Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

         And the patriarch

      Had cast his eye on me for this brave office?

      He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais

      Best second such a deed.

         On me? on me?

      Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour

      Which I received from Saladin?

            Oh, yes!

      And yet?

         The patriarch thinks—that’s mighty well—

      God, and the order’s interest—

         Alter nothing,

      Command no villainies.

         No, that indeed not;

      But what is villainy in human eyes

      May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks,

      Not be—

         I owe my life to Saladin,

      And might take his?

         That—fie!  But Saladin,

      The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe

      Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right

      To be your friend.

         My friend—because I will not

      Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him.

      Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not

      A debt before the eye of God or man,

      Unless for our own sakes the benefit

      Had been conferred; and, it has been reported,

      The patriarch understands that Saladin

      Preserved your life merely because your voice,

      Your air, or features, raised a recollection

      Of his lost brother.

         He knows this? and yet—

      If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin!

      How! and shall nature then have formed in me

      A single feature in thy brother’s likeness,

      With nothing in my soul to answer to it?

      Or what does correspond shall I suppress

      To please a patriarch?  So thou dost not cheat us,

      Nature—and so not contradict Thyself,

      Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away:

      Do not stir up my anger.

         I withdraw

      More gladly than I came.  We cloister-folk

      Are forced to vow obedience to superiors.

      The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood:

      But I must risk my message.

         Better still

      The proverb says that monks and women are

      The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day

      From one to th’ other.

         Whom do I behold?—

      Thank God!  I see you, noble knight, once more.

      Where have you lurked this long, long space?  You’ve not

      Been ill?

         No.

            Well, then?

            Yes.

            We’ve all been anxious

      Lest something ailed you.

         So?

         Have you been journeying?

      Hit off!

         How long returned?

            Since yesterday.

      Our Recha’s father too is just returned,

      And now may Recha hope at last—

            For what?

      For what she often has requested of you.

      Her father pressingly invites your visit.

      He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty

      High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs,

      And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected

      From Syria, Persia, India, even China.

      I am no chap.

         His nation honours him,

      As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him

      Called the wise Nathan by them, not the rich,

      Has often made me wonder.

         To his nation

      Are rich and wise perhaps of equal import.

      But above all he should be called the good.

      You can’t imagine how much goodness dwells

      Within him.  Since he has been told the service

      You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing

      That he would grudge you.

         Aye?

            Do—see him, try him.

      A burst of feeling soon is at an end.

      And do you think that I, were he less kind,

      Less bountiful, had housed with him so long:

      That I don’t feel my value as a Christian:

      For ’twas not o’er my cradle said, or sung,

      That I to Palestina should pursue

      My