Use him, and—spit on him! That's Gentile wont;
Make him gold-conduit, and befoul the font,—
That's the true despot-plan through all the days,
And cackling Gratianos chorus praise.
"The Jew shall have all justice." Shall he so?
The tyrant drains, his gold, then bids him—"Go!"
Shylock? The name bears insult in its sound;
But he was nobler than the curs who hound
The patient Hebrew from his home, and drive
Deathward the stronger souls they dread alive.