"BULLION."
"Well then, it now appears you need my help.
Go to then: you come to me, and you say,
'SHYLOCK, we would have moneys'--you say so;
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold: moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say
'Hath a dog money?'"
_Merchant of Venice_, Act I., Scene 3.
"With bated breath and whispering humbleness?"
Not so! There comes a season when the stress
Of insolent and exacting tyranny
Makes the most patient turn.
Autocracy,
Without the despot's vaunted virtue, pride,
Shows small indeed. Can Power lay aside
Its swaggering port, and low petition make
(Driven by those Treasury thirsts which never slake)
For help from those it harries? PHARAOH's scourge
Was the taskmaster's weapon, used to urge
The Hebrew bondsmen to their tale of toil,
But they round whom the Russian's knout thongs coil,
Are of the breed of those the Russian palm
Can make petition to. Could triumph balm
The wounds of ages, here were balm indeed;
But blood revolts.
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.
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