Nathan

In the grey morn of Time, there lived i’ the East A man, who owned a ring of priceless worth, Gift of a well-loved hand. For stone it bore An opal, where a hundred lovely tints Played, and where dwelt the magic power to make Well-pleasing in the sight of God and man Whoever wore it in this faith--What wonder It never left the owner’s hand? what wonder He made provision to retain it ever In his own House, an heirloom for all time? Thus did he order it: He left the Ring First to his best-belovèd son, ordaining That he in turn should leave it to the son He dearliest loved; and so to the dearest ever. And still the owner of the Ring, apart From precedence of birth, by that alone Should bear the sway.... Sultan, you follow me?