Of perishing?
My Recha, saidst thou? She? I heard not that.
I then should not have needed any house.
Upon the point of perishing—perchance
She’s gone?—Speak out then—out—torment me not
With this suspense.—Come, tell me, tell me all.
DAYA.
Were she no more, from me you would not hear it.
NATHAN.
Why then alarm me?—Recha, O my Recha!
DAYA.
Your Recha? Yours?
NATHAN.
What if I ever were
Doomed to unlearn to call this child, my child,
DAYA.