More at that age, than Christianity:

There's always time enough for that: and if

The maiden had grown up before your eyes,

Healthy and pious, she had then remained

The same as ever in her Maker's eyes.

For is not Christianity all built

Upon the Jewish creed? Oh oft, too oft,

It vexes me and costs me bitter tears,

To think that Christians will so constantly

Forget that Christ our Saviour was a Jew.

NATHAN.

Good brother, you shall be my advocate,

When hate and bigotry shall frown on me,

All for a deed--which you alone shall hear--

But take it with you to the tomb. As yet

E'en vanity has never tempted me

To breathe it to a soul; to you alone

It shall be told; for simple piety

Like yours can truly feel what man can do

Who places his full confidence in God.

FRIAR.

You're moved, and your eyes run o'er with tears.

NATHAN.

At Daran 'twas you met me with the child.

You had not heard that, a few days before,

The Christians murdered every Jew in Gath--

Woman and child. Amongst them was my wife--

Along with her, my seven hopeful sons.

All had sought shelter 'neath my brother's roof,

And there were burnt alive.

FRIAR.

Just God!

NATHAN.

You came.

Three nights in dust and ashes I had lain

Before my God and wept; and I at times

Arraigned my Maker, raged, and cursed myself

And the whole world together, and I swore

Eternal hate to Christianity.

FRIAR.

Who can condemn you? I believe it well.

NATHAN.

But by degrees returning reason came,

And spoke with gentle accent: "God is just!

And this was His decree. Now exercise

The lesson thou so long hast understood,

And which is surely not more difficult

To exercise than well to understand."

I rose and cried to God, "I will, I will!

Do Thou but aid my purpose." And, behold,

Just at that moment you dismounted. You

Gave me the child enfolded in your robe.

The words we spoke occur not to me now.

This much I recollect: I took the child;

I bore it to my bed; I kissed its cheek;

I flung myself upon my knees, and sobbed,

"My God, Thou hast restored me one of seven!"