NATHAN.
I would not wish thee other than thou art,
E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul
A very different emotion throbs.
RECHA.
Why—what my father?
NATHAN.
Dost thou ask of me,
So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee?
Whatever ’tis, ’tis innocence and nature.
Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm;
But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak
A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal
A single of thy wishes from my fondness.
RECHA.
Oh the mere possibility of wishing
Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder.
NATHAN.
Let this be spoken once for all. Well, Daya—