Templar monologue (Act 5) — Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

Into this house I go not—sure at last He’ll show himself—once, once they used to see me So instantly, so gladly—time will come When he’ll send out most civilly to beg me Not to pace up and down before his door. Psha—and yet I’m a little nettled too; And what has thus embittered me against him? He answered yes. He has refused me nothing As yet. And Saladin has undertaken To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him? Who, who can justly estimate himself? How comes it else that I should grudge him so The little booty that he took such pains To rob the Christians of? A theft, no less Than such a creature tho’—but whose, whose creature? Sure not the slave’s who floated the mere block On to life’s barren strand, and then ran off; But his the artist’s, whose fine fancy moulded Upon the unowned block a godlike form, Whose chisel graved it there. Recha’s true father, Spite of the Christian who begot her, is, Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I To fancy her a simple Christian wench, And without all that which the Jew has given, Which only such a Jew could have bestowed— Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee? No, nothing! Little! For her very smile Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles— Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy Of all the charms in ambush on her lips? No, not her very smile—I’ve seen sweet smiles Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander, On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent, And did they charm me then? then wake the wish To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine? Indeed not—Yet I’m angry with the man Who alone gave this higher value to her. How this, and why? Do I deserve the taunt With which I was dismissed by Saladin? ’Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so; How little, how contemptible must I Then have appeared to him—all for a girl. Conrade, this will not do—back, back—And if Daya to boot had prated matter to me Not easy to be proved—At last he’s coming, Engaged in earnest converse—and with whom? My friar in Nathan’s house! then he knows all— Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed. O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark Of that same passion, love, can set so much O’ th’ brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, wretch, What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment And see if this good friar will please to quit him.