Recha monologue (Act 3) — Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

Daya, What art thou prating of? My dearest Daya, Indeed thou hast some strange unseemly notions. “_His_ God—_for_ whom he fights”—what is a God Belonging to a man—needing another To fight his battles? And can we pronounce _For_ which among the scattered clods of earth You, I was born; unless it be for that _On_ which we were produced. If Nathan heard thee— What has my father done to thee, that thou Hast ever sought to paint my happiness As lying far remote from him and his. What has he done to thee that thus, among The seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed, Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking To plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land. He wills not of these pranking gaudy blossoms Upon this soil. And I too must acknowledge I feel as if they had a sour-sweet odour, That makes me giddy—that half suffocates. Thy head is wont to bear it. I don’t blame Those stronger nerves that can support it. Mine— Mine it behoves not. Latterly thy angel Had made me half a fool. I am ashamed, Whene’er I see my father, of the folly.