And in the tremulous lines of her fair face
An exquisite and soft remorse appears
That Love, of right, must take the sovereign seat,
And Friendship lower pass, for all his years.
III.
“I stand for law.” It is the hour: behold
The stem storm-buffeted, a spear grown strong
For sternest deed in wanton winds of wrong.
See Shylock from his sombre garment’s fold
The scales of Justice draw. No lavish gold