Shylock

Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
And the vile screaming of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,

In fact, not only lock them, but barricade them; a park bench will do the trick!