Whereon our blessed Lord:
"Because thou grudgest me a moment's rest
Unresting shalt thou wander o'er the earth
Until I come."
THE SOLDIER. Ah, would I had been there--
The cursed Jew! An arrow through his heart
Had stopped his babbling!
THE PEASANT. And had I been there,
He would have felt the weight of my great fist
Ere he had spoken twice.
[The Jew mutters indistinctly to himself in his corner.]
THE MERCHANT [in a low voice]. Dost hear the man?
Old gray-beard murmurs.
THE SOLDIER. How! Is he a Jew?
THE MERCHANT. See how he cowers when we look at him.
THE MONK. He is no Jew. On this thrice-blessed night
No Jew would dare seek shelter in Christ's house.
THE PEASANT. Yet they are daring--and men tell strange tales
Of bloody rites which they perform apart.
THE SOLDIER. May God's high curse rest on their scattered race!
[The Jew flashes a quick glance upon them, and then looks down again.
An unusually strong gust of wind sweeps through the hall, and strange
moanings are heard in the chimney.
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