RABBI JACOB. Bear with us, gracious lords! My friend is stunned. He is an honest man. Even I, as 't were, Am stupefied by this surprising news. Yet, let me think--it seems it is not new, This is an ancient, well-remembered pain. What, brother, came not one who prophesied This should betide exactly as it doth? That was a shrewd old man! Your pardon, lords, I think you know not just what you would do. You say the Jews shall burn--shall burn you say; Why, good my lords, the Jews are not a flock Of gallows-birds, they are a colony Of kindly, virtuous folk. Come home with me; I'll show you happy hearths, glad roofs, pure lives. Why, some of them are little quick-eyed boys, Some, pretty, ungrown maidens--children's children Of those who called me to the pastorate. And some are beautiful tall girls, some, youths Of marvellous promise, some are old and sick, Amongst them there be mothers, infants, brides, Just like your Christian people, for all the world. Know ye what burning is? Hath one of you Scorched ever his soft flesh, or singed his beard, His hair, his eyebrows--felt the keen, fierce nip Of the pungent flame--and raises not his voice To stop this holocaust? God! 't is too horrible! Wake me, my friends, from this terrific dream. SUSSKIND. Courage, my brother. On our firmness hangs The dignity of Israel. Sir Governor, I have a secret word to speak with you. SCHNETZEN. Ye shall enjoy with me the jest. These knaves Are apt to quick invention as in crime. Speak out--I have no secrets from my peers. SUSSKIND. My lord, what answer would you give your Christ If peradventure, in this general doom You sacrifice a Christian? Some strayed dove Lost from your cote, among our vultures caged? Beware, for midst our virgins there is one Owes kinship nor allegiance to our tribe. For her dear sake be pitiful, my lords, Have mercy on our women! Spare at least My daughter Liebhaid, she is none of mine! She is a Christian! SCHNETZEN. Just as I foretold! The wretches will forswear the sacred'st ties, Cringing for life. Serpents, ye all shall die. So wills the Landgrave; so the court affirms. Your daughter shall be first, whose wanton arts Have brought destruction on a princely house. SUSSKIND. My lord, be moved. You kill your flesh and blood. By Adonai I swear, your dying wife Entrusted to these arms her child. 'T was I Carried your infant from your burning home. Lord Schnetzen, will you murder your own child?