Into this house I never enter more: He'll come to me at last. Yet, formerly, They used to watch for me with longing eyes; And now----The time may come he'll send to beg, Most civilly, that I will get me hence, And not pace up and down before his door! No matter: though I feel a little hurt. I know not what has thus embittered me: He answered yes, and has refused me naught, So far, and Saladin has pledged himself To bring him round. Say, does the Christian live Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him? Ah! who can truly estimate himself? How comes it else that I should grudge him so The trifling booty, which he took such pains To rob the Christians of? No trifling theft! No less than such a creature! And to whom Does she belong? Oh, surely not to him, The thoughtless slave, who floated the mere block On to life's barren strand, then disappeared. Rather to him, the artist, whose fine soul Has from the block moulded this godlike form, And graved it there. And yet in spite of him, The Christian, who begot this beauteous maid, Recha's true father must be still the Jew. Were I to fancy her a Christian now, Bereft of all the Jew has given to her-- Which only such a Jew could have bestowed-- Speak out, my heart--where would have been her charm' It had been nothing--little; then her smile Had been a pretty twisting of the mouth And that which caused it were unworthy deemed Of the enchantment blooming on her lips. No: not her very smile! I've seen sweet smiles Squandered on pride, on foppery, on lies, On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent: And did they charm me then? Did they awake The wish to flutter out existence in Their sunshine? And I'm angry now with him Who gave this higher value to the maid? And wherefore so? Do I deserve the taunt With which I was dismissed by Saladin? 'Twas bad enough he should think thus of me. How wicked, how contemptible, alas! I must have seemed to him! And for a girl! Conrad, this will not do. Avaunt such thoughts! And what if Daja has been chattering Of things not easy to be proved? But see, He comes, engaged in converse; and with whom? With him, the Friar. Then he knows all: perhaps He has betrayed him to the Patriarch. O Conrad! what vile mischief hast thou done! O! that one spark of love, that wayward passion, Should so inflame the brain! But, quick! resolve; What's to be done? Stay, step aside awhile; Perhaps the Friar will leave him. Let us see. Scene IV. Nathan _and the_ Friar. NATHAN (_approaching him_). Good brother, once more, thanks. FRIAR. The same to you. NATHAN.