To prejudice pride <br />has to make a low bow; <br />when mercy’s denied <br />it is time to kowtow. <br />Here mercy that falls <br />as gentle as rain <br />won’t dropp within walls <br />where Jews suffer pain, <br />and tables by Portia <br />are priggishly turned, <br />till, weighed down by nausea, <br />the case is adjourned. <br />Sore spirit’s excised <br />by the pound from the Jew, <br />despised and incised <br />and then turned like a screw, <br />the pound-of-flesh malice <br />requited with hate <br />within the cold palace <br />where Jews have no weight.<br /><br />gershon hepner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/venice-3/
