You—in nothing.
NATHAN.
I’m rich.
TEMPLAR.
To me the richer Jew ne’er seemed
The bettor 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 my poor mantle’s sake—when that is threadbare,
And spite of darning will not hold together,
I’ll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee,
To make me up a new one. Don’t look solemn;
The danger is not pressing; ’tis not yet
At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good,
Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot
You see is singed upon it. It got singed
As I bore off your daughter from the fire.
NATHAN (taking hold of the mantle).