Yet even so, my Recha, thy escape Remains a wonder, only possible To Him, who of the proud pursuits of princes Makes sport--or if not sport--at least delights To head and manage them by slender threads.

RECHA.

If I do err, it is not wilfully, My father.

NATHAN.

No, you have been always docile.

See now, a forehead vaulted thus, or thus - A nose bow'd one way rather than another - Eye-brows with straiter, or with sharper curve - A line, a mole, a wrinkle, a mere nothing I' th' countenance of an European savage - And thou--art saved, in Asia, from the fire.

Ask ye for signs and wonders after that?

What need of calling angels into play?

DAYA.

But Nathan, where's the harm, if I may speak, Of fancying one's self by an angel saved, Rather than by a man? Methinks it brings us Just so much the nearer the incomprehensive First cause of preservation.

NATHAN.

Pride, rank pride!

The iron pot would with a silver p.r.o.ng Be lifted from the furnace--to imagine Itself a silver vase. Paha! Where's the harm?

Thou askest. Where's the good? I might reply.

For thy IT BRINGS US NEARER TO THE G.o.dHEAD Is nonsense, Daya, if not blasphemy.

But it does harm: yes, yes, it does indeed.

Attend now. To the being, who preserved you, Be he an angel or a man, you both, And thou especially wouldst gladly show Substantial services in just requital.

Now to an angel what great services Have ye the power to do? To sing his praise - Melt in transporting contemplation o'er him - Fast on his holiday--and squander alms - What nothingness of use! To me at least It seems your neighbour gains much more than he By all this pious glow. Not by your fasting Is he made fat; not by your squandering, rich; Nor by your transports is his glory exalted; Nor by your faith his might. But to a man -

DAYA.

Why yes; a man indeed had furnished us With more occasions to be useful to him.

G.o.d knows how readily we should have seized them.

But then he would have nothing--wanted nothing - Was in himself wrapped up, and self-sufficient, As angels are.

RECHA.

And when at last he vanished -

NATHAN.

Vanished? How vanished? Underneath the palms Escaped your view, and has returned no more.

Or have you really sought for him elsewhere?

DAYA.

No, that indeed we've not.

NATHAN.

Not, Daya, not?

See it does harm, hard-hearted, cold enthusiasts, What if this angel on a bed of illness -

RECHA.

Illness?

DAYA.

Ill! sure he is not.

RECHA.

A cold shudder Creeps over me; O Daya, feel my forehead, It was so warm, 'tis now as chill as ice.

NATHAN.

He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate, Is young, and to the labours of his calling, To fasting, watching, quite unused -

RECHA.

Ill--ill!

DAYA.

Thy father only means 'twere possible.

NATHAN.

And there he lies, without a friend, or money To buy him friends -

RECHA.

Alas! my father.

NATHAN.

Lies Without advice, attendance, converse, pity, The prey of agony, of death -

RECHA.

Where--where?

NATHAN.

He, who, for one he never knew, or saw - It is enough for him he is a man - Plunged into fire.

DAYA.

O Nathan, Nathan, spare her.

NATHAN.