His ships fill every harbour; His caravans through every desert toil. This has Al-Hafi told me long ago: With transport adding then—how nobly Nathan Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness By prudent industry to have justly earned— How free from prejudice his lofty soul— His heart to every virtue how unlocked— With every lovely feeling how familiar. SALADIN. Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him. SITTAH. Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion, As if he thought it dangerous to praise him, And yet knew not to blame him undeserving, Or can it really be that e’en the best Among a people cannot quite escape The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact, Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan? Be that as’t may—be he the Jew or no— Is he but rich—that is enough for us. SALADIN. You would not, sister, take his wealth by force. SITTAH. What do you mean by force—fire, sword? Oh no! What force is necessary with the weak But their own weakness? Come awhile with me Into my harem: I have bought a songstress, You have not heard her, she came yesterday: Meanwhile I’ll think somewhat about a project I have upon this Nathan. Follow, brother. SCENE.—The Place of Palms, close to Nathan’s House. NATHAN, _attired_, _comes out with_ RECHA. RECHA. You have been so very slow, my dearest father, You now will hardly be in time to find him. NATHAN. Well, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely, Elsewhere. My child, be satisfied. See, see, Is not that Daya making towards us? RECHA. She certainly has lost him then. NATHAN. Why so? RECHA. Else she’d walk quicker. NATHAN. She may not have seen us. RECHA. There, now she sees us. NATHAN. And her speed redoubles, Be calm, my Recha. RECHA. Would you have your daughter Be cool and unconcerned who ’twas that saved her, Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes Chiefly because she owed it first to thee? NATHAN. I would not wish thee other than thou art, E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul A very different emotion throbs. RECHA. Why—what my father? NATHAN.