The Jew of Malta, Christopher Marlowe [ebook voice reader .TXT] 📗

mistress. Exit. Abigail

Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas!
Was this the pursuit of thy policy!
To make me show them favour severally,
That by my favour they should both be slain?
Admit thou lov’dst not Lodowick for his sire,
Yet Don Mathias ne’er offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the governor50 dispossessed thee once,
And couldst not ’venge it but upon his son
Nor on his son, but by Mathias’ means;
Nor on Mathias but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pity in Jews, nor piety in Turks.
But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar.

Enter Ithamore and Friar Jacomo. Friar Jacomo

Virgo, salve.

Ithamore

When! duck you!

Abigail

Welcome, grave friar; Ithamore, be gone.

Exit Ithamore.

Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.

Friar Jacomo

Wherein?

Abigail

To get me be admitted for a nun.

Friar Jacomo

Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since
That I did labour thy admission,
And then thou did’st not like that holy life.

Abigail

Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirmed
As I was chained to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with grief,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinful soul, alas, hath paced too long
The fatal labyrinth of misbelief,
Far from the sun that gives eternal life!

Friar Jacomo

Who taught thee this?

Abigail

The abbess of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
Although unworthy, of that sisterhood.

Friar Jacomo

Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more,
For that will be most heavy to thy soul.

Abigail

That was my father’s fault.

Friar Jacomo

Thy father’s! how?

Abigail

Nay, you shall pardon me.⁠—O Barabas,
Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,
Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life! Aside.

Friar Jacomo

Come, shall we go?

Abigail

My duty waits on you.

Exeunt. Scene IV Enter Barabas, reading a letter.51 Barabas

What, Abigail become a nun again!
False and unkind; what, hast thou lost thy father?
And all unknown, and unconstrained of me,
Art thou again got to the nunnery?
Now here she writes, and wills me to repent.
Repentance! Spurca! what pretendeth52 this?
I fear she knows⁠—’tis so⁠—of my device
In Don Mathias’ and Lodovico’s deaths:
If so, ’tis time that it be seen into:
For she that varies from me in belief
Gives great presumption that she loves me not;
Or loving, doth dislike of something done.⁠—
But who comes here?

Enter Ithamore.

O Ithamore, come near;
Come near, my love; come near, thy master’s life,
My trusty servant, nay, my second self:
For I have now no hope but even in thee,
And on that hope my happiness is built.
When saw’st thou Abigail?

Ithamore

To-day.

Barabas

With whom?

Ithamore

A friar.

Barabas

A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.

Ithamore

How, sir!

Barabas

Why, made mine Abigail a nun.

Ithamore

That’s no lie; for she sent me for him.

Barabas

O unhappy day!
False, credulous, inconstant Abigail!
But let ’em go: and, Ithamore, from hence
Ne’er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace;
Ne’er shall she live to inherit aught of mine,
Be blest of me, nor come within my gates,
But perish underneath my bitter curse,
Like Cain by Adam for his brother’s death.

Ithamore

O master!

Barabas

Ithamore, entreat not for her, I am moved,
And she is hateful to my soul and me:
And ’less thou yield to this that I entreat,
I cannot think but that thou hat’st my life.

Ithamore

Who, I, master? Why, I’ll run to some rock,
And throw myself headlong into the sea;
Why, I’ll do anything for your sweet sake.

Barabas

O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend:
I here adopt thee for mine only heir,
All that I have is thine when I am dead,
And, whilst I live, use half; spend as myself;
Here, take my keys, I’ll give ’em thee anon:
Go buy thee garments: but thou shalt not want:
Only know this, that thus thou art to do:
But first go fetch me in the pot of rice
That for our supper stands upon the fire.

Ithamore

I hold my head, my master’s hungry. Aside.⁠—I go, sir.

Exit. Barabas

Thus every villain ambles after wealth,
Although he ne’er be richer than in hope:⁠—
But, husht!

Re-enter Ithamore with the pot. Ithamore

Here ’tis, master,

Barabas

Well said, Ithamore! What, hast thou brought
The ladle with thee too?

Ithamore

Yes, sir, the proverb says, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon; I have brought you a ladle.

Barabas

Very well, Ithamore; then now be secret;
And, for thy sake, whom I so dearly love,
Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail,
That thou mayst freely live to be my heir.

Ithamore

Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more than you are aware.

Barabas

Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this?
It is a precious powder that I bought
Of an Italian, in Ancona, once,
Whose operation is to bind, infect,
And poison deeply, yet not appear
In forty hours after it is ta’en.

Ithamore

How, master?

Barabas

Thus, Ithamore.
This even they use in Malta here⁠—’tis called
Saint Jacques’ Even⁠—and then, I say, they use
To send their alms unto the nunneries:
Among the rest bear this, and set it there:
There’s a dark entry where they take it in,
Where they must neither see the messenger,
Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.

Ithamore

How so?

Barabas

Belike there is some ceremony in’t.
There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot!
Stay, let me spice it first.

Ithamore

Pray, do, and let me help you, master. Pray, let me taste first.

Barabas

Prithee, do. Ithamore tastes. What say’st thou now?

Ithamore

Troth, master, I’m loath such a pot of pottage should be spoiled.

Barabas

Peace, Ithamore! ’tis better so than spared.
Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye,
My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.

Ithamore

Well, master, I go.

Barabas

Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore.
As fatal be it to her as the draught
Of which great Alexander drunk and died:
And with her let it work like Borgia’s wine,
Whereof his sire the Pope was poisoned!
In few,