Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five actsLessing, Gotthold Ephraim
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Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim
German drama -- Translations into English
SITTAH.
I pray thee, Hafi,
Be more discreet.
SALADIN.
That’s very singular.
And what can Sittah then so earnestly,
So warmly have to sue for from a stranger,
A dervis, rather than from me, her brother?
Al-Hafi, I command. Dervis, speak out.
SITTAH.
Let not a trifle, brother, touch you nearer
Than is becoming. You know I have often
Won the same sum of you at chess, and, as
I have not just at present need of money,
I’ve left the sum at rest in Hafi’s chest,
Which is not over-full; and thus the stakes
Are not yet taken out—but, never fear,
It is not my intention to bestow them
On thee, or Hafi.
HAFI.
Were it only this—
SITTAH.
Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed;
My own allowance, which you set apart,
Has lain some months untouched.
HAFI.
Nor is that all—
SALADIN.
Nor yet—speak then!
HAFI.
Since we have been expecting
The treasure out of Egypt, she not only—
SITTAH.
Why listen to him?
HAFI.
Has not had an asper;—
SALADIN.
Good creature—but has been advancing to thee—
HAFI.
Has at her sole expense maintained thy state.
SALADIN (_embracing her_).
My sister—ah!
SITTAH.
And who but you, my brother,
Could make me rich enough to have the power?
HAFI.
And in a little time again will leave thee
Poor as himself.
SALADIN.
I, poor—her brother, poor?
When had I more, when less than at this instant?
A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God!—
What need I else? With them what can be wanting?
And yet, Al-Hafi, I could quarrel with thee
For this.
SITTAH.
A truce to that, my brother. Were it
As easy to remove our father’s cares!
SALADIN.
Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated:
To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting;
But—but to him—and, in him, to us all.
What shall I do? From Egypt maybe nothing
Will come this long time. Why—God only knows.
We hear of no stir. To reduce, to spare,
I am quite willing for myself to stoop to,
Were it myself, and only I, should suffer—
But what can that avail? A cloak, a horse,
A sword I ne’er can want;—as to my God,
He is not to be bought; He asks but little,
Only my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi,
Upon a surplus in my chest.
HAFI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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