Daya: Yet Saladin granted this youth his life,
For his great likeness to a dear dead brother.
Nathan: Why need you, then, call angels into play?
Daya: But then he wanted nothing, nothing sought;
Was in himself sufficient, like an angel.
Recha: And when at last he vanished——
Nathan: Vanished! Have you not sought him?
What if he—
That is, a Frank, unused to this fierce sun—
Now languish on a sick-bed, friendless, poor?
Recha: Alas, my father!
Nathan: What if he, unfriended,
Lies ill and unrelieved; the hapless prey
Of agony and death; consoled alone
In death by the remembrance of this deed.
Daya: You kill her!
Nathan: You kill him.
Recha: Not dead, not dead!