 | The Hebrew |  |
SCENE IV.
—A Prison in the Turret of Brian's Castle; in one Corner is a wide Fire-place, fronted with rusty Bars of Iron. Isaac lies in the corner on a Bundle of Straw.Isaac.
When will it come? the last strong fearful wrench,
That tears the struggling spirit from the flesh?
Sick! Sick! And life had still such hoarded sweets
For time to reap,—the kiss of infant love—
The smiles of social joy—the thousand hopes
That fourscore years had twin'd about my heart:—
And I must die—must rot in the cold grave;
And stranger feet will rest them in my home!
And stranger joys will laugh around my hearth.
Enter Brian and Saracens.
Brian.
Up, Jewish dog! Up, infidel!
38
Good Knight,
Be merciful!
Brian.
Thou art my pris'ner, Jew;
If freedom be a jewel of high carat,
Thou'lt not deny its purchase at my price,—
A thousand silver marks.
Isaac.
There never was,—
There never will be, such a sum; a hill,—
A mountain 'tis, of silver.
Brian.
Is it? Well;
I will be gentle, and if silver's scant,—
Isaac.
It is, it is.
Brian.
Then I'll take gold.
Isaac.
Gold! gold!
Where shall I find it? In the earth or sea?
The coffers of my tribe hold not the sum.
Brian.
The fire flame roars,—What think you of your bed?
For your's it will be, if you yield not soon
To that I ask.
Isaac.
You do not mean it?—No;
The father of all good ne'er made a heart
Of so much cruelty, and yet he made
The serpent and the wolf.
Brian.
Be wise, old man;
That fire will bite more sharply than the wolf;
That flame will grasp thee in its burning coil,
More fiercely than the serpent. Take thy choice.
Isaac.
I have no choice;
I lack the money.
Brian.
False, and vain as false.
I'll have thy gold; first, as I need its use;
Next, to thy grief, and in it my revenge,
For that thou sought'st a friend in him I hate.
Isaac.
Look on my pains! Send forth thy angel, death!
Return me to the dust, that earth may feel
No more than earth.
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Nay, come; thy answer, Jew;
Hark! how the flames are roaring for their prey.
Isaac.
Would I were dead!
Brian.
Hast ever felt the pain
Of fire but in thy finger? Think of that,
And tremble.
Isaac.
Flesh cannot bear the pang!
I'll give—I've not the gold—have mercy—mercy—
Brian.
Dost think thy cries can move me? I have seen
The sack of cities, when a thousand flames,
As hot as these, have gone forth to devour
Men, women, children—aye, bed-ridden age
And puling infancy—and deem'st thou then
The screaming of a single, wretched Jew,
Can shake my purpose? Hope it not, old man;
Wilt give the money?
Isaac.
I will; you'll set
My daughter free; she'll borrow of our tribe
That dwell in York, and thou shall have the coin
Weigh'd to thee on this floor.
Brian.
No, Isaac, no.
Isaac.
How else shall I provide it?
Brian.
That's your care;
But for your black-eye'd daughter, she shall be
My handmaid in the fashion of the tribes
Of Israel—a good example, Jew,
If wisely followed,
Isaac.
Art indeed a man?
Oh take what you've ask'd;
Take ten times more—take all—make me a beggar,
Let me feed in the highway with the dogs—
But spare my child, my sweet, my guiltless child.
Brian.
Hope it not, Isaac; mine she is, and shall be.
Isaac.
The horse leech, Sorrow, fix upon thy heart,
And gripe it 'till 'tis bloodless—Oh the maw
Of dogs be tomb for thee.
40
(coolly)
Thy curses wound not—
But has thy flesh a charm 'gainst steel and flames?
Isaac.
My child! my child!—I do defy thee, else.
Tear me with pincers; let fire gnaw the flesh
From off these bones, with tooth that wounds but kills not,
That life may look upon its own decay,—
Still I defy thee.
Brian.
To the trial then!
Shouts are heard without: clash of swords.
Yet hold! what sound is that?
He leaps upon the table and looks out of the grated loop hole.
Besieg'd! besieg'd!
The arrows fly in showers!—Ha! I'm struck.
De Bracy.
(without)
What, Brian ho! the castle is beset.
Brian plucks the Arrow from his breast, and falls into the arms of the Saracens: while they are busy in staunching the wound, &c. Isaac speaks.
Isaac.
Triumph!—he falls!—How,—do my curses wound?
Dost thou not feel them griping at thy heart?
Christian, dost thou hear me?
Thine was the eagle's flight,—high,—high in air!
Thou look'st upon the sun, and in thy pride
Made it no shame to tear with rav'nous beak,
The birds of humbler quarry!—What! thy wing
Is broken, flapping bloodily in dust—
May it ne'er heal again to bear thee up,
Where thou may'st souse upon the weaker things
That fly beneath thee—no—shame, Isaac—shame
List to his groans—list to the bubbling blood—
How his limbs quiver—Christian—I forgive thee.
| The Hebrew | |