My daughter--O my ducats--O my daughter!
------O my Christian ducats!
Justice--the Law--my ducats, and my daughter!
--Merchant of Venice

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as soon as their
ungratified curiosity should permit them to attend to the calls of their
half-satiated appetite, we have to look in upon the yet more severe
imprisonment of Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust into
a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath
the level of the ground, and very damp, being lower than even the moat
itself. The only light was received through one or two loop-holes far
above the reach of the captive's hand. These apertures admitted, even
at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, which was changed for utter
darkness long before the rest of the castle had lost the blessing of
day.

Chains and shackles, which had been the portion of former captives,
from whom active exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung rusted
and empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of those
sets of fetters there remained two mouldering bones, which seemed to
have been once those of the human leg, as if some prisoner had been left
not only to perish there, but to be consumed to a skeleton.

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, over the
top of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, half devoured
with rust.