Shylock As A Man Poem by Frank Bana

As if taking possession of my loans
They took my daughter, lured her to climb down
From this high casement, whereupon she sat
In service to my books and solitude

She left by night and closed the window soft
Against a father's soul, opprobrium
Seeped in to douse the waxy candlelight
That has flickered, fragile, in these ages long

I stand robbed of my wealth and vital strength
Of all that keeps me whole and makes of me
A lineage, a man, all I am left
Exposed, red-hatted, chastened and bereft

Myself I can transform beyond their powers
Through wiles and skills that centuries provide
To anticipate the ways of thieves and lawyers
And walk within shadows of the divine

The tugging of my beard, spill of my debts
The soil of phlegm upon my gaberdine
All this was little to my face, compared
With their public seducing of my name

Another would resolve to stay his hand
Convert before the Duke's Venetian court
Would not have so insisted on his bond
Or drawn his corner tighter than before

Would graciously have modified his terms
Demanding one small tooth, and not an eye
Would have foresworn the fall of merchant blood
And would not have survived until this night.

I will not kneel while I am in the right.
Don't seek to justify me, turn me pale
Stubborn in choice and raging sacrifice
Not as the Jew, but Shylock as a man.