Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the nation,
That first began to strike at fellow men,
That first baptised itself the chosen people—
How now if I were—not to hate this people,
Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it,
The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian
Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one,
You start, that I, a Christian and a templar,
Talk thus. Where, when, has e’er the pious rage
To own the better god—on the whole world
To force this better, as the best of all—
Shown itself more, and in a blacker form,
Than here, than now? To him, whom, here and now,
The film is not removing from his eye—
But be he blind that wills! Forget my speeches
And leave me.
NATHAN.
Ah! indeed you do not know
How closer I shall cling to you henceforth.
We must, we will be friends. Despise my nation—
We did not choose a nation for ourselves.
Are we our nations? What’s a nation then?
Were Jews and Christians such, e’er they were men?
And have I found in thee one more, to whom
It is enough to be a man?
TEMPLAR.
That hast thou.
Nathan, by God, thou hast. Thy hand. I blush
To have mistaken thee a single instant.
NATHAN.
And I am proud of it. Only common souls
We seldom err in.
TEMPLAR.
And uncommon ones
Seldom forget. Yes, Nathan, yes we must,
We will be friends.
NATHAN.