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

Yes, at the feet of this proud man, I will Thank—God alone. The man will have no thanks; No more than will the bucket which was busy In showering watery damps upon the flame. That was filled, emptied—but to me, to thee What boots it? So the man—he too, he too Was thrust, he knew not how, and the fire. I dropped, by chance, into his open arm. By chance, remained there—like a fluttering spark Upon his mantle—till—I know not what Pushed us both from amid the conflagration. What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe Wine urges men to very different deeds! Templars must so behave; it is their office, Like better taught or rather handier spaniels, To fetch from out of fire, as out of water.