SITTAH.
His ships fill every harbour;
His caravans through every desert toil.
This has Al-Hafi told me long ago:
With transport adding then—how nobly Nathan
Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness
By prudent industry to have justly earned—
How free from prejudice his lofty soul—
His heart to every virtue how unlocked—
With every lovely feeling how familiar.
SALADIN.
Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him.
SITTAH.
Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion,
As if he thought it dangerous to praise him,
And yet knew not to blame him undeserving,
Or can it really be that e’en the best
Among a people cannot quite escape
The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact,
Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan?
Be that as’t may—be he the Jew or no—
Is he but rich—that is enough for us.
SALADIN.
You would not, sister, take his wealth by force.
SITTAH.
What do you mean by force—fire, sword? Oh no!
What force is necessary with the weak
But their own weakness? Come awhile with me
Into my harem: I have bought a songstress,
You have not heard her, she came yesterday:
Meanwhile I’ll think somewhat about a project
I have upon this Nathan. Follow, brother.