Shylock

Cold craft and avarice look from out his eyes,

His face with evil passion marred and seamed,

Looks frowningly upon a Christian world.

Behind that hateful mask a demon lurks

To urge the narrow soul to darksome deeds

Of violence and greed, of hate and ruth.

His God, a God of wrath, a tyrant force

To mete to helpless souls eternal doom;

A Juggernaut, a hard unsentient power,—

But yet less potent than the yellow gold

Those crooked talons clutch, and for the which

The miser Shylock fain would sell his soul.