Is Nathan of his cause so confident? Yes, that I call the sage—to veil no truth, For truth to hazard all things, life and goods.
Aye, when ’tis necessary and when useful.
Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear One of my titles—“Betterer of the world And of the law.”
In truth a noble title. But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myself Allow me to relate a tale.
Why not? I always was a friend of tales well told.
Well told, that’s not precisely my affair.
In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man Who from a valued hand received a ring Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal, That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover, It had the hidden virtue him to render Of God and man beloved, who in this view, And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange The eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger, And studiously provided to secure it For ever to his house. Thus—He bequeathed it; First, to the _most beloved_ of his sons, Ordained that he again should leave the ring To the _most dear_ among his children—and That without heeding birth, the _favourite_ son, In virtue of the ring alone, should always Remain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, Sultan?
From son to son, At length this ring descended to a father, Who had three sons, alike obedient to him; Whom therefore he could not but love alike. At times seemed this, now that, at times the third, (Accordingly as each apart received The overflowings of his heart) most worthy To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness He privately to each in turn had promised. This went on for a while. But death approached, And the good father grew embarrassed. So To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise, He could not bear. What’s to be done. He sends In secret to a jeweller, of whom, Upon the model of the real ring, He might bespeak two others, and commanded To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like, Quite like the true one. This the artist managed. The rings were brought, and e’en the father’s eye Could not distinguish which had been the model. Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons, Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows His blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me?
I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale; Is it soon ended?
It is ended, Sultan, For all that follows may be guessed of course. Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring Appears, and claims to be the lord o’ th’ house. Comes question, strife, complaint—all to no end; For the true ring could no more be distinguished Than now can—the true faith.