In this English land men have rated me
About my moneys and my usuries.
But that is long ago; the times have changed,
And feeling in more righteous channel set,
Now turns itself in flood to sweep away
The wrongs of vanished years. Nay, more than this.
But yesterday one of my ancient race,
Filled, with his Christian colleagues' heartiest will,
The civic throne; and at this very hour
A protest from all classes in the land
From low and high, from peasant and from peer,
Goes forth to plead with the despotic power
That 'neath brute persecution's iron heel
Would trample out my brethren's life. So, there,
Which way I look I meet a greeting hand.
So, not repeating here the vengeful plot
Of the old _Shylock_ of the play; without
My pound of flesh or pound of anything,--
But solely for the bond of brotherhood
That should link loyal workers in one field,
Count on my help in this your stress--for I
Will be your guarantee!

_Bar._ You will! Oh, thanks
For such blest help!

_Shy._ Such help is only right,--
So say no more!

_Bar._ (_aside_.) Thank Heaven! _That