A Call for Compassion

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought,
Thou ’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
And where thou now exacts the penalty,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
But, touched with humane gentleness and love,
Forgive a moi’ty of the principal,
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses
That have of late so huddled on his back,
Enow to press a royal merchant down
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars never trained
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Shylock, þe world þinketh, and I þink it so too,
Þat þou but leadest þis fassion of þin malice
To þe last hour of act, and þen, ’tisþ thought,
Þou ’lt shew þine mercy and remorse more strange
Þan is þi strange apparent cruelty;
And where þou now exacts þe penalty,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,
Þou wilt not only loose þe forfeiture,
But, touched with humane gentleness and love,
Forgive a moi’ty of þe principal,
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses
Þat have of late so huddled on his back,
Enow to press a royal merchant down
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars never trained
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.