Race of the changeless creed,
And ever-shifting sojourn, SHAKSPEARE's type
Deep meaning hides, which, when the world is ripe
For wider wisdom, when the palsying curse
Of prejudice, the canker of the purse,
And blind blood-hatred, shall a little lift,
Will clearlier shine, like sunburst through a rift
In congregated cloud-wracks. _Shylock_ stands
Badged with black shame in all the baser lands.
Use him, and--spit on him! That's Gentile wont;
Make him gold-conduit, and befoul the font,--
That's the true despot-plan through all the days,
And cackling _Gratianos_ chorus praise.
"The Jew shall have all justice." Shall he so?
The tyrant drains, his gold, then bids him--"Go!"
_Shylock_? The name bears insult in its sound;
But _he_ was nobler than the curs who hound
The patient Hebrew from his home, and drive
Deathward the stronger souls they dread alive.
_Shylock_? So brand him, boors and babbling wags,
Who scorn him, yet would share his money-bags;
Who hate him, yet can stoop to such appeal!
Beneath his meekness there's a soul of steel.
High-featured, amply-bearded, see he stands
Facing the Autocrat; those sinewy hands,
Shaped but for clutching--so his slanderers say--
The huckster bait can coldly put away
"Blood against bullion." The Jew-baiting band
Howl frantic execration o'er the land;
Malign and menace, pillage, persecute;