Act
III
Scene
I
Enter Bellamira.
Bellamira
Since this town was besieged, my gain grows cold:
The time has been, that but for one bare night,
A hundred ducats have been freely given:
But now against my will I must be chaste;
And yet I know my beauty doth not fail.
From Venice merchants, and from Padua
Were wont to come rare-witted gentlemen,
Scholars I mean, learned and liberal;
And now, save Pilia-Borza, comes there none,
And he is very seldom from my house;
And here he comes.
Enter Pilia-Borza.
Pilia-Borza
Hold thee, wench, there’s something for thee to spend. Shews a bag of silver.
Bellamira
’Tis silver. I disdain it.
Pilia-Borza
Ay, but the Jew has gold,
And I will have it, or it shall go hard.
Bellamira
Tell me, how cam’st thou by this?
Pilia-Borza
’Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens, I chanced to cast mine eye up to the Jew’s counting-house, where I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clambered up with my hooks, and, as I was taking my choice, I heard a rumbling in the house; so I took only this, and run my way: but here’s the Jew’s man.
Bellamira
Hide the bag.
Enter Ithamore.
Pilia-Borza
Look not towards him, let’s away; zoons, what a looking thou keep’st; thou’lt betray’s anon.
Exeunt Bellamira and Pilia-Borza.
Ithamore
O, the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a courtesan by her attire: now would I give a hundred of the Jew’s crowns that I had such a concubine.
Well, I have delivered the challenge in such sort,
As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport.
Exit.
Scene
II
Enter Mathias.
Mathias
This is the place; now Abigail shall see
Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.
Enter Lodowick.
What, dares the villain write in such base terms? Looking at a letter.
Lodowick
I did it; and revenge it, if thou dar’st!
They fight.
Enter Barabas above, on a balcony.
Barabas
O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home.
Now, Lodovico! now, Mathias! So—
Both fall.
So, now they have shewed themselves to be tall fellows.
Cries within. Part ’em, part ’em!
Barabas
Ay, part ’em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell!
Exit.
Enter Ferneze, Katharine, and Attendants.
Ferneze
What sight is this!—my Lodovico slain!
These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.
Katharine
Who is this? my son Mathias slain!
Ferneze
O Lodowick! hadst thou perished by the Turk,
Wretched Ferneze might have ’venged thy death!
Katharine
Thy son slew mine, and I’ll revenge his death.
Ferneze
Look, Katharine, look!—thy son gave mine these wounds.
Katharine
O, leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough.
Ferneze
O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath;
And these my tears to blood, that he might live.
Katharine
Who made them enemies?
Ferneze
I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
Katharine
My son loved thine.
Ferneze
And so did Lodowick him.
Katharine
Lend me that weapon that did kill my son,
And it shall murder me.
Ferneze
Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son’s,
And on that rather should Ferneze die.
Katharine
Hold; let’s inquire the causers of their deaths,
That we may ’venge their blood upon their heads.
Ferneze
Then take them up, and let them be interred
Within one sacred monument of stone;
Upon which altar I will offer up
My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears,
And with my prayers pierce impartial heavens,
Till they reveal the causers of our smarts,
Which forced their hands divide united hearts:
Come, Katharine, our losses equal are;
Then of true grief let us take equal share.
Exeunt with the bodies.
Scene
III
Enter Ithamore.
Ithamore
Why, was there ever seen such villany,
So neatly plotted, and so well performed?
Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled?
Enter Abigail.
Abigail
Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh’st thou so?
Ithamore
O mistress, ha! ha! ha!
Abigail
Why, what ail’st thou?
Ithamore
O, my master!
Abigail
Ha!
Ithamore
O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had!
Abigail
Say, knave, why rail’st upon my father thus?
Ithamore
O, my master has the bravest policy.
Abigail
Wherein?
Ithamore
Why, know you not?
Abigail
Why, no.
Ithamore
Know you not of Mathias’ and Don Lodowick’s disaster?
Abigail
No, what was it?
Ithamore
Why, the devil inverted a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathias.
And then they met, and, as the story says,
In doleful wise they ended both their days.
Abigail
And was my father furtherer of their deaths?
Ithamore
Am I Ithamore?
Abigail
Yes.
Ithamore
So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.
Abigail
Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this,
Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire
For any of the friars of Saint Jaques,
And say, I pray them come and speak with me.
Ithamore
I pray, mistress, will you answer me to one question?
Abigail
Well, sirrah, what is’t?
Ithamore
A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?
Abigail
Go to, sirrah sauce! is this your question? get ye gone.
Ithamore
I will, forsooth, 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 governor 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.
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 pretendeth 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!
Reenter 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, the blood of Hydra, Lerna’s bane:
The juice of hebon, and Cocytus’ breath,
And all the poisons of the Stygian pool
Break from the fiery kingdom; and in this
Vomit your venom and invenom her
That like a fiend hath left her father thus.
Ithamore
What a blessing has he given’t! was ever pot of rice-porridge so sauced? Aside. What shall I do with it?
Barabas
O, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down,
And come again so soon as thou hast done,
For I have other business for thee.
Ithamore
Here’s a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares: I’ll carry’t to the nuns with a powder.
Barabas
And the horse pestilence to boot; away!
Ithamore
I am gone:
Pay me my wages, for my work is done.
Exit.
Barabas
I’ll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore!
Exit.
Scene
V
Enter Ferneze, Martin del Bosco, Knights, and Basso.
Ferneze
Welcome, great basso; how fares Calymath?
What wind drives you thus into Malta-road?
Basso
The wind that bloweth all the world besides—
Desire of gold.
Ferneze
Desire of gold, great sir?
That’s to be gotten in the Western Ind:
In Malta are no golden minerals.
Basso
To you of Malta thus saith Calymath:
The time you took for respite is at hand,
For the performance of your promise passed,
And for the tribute-money I am sent.
Ferneze
Basso, in brief, ’shalt have no tribute here,
Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil:
First will we raze the city walls ourselves,
Lay waste the island, hew the temples down,
And, shipping off our goods to Sicily,
Open an entrance for the wasteful sea,
Whose billows, beating the resistless banks,
Shall overflow it with their refluence.
Basso
Well, governor, since thou hast broke the league
By flat denial of the promised tribute,
Talk not of razing down your city walls;
You shall not need trouble yourselves so far,
For Selim Calymath shall come himself,
And with brass bullets batter down your towers,
And turn proud Malta to a wilderness
For these intolerable wrongs of yours;
And so, farewell.
Ferneze
Farewell.
Exit Basso.
And now, ye men of Malta, look about,
And let’s provide to welcome Calymath:
Close your portcullis, charge your basilisks,
And as you profitably take up arms,
So now courageously encounter them;
For by this answer broken is the league,
And naught is to be looked for now but wars,
And naught to us more welcome is than wars.
Exeunt.
Scene
VI
Enter Friar Jacomo and Friar Barnadine.
Friar Jacomo
O, brother, brother, all the nuns are sick,
And physic will not help them: they must die.
Friar Barnadine
The abbess sent for me to be confessed:
O, what a sad confession will there be!
Friar Jacomo
And so did fair Maria send for me:
I’ll to her lodging: hereabouts she lies.
Exit.
Enter Abigail.
Friar Barnadine
What, all dead, save only Abigail?
Abigail
And I shall die too, for I feel death coming.
Where is the friar that conversed with me?
Friar Barnadine
O, he is gone to see the other nuns.
Abigail
I sent for him, but, seeing you are come,
Be you my ghostly father: and first know,
That in this house I lived religiously,
Chaste, and devout, much sorrowing for my sins;
But, ere I came—
Friar Barnadine
What then?
Abigail
I did offend high Heaven so grievously
As I am almost desperate for my sins:
And one offence torments me more than all.
You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick?
Friar Barnadine
Yes; what of them?
Abigail
My father did contract me to ’em both:
First to Don Lodowick: him I never loved;
Mathias was the man that I held dear,
And for his sake did I become a nun.
Friar Barnadine
So, say how was their end?
Abigail
Both, jealous of my love, envied each other,
And by my father’s practice, which is there
Set down at large, the gallants were both slain.
Gives a written paper.
Friar Barnadine
O monstrous villany!
Abigail
To work my peace, this I confess to thee;
Reveal it not, for then my father dies.
Friar Barnadine
Know that confession must not be revealed,
The canon law forbids it, and the priest
That makes it known, being degraded first,
Shall be condemned, and then sent to the fire.
Abigail
So I have heard; pray, therefore, keep it close.
Death seizeth on my heart: ah gentle friar,
Convert my father that he may be saved,
And witness that I die a Christian!
Dies.
Friar Barnadine
Ay, and a virgin too; that grieves me most:
But I must to the Jew, and exclaim on him,
And make him stand in fear of me.
Reenter Friar Jacomo.
Friar Jacomo
O brother, all the nuns are dead, let’s bury them.
Friar Barnadine
First help to bury this, then go with me,
And help me to exclaim against the Jew.
Friar Jacomo
Why, what has he done?
Friar Barnadine
A thing that makes me tremble to unfold.
Friar Jacomo
What, has he crucified a child?
Friar Barnadine
No, but a worse thing: ’twas told me in shrift,
Thou know’st ’tis death, an if it be revealed.
Come, let’s away.
Exeunt.