It is a Templar's duty--to assist
All who need succour; and my life just then
Was a mere burden. It was a relief
To risk it for another, even though
The task were to preserve a Jewess' life.

NATHAN.

Great--great yet horrible--I understand
The turn. The modest greatness will assume
The hideous mask to ward off gratitude.
But though he may disdain our proffer'd thanks,
Is there no other tribute we can pay?
Sir Knight! if you were not a stranger here,
And not a pris'ner, I were not so bold.
But, come, what service can I render you?

TEMPLAR.

You!--nothing.

NATHAN.

I am rich.

TEMPLAR.

The richer Jew
Was ne'er in my esteem the better Jew.

NATHAN.

Is that a reason why you should not use
The better part of him--his wealth?

TEMPLAR.

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.