HAFI.
Of my own cheating sure
It is allowed to speak. Were it not cheating
To look for the fair side of these impostures,
In order, under colour of its fairness,
To gain advantage from them—ha?
NATHAN.
Al-Hafi,
Go to your desert quickly. Among men
I fear you’ll soon unlearn to be a man.
HAFI.
And so do I—farewell.
NATHAN.
What, so abruptly?
Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings?
Man, ’twill not run away, I warrant you—
Hear, hear, I want you—want to talk with you—
He’s gone. I could have liked to question him
About our templar. He will likely know him.
Nathan and Daya. Daya (bursting in).
O Nathan, Nathan!
NATHAN.
Well, what now?
DAYA.
He’s there.
He shows himself again.
NATHAN.
Who, Daya, who?
DAYA.
He! he!
NATHAN.
When cannot He be seen? Indeed
Your He is only one; that should not be,
Were he an angel even.
DAYA.
’Neath the palms
He wanders up and down, and gathers dates.
NATHAN.
And eats?—and as a templar?
DAYA.
How you tease us!
Her eager eye espied him long ago,
While he scarce gleamed between the further stems,
And follows him most punctually. Go,
She begs, conjures you, go without delay;
And from the window will make signs to you
Which way his rovings bend. Do, do make haste.
NATHAN.
What! thus, as I alighted from my camel,
Would that be decent? Swift, do you accost him,
Tell him of my return. I do not doubt,
His delicacy in the master’s absence
Forbore my house; but gladly will accept
The father’s invitation. Say, I ask him,
Most heartily request him—
DAYA.
All in vain!
In short, he will not visit any Jew.
NATHAN.
Then do thy best endeavours to detain him,
Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt,
Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long.
Scene.—A Place of Palms.
The Templar walking to and fro, a Friar following him at some distance, as if desirous of addressing him.
TEMPLAR.
This fellow does not follow me for pastime.
How skaunt he eyes his hands! Well, my good brother—
Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not?
FRIAR.
No—brother—a lay-brother at your service.
TEMPLAR.
Well, brother, then; if I myself had something—
But—but, by God, I’ve nothing.
FRIAR.
Thanks the same;
And God reward your purpose thousand-fold!
The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver.
Nor was I sent to follow you for alms—
TEMPLAR.
Sent then?
FRIAR.
Yes, from the monastery.
TEMPLAR.
Where
I was just now in hopes of coming in
For pilgrims’ fare.
FRIAR.
They were already at table:
But if it suit with you to turn directly—
TEMPLAR.
Why so? ’Tis true, I have not tasted meat
This long time. What of that? The dates are ripe.
FRIAR.
O with that fruit go cautiously to work.
Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours,
Makes the blood melancholy.
TEMPLAR.
And if I
Choose to be melancholy—For this warning
You were not sent
