Well, well, I'll not refuse it wholly, for the sake Of my poor mantle; when it is well worn, And spite of darning will not hold together, I'll come and borrow cloth or gold of you, To make a new one. Nay, Sir, do not start; The danger is not pressing--'tis not yet Quite worthless; it is sound, and strong, and good. Save in one corner, where an ugly spot Is singed, and that is from a burn it got When I bore off your daughter from the fire. NATHAN (_taking hold of the mantle_). 'Tis strange, indeed, that such a spot as this Should bear far better witness to the man Than his own lips. This spot! Oh, I could kiss it. Your pardon, Sir, in truth, I meant it not! TEMPLAR. What? NATHAN. 'Twas a tear that fell. TEMPLAR. Well, 'tis no matter. 'Tis not the first. (This Jew doth puzzle me.) NATHAN. Would you but send this mantle to my daughter! TEMPLAR. Why? NATHAN. That she, too, may press it to her lips; For at her benefactor's feet to fall She now may hope in vain. TEMPLAR. But, Jew, your name? Tis Nathan, is it not? You choose your words With skill--I am confused. I did not think NATHAN. Feign, Templar, and dissemble as you may, I see the truth. I see your generous heart, Too honest and too good to be polite. A grateful girl, all feeling, and her maid Swift to obey--a father far from home, You valued her fair fame, and would not see her. You scorned to tempt lest you should victor prove. For this too I must tender you my thanks. TEMPLAR. You know at least how Templars _ought_ to feel. NATHAN. Why Templars only? and why ought to feel? Is it because your rules and vows enjoin These duties to _your order_? Sir, I know How good men all should feel, and know as well That every country can produce good men. TEMPLAR. You'll make distinctions? NATHAN. Yes, in colour, form, And dress, perhaps. TEMPLAR. Ay, and in number too-- Here more--there less. NATHAN.