[The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and throws them to the ground.]

No matter what it be, your answer’s there.

(To a third.)

I see you have a ring upon your hand. 
The stone is good, let’s see!

[The suppliant hands over the ring.]

That flaw, of course,
Destroys its perfect water!  Take it back.

[He puts the ring on his own finger.]

3D PETIT.  You’ve put it on your own hand!

ISAAC.  What, on mine? 
             Why so I have!  I thought I’d given it back. 
             It is so tight I cannot get it off.

3D PETIT.  Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too.

ISAAC (busy with the ring).

I’ll take them both in memory of you.  The King shall weigh the ring—­I mean, of course, Your words—­although the flaw is evident—­The flaw that’s in the stone—­you understand.  Begone now, all of you!  Have I no club?  Must I be bothered with this Christian pack?

[GARCERAN has meanwhile entered.]

GARCERAN.  Good luck!  I see you sitting in the reeds,
             But find you’re pitching high the pipes you cut.

ISAAC.  The royal privacy’s entrusted me;
             The King’s not here, he does not wish to be. 
             And who disturbs him—­even you, my lord,
             I must bid you begone!  Those his commands.

GARCERAN.  You sought a while ago to find a club;
             And when you find it, bring it me.  I think
             Your back could use it better than your hand.

ISAAC.  How you flare up!  That is the way with Christians? 
             They’re so direct of speech—­but patient waiting,
             And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack. 
             The King is pleased much to converse with me.

GARCERAN.  When he is bored and flees his inner self,
             E’en such a bore as you were less a bore.

ISAAC.  He speaks to me of State and of finance.

GARCERAN.  Are you, perhaps, the father of the new
             Decree that makes a threepence worth but two?

ISAAC.  Money, my friend, ’s the root of everything. 
             The enemy is threat’ning—­buy you arms! 
             The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash. 
             You eat and drink your money; what you eat
             Is bought, and buying’s money—­nothing else. 
             The time will come when every human soul
             Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too;
             I’m councilor to the King, and if yourself
             Would keep in harmony with Isaac’s luck—­

GARCERAN.  In harmony with you?  It is my curse
             That chance and the accursed seeming so
             Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly,
             Which to the utmost strains my loyalty.