 Introduction and Prologues and Epilogues to the Jew of Malta by Christopher Merlo, edited by the Reverend Alexander Dice. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Introduction The Famous Tragedy of the Rich Jew of Malta, as it was played before the King and Queen in His Majesty's Theatre at Whitehall by Her Majesty's Servants at the Cockpit, written by Christopher Merlo, London, printed by I. B. Frenicolas Leviser, and art to be sold at his shop in the inner temple near the church, 1633, 42. To my worthy friend, Master Thomas Hammond, of Grey's Inn, etc. This play, composed by so worthy an author as Master Merlo, and the part of the Jew, presented by so unimaginable an actor as Master Allen, being in this latter age commended to the stage as I ushered it unto the court and presented it to the cockpit, with these prologues and epilogues here inserted, so now being newly brought to the press. I was loathed that it should be published without the ornament of an epistle, making choice of you unto whom to devote it, than whom, of all those gentlemen and acquaintance, within the compass of my long knowledge. There is none more able to tax ignorance or attribute right to merit. Sir, you have been pleased to grace some of mine own works with your courteous paging-age. I hope this will not be the worst accepted, because commended by me, over whom none can claim more power or privilege than yourself, I had no better a new year's gift to present you with. Receive it, therefore, as a continuance of that inviolable olegement by which he rest still engaged. Who, has he ever hath, shall always remain, to seemless, though he would. The prologue spoken at the court. Gracious and great, that we, so boldly dare, amongst other plays that now in fashion are, to present this, writ many years agon, and in that age, thought second unto none, we humbly crave your pardon. We pursue the story of a rich and famous Jew, who lived in Malta. You shall find him still. In all his projects, a sound Machiavell. And that's his character, he that hath passed, so many centuries, is now, come at last, to have your princely ears. Grace you him, then you crown the action, and renown the pen. Epilogue spoken at the court. It is our fear, dread sovereign, we have been too tedious. Neither can't be less than sin, to wrong your princely patience. If we have, thus lo, dejected, we your pardon crave. And, if ought here offend your ear or sight, we only act, and speak, what others write. The prologue to this stage, at the cockpit. We know not how our play may pass this stage, but by the best of poets in that age, the Malta Jew had been, and was made. And he, then, by the best of actors, played. In Hero and Leander, one did gain. A lasting memory, in Tambor Lane, this Jew, with others many, the other one, the attribute of pureless being a man. Whom we may rank with, doing no one wrong, Proteus for shapes, and Roschius for a tongue. So could he speak so very, nor in merit in him, who doth personate. Our Jew this day, nor is it his ambition, to exceed or equal being of condition. More modest. This is all that he intends, and that too is the urgence of some friends. To prove his best, and, if none here gain say it, the part he has studied, and intends to play it. In grabbing, with Pygmalion, to contend, or painting with Epile's doubtless the end, must be disgrace. Our actor did not so. He only aimed to go, but not out-go. Nor think that this day any prize was played. Here were no bets at all, no wagers laid. All the ambition that his mind doth swell, is but to hear from you, by me, twas well. Maki-e-vel is prologue speaker, read by On The Road. Farnese, as Governor of Malta, and Basso, read by Los Rolander. Ladawick, the Governor of Malta's son, read by J. Saunders, in Portsmouth, the United Kingdom. Salim Calimath, son to the Grand Signor, read by Damien Tavis Tuman, in New York. Martín del Bosco, Vice Admiral of Spain, read by Michael Sirwá, Houston, Texas. Chacamo, a friar, read by Kevin Vink. Bernardín, a friar, read by Aaron Elliott, St. Louis, Missouri. Barabbas, a wealthy Jew, read by Eric Hale. Ithamore, a slave, read by Dennis Sayers, Bedesto, California. Catherine, mother to Matthias, read by Gesino. Abigail, daughter to Barabbas, read by Andrele. Bellamira, a courtesan, read by Silence. Palaya Boraza, a bully, a tenant to Bellamira. Read by C. M. Slosson. The First Jew, read by Miriam Esther Goldman, from Houston, Texas. Second Jew, Second Officer, Second Knight, and Second Merchant, read by Ryan Duramos. Third Jew, slave and carpenter, read by Larian Walden. First Officer, read by Eric J. Kalewitz. First Merchant, read by Anna Simon. Messenger, read by Lucy Perry. Abbas, read by Iswa. Announcer, by Jennifer Stearns, Concord, New Hampshire. End of Dramatis Personae. Act One of the Jew of Malta, by Christopher Merlo. Edited by the Reverend Alexander Dice. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Enter Machiavelle. Albeit the world think Machiavelle is dead, yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps. And now the Guise's dead is come from France to view this land and frolic with his friends. To some, perhaps, my name is odious, but such as love me, guard me from their tongues, and let them know that I am Machiavelle, and weigh not men, and therefore not men's words. Admired I am of those who hate me most, though some speak awkwardly against my books, yet they will read me, and thereby obtain to Peter's chair, and, when they cast me off, are poisoned by my climbing followers. I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance. Birds of the air will tell of murder's past. I am ashamed to hear such foolery's. Many will talk of title to a crown. What right had Caesar to the empry? Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure when, like the dracos, they were written blood. Hence it comes that a strong-built citadel, commands much more than letters can import, which Maxim had, Philaris observed, had never bellowed in a brazen ball, of great one's envy. Oh, the poor petty whites, let me be envied and not pitted. But wither am I bound. I come not, I, to read a lecture here, in Britain, but to present the tragedy of a Jew, whose smiles to see how full his bags are crammed, which money was not got without my means. I crave but this, grace him as he deserves, and let him not be entertained the worse, because he favors me. Exit. Act One Barabbas discovered in his counting-house with heaps of gold before him. So that of thus much that return was made, and of the third part of the person ships, there was the venture summed and satisfied. As for those Samnites, and the men of us, that bought my Spanish oils and wines of Greece, here have I pursed their poutry civilings. Fee, what a trouble it is to count this trash! Welfare the Arabians, who so richly pay the things they trafficked for with wedge of gold, or of a man may easily in a day tell that which may maintain him all his life. The needy groom that never fingered growth would make a miracle of thus much coin. But he who steel-barred coffers are crammed full, and all his lifetime hath been tired, wearying his finger's ends with telly it, would in his age be loath to labor so. And for a pound to sweat himself to death. Give me the merchants of the Indian mines that trade in metal of the purest mould, the wealthy moor, that in the eastern rocks without control can pick his riches up, and in his house heat pearl like pebble stones, receive them free and sell them by the weight, bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts, precincts, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds, beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds, and seldom seen costly stones of so great price as one of them, indifferently raided, and of a carrot of this quantity, may serve in peril of calamity to ransom great kings from captivity. This is the where-where and consists my wealth, and thus me thinks, should men of judgment frame, their means of traffic from the vulgar trade, and as their wealth increases, so enclose infinite riches in a little room. But now how stands the wind? Into what corner appears my Halcyon's bill? Ha, to the east? Yes. See how stand the veins, east and by south, why then? I hope my ships I sent for Egypt, and the bordering isles are gotten up by Nylis's winding banks. My Nagasi from Alexandria, loaded with spice and silks now under sail, are smoothly gliding down by Candy Shore to Malta, through our Mediterranean sea. But who comes here? Enter a merchant. How now? Barabas, thy ships are safe, riding in Malta Road, and all the merchants with other merchandise are safe arrived, and have sent me to know whether yourself will come and custom them. The ships are safe, thou sayest, and richly fraught? They are. Why, then, go bid them come ashore, and bring with them their bills of entry. I hope our credit in the custom house will serve as well as I were present there. Go send them three-score camels, thirty mules, and twenty wagons to bring up the where. But art thou master and a ship of mine, and as I credit not enough for that? The very custom barely comes to more than many merchants of the town are worth, and therefore far exceeds my credit, sir. Go tell them that you have Malta sent thee, man. Tush, who amongst them knows not Barabas? I go. So, then, there somewhat come. Sra, which of my ships art thou master of? Of the Speranza, sir. And sauce thou not mine, Argosy, at Alexandria? Thou couldst not come from Egypt, or by Chire. But at the entry there into the sea, where Nylis pays his tribute to the main, thou needs must sail by Alexandria. I neither saw them nor inquired of them, for this we heard some of our seamen say. They wondered how you durst with so much wealth, trust such a crazed vessel, and so far. Tush, they are wise. I know her, and her strength, but go. All thy ways discharge thy ship, and bid my factor bring his loading in. Exit, merchant. And yet I wonder at this Argosy. Enter a second, merchant. Thine Argosy from Alexandria, no Barabas, doth ride in Malta Road, laden with riches, an exceeding store of Persian silks of gold, an Orient burl. How chance you came not with those other ships that sailed by Egypt? Sir, we saw them not. Be like they coasted round by Candy Shore about their oils or other businesses, butch was ill done of you to come so far without the aid or conduct of their ships. Sir, we were wafted by a Spanish fleet that never left us till within a league, that had the galleys of the Turk and Jays. They were going up to Sicily. Well, go, and bid the merchants and my men dispatch, and come ashore, and see the front discharged. I go. Exit. Thus trolls are fortune in by land and sea, and thus we are on every side enriched. These are the blessings promised to the Jews, and herein was old Abraham's happiness. What more may heaven do for earthly man than thus to pour out plenty in their laps, ripping the bowels of the earth for them, making the seas their servants, and the winds to drive their substance with successful blasts? Who hateeth me but for my happiness? Or who is honoured now but for his wealth? Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus, than pitied in a Christian poverty. Here I can see no fruits in all their faith, but malice, falsehood, and excessive pride, which me thinks fits not their profession. Happily, some hapless man hath conscience, and for his conscience lives in beggary. They say we are a scattered nation. I cannot tell, but we have scabbled up more wealth by far than those that brag of faith. There's Kyrie Agerum, the great Jew of Greece, Obed and Berseth, known us in Portugal, myself and Malta. Some in Italy, many in France, and wealthy every one. I, wealthier far than any Christian, I must confess we come not to be kings. That's not our fault, alas, our numbers few. And crowns come either by succession or urged by force, and nothing violent oft have I heard tell can be permanent. Give us a peaceful rule, make Christians kings, that there's so much for principality. I have no charge, no many children, but one sole daughter, whom I hold as dear as Agamemnon did his aphegan, and all I have is hers. But who comes here? Enter three Jews. Tush, tell not me, it was done of policy. Come, therefore, let us go to Barabbas. For he can counsel best in these affairs, and here he comes. Why, how now, countrymen, why flock you thus to me in multitudes? What accidents be tided to the Jews? A fleet of warlike galleys, Barabbas, are come from Turkey, and lie in our road, and they this day sit in the council house to entertain them and their embassy. Why, let them come, so they come not to war. Or let them war, so we be conquerors. Nay, let them combat, conquer, and kill all. So they spare me, my daughter, and my wealth. Were it for confirmation of a league, they would not come in warlike manner thus. I fear their coming will affect us all. Fund men, what dream you of their multitudes? What need they treat of peace that are in league? The Turks and those of Malta are in league. Tooth tooth, there is some other matter in it. Why, Barabbas, they come for peace or war. Happy for neither, but to pass along towards Venice by the Adriatic Sea, with whom they have attempted many times, but never could affect their stratagem. And very wisely said, it may be so. But there is a meeting in the Senate House, and all the Jews in Malta must be there. I, like enough, why, then let every man provide him, and be there for fashion's sake. If anything shall there concern our state assure yourselves, I'll look. Unto myself. I know you will. Well, brethren, let us go. Let's take our leaves. Farewell, good Barabbas. Farewell, Xerath, farewell to mate. Excellent Jews. And Barabbas now search this secret out. Summon thy senses, call thy wits together. These silly men mistake the matter clean. Long to the Turk did Malta contribute, which tribute all in policy I fear the Turk has led increased to such a sum as all the wealth of Malta cannot pay. And now, by that advantage thinks Belike to seize upon the town. I, that he seeks. How ere the world go, I'll make sure for one, and seek in time to intercept the worst, wherely guarding that which I had got. Ego me him et sum semper proximus. Why, let him enter. Let him take the town. Exit. Enter fornaz governor of Malta. Knights and officers. Met by Calimath embassos of the Turk. Now, Bassos, what demand you at our hands? No knights, O Malta, that we came from Rhodes, from Cyprus, Kandy, and those other Isles, that lie betwixt the Mediterranean seas. What Cyprus, Kandy, and those other Isles to us, or Malta? What at our hands demand ye? The ten years tribute. The remains untaid. Alas, my lord. The sum is over great. I hope your highness will consider us. I wish grave governor to were in my power to favour you, but tis my father's cause, wherein I may not, nay, I dare not, dally. Then give us leave great Sillim, Calimath. Stand all aside, and let the knights determine, and send to keep our galleys under sail, for happily we shall not tarry here. Now, governor, how are you resolved? Thus, since your hard conditions are such that you will needs have ten years tribute past, we may have time to make collection amongst the inhabitants of Maltafort. That's more than is in our commission. What, Calipine? A little courtesy. Let's know their time, perhaps it is not long, and tis more kingly to obtain by peace than to enforce conditions by constraint. What respite ask you, governor? What a month? We grant a month, but see you keep your promise. Now, launch our galleys back again to sea, where we'll attend the respite you obtain, and for the money send our messenger. Farewell, great governor, and brave knights of Malta. And all good fortune wait on Calimath. Excellent Calimath and Bassos. Go one and call those Jews of Malta hither. Were they not summoned to appear today? They were, my lord, and here they come. And to Barabbas and three Jews. Have you determined what to say to them? Yes, give me leave, and Hebrews now come near. From the emperor of Turkey's arrived great Selim Calimath, his highness's son, to levy of us ten years tribute past. Now then here know that it concerneth us. Then good, my lord, to keep your quiet still, your lordship shall do well to let them have it. Soft Barabbas, there's more long stood than so. To what this ten years tribute will amount, that we have cast, but cannot compass it, by reason of the wars that robbed our store, and therefore are we to request your aid. Alas, my lord, we are no soldiers. And what's our aid against so great a prince? But, Jew, we know thou art no soldier, thou art a merchant, and a mudded man, and is thy money Barabbas we seek. How, my lord, my money? Thine and the rest, for to be short amongst you, must be had. Alas, my lord, the most of us are poor. Then let the rich increase your portions. Us strangers with your tribute to be taxed. Have strangers leave with us to get their wealth? Then let them with us contribute. How? Equally? No, Jew, like infidels, for through our sufferance of your hateful lives, who stand accursed in the sight of heaven, these taxes and afflictions are befallen, and therefore thus we are determined. Read there the articles of our decrees. Read. First, the tribute money of the Turks shall all be levied amongst the Jews, and each of them to pay one half of his estate. How? Half is estate? I hope you mean not mine. Read on. Read. Secondly, he that denies to pay shall straight become a Christian. How? A Christian? Hmm, what's here to do? Read. Lastly, he that denies this shall absolutely lose all he has. Oh, my lord, we will give you half. Oh, earth-meddled villains and no Hebrews born, and will you basically thus submit yourselves to leave your goods to their arbitrement? Why, but of us, we thou be christened. No, governor, I will be no convertite. Then pay thy half. Why, know you what you did by this device? Half of my substance is a city's wealth. Governor, it was not got so easily, nor will I part so slightly there with all. Sir, half is the penalty of our decree. Either pay that, or we will see some all. Corpo de Dio, stay. You shall have half. Let me be used, but as my brethren are. No, Jew, thou hast denied the articles, and now it cannot be recalled. Excellent officers, on the sign from Furnace. Will you then steal my goods? Is theft the ground of your religion? No, Jew, we take particularly thine to save the ruin of a multitude, and better one want for a common good than many perish for a private man. Yet, barabas, we will not banish thee. But here in Malta, where thou gotest thy wealth, live still, and if thou canst, get more. Christians, what or how can I multiply? Of naught is nothing made. From naught at first thou camest to little wealth, from little unto more, from more to most. If your first curse fall heavy on thy head, and make thee poor and scorn of all the world, is not our fault but thy inherent sin. What, bring you scripture to confirm your wrongs? Teach me not out of my possessions. Some Jews are wicked as all Christians are, but say the tribe that I descended of were all in general cast away for sin. Shall I be tried by their transgression? The man that dealeth righteously shall live, and which of you can charge me otherwise? Out, wretched barabas, shams thou not thus to justify thyself as if we knew not thy profession. If thou rely upon thy righteousness, be patient, and thy riches will increase. Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness, and covetousness, oh, it is a monstrous sin. Aye, but theft is worse! Tush, take not from me then, for that is theft. And if you rob me thus, I must be forced to steal, and compass more. Grave, governor, listen not to his exclaims. Convert his mansion to a nunnery. His house will harbour many holy nuns. It shall be so. We enter officers. Now, officers, have you done? Aye, my lord, we have seized upon the goods and wares of the barabas, which, being valued, amount to more than all the wealth in Malta, and of the other we have seized half. Then we'll take order for the rest of you. Well, then, my lord, say, are you satisfied? You have my goods, my money, and my wealth, my ships, my store, and all that I enjoyed. And, having all, you can request no more, unless your unrelenting flinty hearts suppress all pity in your stony breasts, and now shall move you to bereave my life. No, barabas, to stain our hands with blood is far from us and our profession. Why, I esteem the injury far less to take the lives of all men than be the causes of their misery. You have my wealth, the labor of my life, the comfort of my age, my children's hope, and therefore, nair distinguish of the wrong. Content, the barabas, thou hast not but right. Your extreme right does me exceeding wrong, but take it to you in the devil's name. Come, let us sin and gather of these goods, the money for this tribute of the Turk. It is necessary that be looked unto, for if we break our day we break the league, and that will prove but simple policy. Excellent all except the barabas and the three Jews. Aye, policy, that's their profession, and not simplicity as they suggest. The plagues of Egypt and the curse of heaven, or its barrenness in all men's hatred inflict upon them, thou great primus motor. And here upon my knees, striking the earth, I bend their souls to everlasting pains, and extreme torches of the fiery deep that thus have dealt with me in my distress. Oh, yet be patient, gentle barabas. Oh, silly brethren born to see this day. Why stand you thus on moved with my laments? Why weep you not to think upon my wrongs? Why pine not I and die in this distress? Why, barabas, as hardly can we broke the cruel handling of ourselves in this thou seest they have taken half our goods. Why did you yield to their extortion? You were a multitude and I but one, and of me only have they taken all. Yet, brother barabas, remember Job. What tell you me of Job? I want his wealth was written thus. He had seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, and two hundred yolk of laboring oxen, and five hundred she-asses, but for every one of those had they been valued at a different rate. I had at home and in my nagacy, and other ships that came from Egypt last as much would have brought his beast and him, and yet have kept enough to live upon, so that not he but I may curse the day, thy fatal birthday forlorn, barabas, and henceforth wish for an eternal night, that clouds of darkness may enclose my flesh and hide these extreme sorrows from my eyes. For only I have toiled to inherit here the months of vanity and loss of time and painful nights have been appointed me. Good barabas, be patient. I pray, leave me in my patience. You that were near possessed of wealth are pleased with want, but give him liberty at least to mourn, that in a field amidst his enemies see his soldier slain himself disarmed and knows no means of his recovery. I let me sorrow for this sudden chance tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak. Great injuries are not so soon forgot. Calm, let us leave him. In his ireful mood our words will but increase his ecstasy. On them, but trust me, it is a misery to see a man in such affliction. Farewell, barabas. Aye, fare ye well. Excellent three Jews. See the simplicity of these base slaves, who for the villains have no wit themselves, think me to be a senseless lump of clay that will with every water wash to dirt. No, barabas is born to better chance and framed a finer mold than common men, that measure not but by the present time a reaching thought will search his deepest wits and cast with cunning for the time to come. For evils are apt to happen every day. Enter Abigail. But whither wends my beautious Abigail? Oh, what has made my lovely daughter sad? What woman, moan not for a little loss? Thy father has enough in store for thee. Nor for myself, but age at barabas. Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail. But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears and eroded there too with my afflictions with fierce exclaims run to the Senate House and in the Senate reprehend them all and run their hearts with tearing of my hair till they reduce the wrongs done to my father. No, Abigail, things past recovery are hardly cured with exclamations. Be silent, daughter. Sufferance breeds ease and time may yield us an occasion which on the sudden cannot serve the turn. Besides my girl, think me not also fond as negligently to forego so much without provision for thyself and me. Ten thousand portugues besides great pearls, rich costly jewels and stones infinite, fearing the worst of this before it fell, I closely hid. Where, Father? In my house, my girl. Then shall they nare be seen of Barabbas, they have seized upon thy house and wares. But they will give me leave once more, I trow to go into my house. That may they not. For there I left the governor, placing nuns, displacing me, and of thy house they mean to make a nunnery where none but their own sect must enter in, men generally barred. My gold? My gold and all my wealth is gone. You partial heavens, have I deserved this plague? What, will you thus oppose me, luckless stars, to make me desperate in my poverty? And knowing me impatient and distressed, think me so mad as I will hang myself, that I may vanish over the earth and air and leave no memory that ere I was? No, I will live, nor loathe I this my life, and since you leave me in the ocean thus to sink or swim and put me to my shifts, I'll rouse my senses and awake myself. Daughter, I have it. Thou perceivest the plight wherein these Christians have oppressed me. Be ruled by me, for in extremity we ought to make bar of no policy. Father, what ere it be to injure them that have so manifestly wronged us, what will not Abigail attempt? Why so, then thus, thou toast me they have turned my house into a nunnery, and some nuns are there? I did. Then Abigail, there must my girl entreat the abbess to be entertained. How, as a nun? I, daughter, for religion hides many mischiefs from suspicion. I, but Father, they will suspect me there. Let them suspect, but be thou so precise as they may think it done of holiness, and treat them fair and give them friendly speech, and seem to them as if thy sins were great till thou hast gotten to be entertained. Thus, Father, shall I much dissemble. Tush! As good dissemble that thou never menst, as first mean truth, and then dissemble it. A counterfeit profession is better than unseen hypocrisy. Well, Father, say I be entertained, but then shall follow. This shall follow, then. There have I hid, close underneath the plank that runs along the upper chamber floor, the golden jewels which I kept for thee. Here they come, be cunning, Abigail. Then, Father, go with me. No, Abigail, in this it is not necessary I be seen, for I will seem offended with thee, Fort. Be close, my girl, for this must fetch my gold. They retire. Andrew, Friar, Giacomo, Friar, Barnandine, abbess, and a nun. Sisters, we are now almost at the new-made nunnery. The better, for we love not to be seen. It is thirty winters long since some of us did stray so far amongst the multitude. But, Madame, this house and the waters of this new-made nunnery will much delight you. It may be so, but who comes here? Abigail comes forward. Grave, abbess, a new happy virgin's guide, pity the state of a distressed maid. What art thou, daughter? The hopeless daughter of a hapless Jew, the Jew of Malta, wretched Barabbas, sometimes the owner of a goodly house which they have now turned to a nunnery. Well, daughter, say, what is thy suit with us? Fearing the afflictions my father feels proceed from sin or want of faith in us. I pass away my life in penitence and be a novice in your nunnery to make atonement for my laboring soul. No doubt, brother, but this proceedeth of the spirit. I end of a moving spirit, too, brother, but come, let us entreat, she may be entertained. Well, daughter, we admit you for a nun. First, let me as a novice learn to frame my solitary life to your straight laws and let me lodge where I was want to lie. I do not doubt by your divine precepts in my own industry, but to profit much. As much, I hope, as all I hid is worth. Come, daughter, follow us, coming forward. Why, how now, Abigail, what makes thou amongst these hateful Christians? Hinder her not, thou man of little faith, for she has mortified herself. How mortified! And is admitted to the sisterhood. Child of perdition and thy father's shame, what will thou do among these hateful fiends? I charge thee on my blessing that thou leave these devils and their damned heresy. Father, forgive me. Nay, back, Abigail. Aside to Abigail in a whisper. And think upon the jewels and the gold. The board is marked thus that covers it. Away accursed from thy father's sight. Barbos, although thou art in misbelief and wilt not see thine own afflictions, yet let thy daughter be no longer blind. Blind friar, I wreck not thy persuasions. Aside to Abigail in a whisper. The board is marked thus that covers it. For I'd rather die than see her thus. Wilt thou forsake me too when my distress seduced daughter? Aside to her in a whisper. Go, forget not. Becomes it Jews to be so credulous. Aside to her in a whisper. Tomorrow, early. I'll be at the door. No, come not at me if thou wilt be damned. Forget me. See me not. And so, be gone. Aside to her in a whisper. Farewell. Remember tomorrow morning. Out! Out thou wretch! Exit on one side for Abbas. Exuage on the other side. Friars, Abbas, Nun, and Abigail. And, as they are growing out, enter Matthias. What's this? Fair Abigail, the rich Jew's daughter, become a Nun. Her father's son fall has humbled her and brought her down to this. Tchut! She were fitter for a tale of love than to be tired out with orisons. And better would she far become a bed embraced in a friendly lover's arms than rise at midnight to a solemn mass. Enter Lodovic. Why, how know thou, Matthias? In a dump? Believe me, noble Lodovic, I have seen the strangest sight in my opinion that ever I beheld. What was that, Riddie? A fair young maid, scarce fourteen years of age, the sweetest flower in Satheria's field, cropped from the pleasures of the fruitful earth and strangely met a morphed Nun. But say, what was she? Why, the rich Jew's daughter. What? Abbas, who's good with ladies seized, is she so fair? And matchless, beautiful, as had you seen her, to have moved your heart, though counter-mind with walls of brass to love, or at the least to pity. And if she be so fair as you report to a time well spent to go and visit her, how say you, shall we? I must and will, sir. There's no remedy. And so will I, too, or it shall go hard. Farewell, Matthias. Farewell, Lodovic. Accuant, severly. End of Act One. Act Two of the Jew of Malta by Christopher Merlo. Edited by the Reverend Alexander Dice. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Enter Barabbas with the light. Thus, like the sad, presaging raven that tolls the sick man's passport in her hollow beak, and in the shadow of the silent night, doth shake contagion from her sable wings, vexed and tormented runs poor Barabbas with fatal curses towards these Christians. The uncertain pleasures of swift-footed time have tamed their flight, and left me in despair, and of my former riches rest no more but bare remembrance, like a soldier's scar that has no further comfort for his maim. O thou, that with a fiery pillar lets the sons of Israel through the dismal shades, light Abraham's offspring, and direct the hand of Abigail this night, or let the day turn to eternal darkness after this. No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes, nor quiet enter my distempered thoughts till I have answer of my Abigail. Enter Abigail above. Now have I happily aspired a time to search the plank my father did appoint, and here behold and seen where I have found the gold, the pearls, and jewels which he hid. Now I remember those old women's words, who in my wealth would tell me winter's tales, and speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night about the place where treasures hath been hid, and now me thinks that I am one of those, for whilst I live, here lives my soul's sole hope. And when I die, here shall my spirit walk. Now that my father's fortune were so good as but to be about this happy place, it is not so happy. Yet, when we parted last, he said he would attend me in the morn. Then, gentle sleep, where ere his body rests, give charge to Morpheus that he may dream a golden dream, and of the sudden wake come and receive the treasure I have found. Bueno para todos me ganado no era, as good go on as sit so sadly thus, but stay. What star shines yonder in the east? The load star of my life, if Abigail, who's there? Who's that? Peace Abigail, tis I. Then, father, here receive thy happiness. Hast thou it? Here, throws down bags. Hast thou it? There's more, and more, and more. Oh, my girl, my gold, my fortune, my felicity, strength of my soul, death to my enemy, welcome the first beginner of my bliss. Oh, Abigail, Abigail that I had thee here, too. Then my desires were fully satisfied. But I will practice thy enlargement, thence. Oh, girl, oh, gold, oh, beauty, oh, my bliss. Hugs the bags. Father, it droth towards midnight now, and about this time the nuns begin to wake. To shun suspicion, therefore, let us part. Farewell, my joy, and by my fingers take a kiss from him that sends it from his soul. Exit, Abigail, above. Now, Phoebus, soap the eyelids of the day, and for the raven wake the morning lock that I may hover with her in the air, singing over these as she does over her young. Hermoso pleca de los dineros. Exit, enter for Nez, Martin de Bosco, knights and officers. Now, captain, tell us whether thou art bound, whence is thy ship that anchors in our road, and why thou comest ashore without our leave? Governor of Malta, hither am I bound. My ship, the flying dragon, is of Spain, and so am I. Del Bosco is my name, vice admiral unto the Catholic king. It is true, my lord, therefore entreat him well. Our fraught is Grecian's Turks and Afric Moors, for late upon the coast of Corsica, because we veiled not to the Turkish fleet, their creeping galleys had us in the chase. But suddenly the wind began to rise, and then we left and tacked and fought at ease. Some have we fired, and many have we sunk, but one amongst the rest became our prize. The captain's slain, the rest remain our slaves, of whom we would make sail in Malta here. Martin de Bosco, I have heard of thee. Welcome to Malta and to all of us. But to admit the sale of these like Turks, we may not, nay, we dare not give consent by reason of a tributary league. Del Bosco, as thou loftest and honoursed us, persuade our governor against the Turk. This truth we have is but in hope of gold, and with that sum he craves we might wage war. Will knights of Malta be in league with Turks, and buy it basely too for sums of gold? My lord, remember that to Europe's shame the Christian Isle of Rhodes, from whence you came, was lately lost, and you were stated here to be a deadly enmity with Turks. Captain, we know it, but our force is small. What is the sum that Calamath requires? A hundred thousand crowns. My lord and king have title to this isle, and he means quickly to expel you hence. Therefore be ruled by me and keep the gold. I'll write into his majesty for aid, and not depart until I see you free. On this condition shall thy Turks be sold. Go, officers, and set them straight in show. Excellent officers. Bosco, thou shalt be Malta's general. We and our warlike knights will follow thee against these barbarous, misbelieving Turks. So shall you imitate those you succeed, for when their hideous force environed Rhodes, small though the number was that kept the town, they fought it out, and not a man survived to bring the hapless news to Christendom. So we'll be fight it out, come let's away. Proud airing Calamath instead of gold will send the bullets wrapped in smoke and fire, claim tribute where thou wilt. We are resolved. Honor is bought with blood, and not with gold. Excellent. Enter officers with Ithymor and other slaves. This is the marketplace. Here let them stand. Fear not for their sale, for they'll be quickly bought. Everyone's price is written on his back, and so much must they yield, or not be sold. Here comes the Jew. Had not his goods been seized, he'd give us present money for them all. Enter Barabbas. In spite of these swine-eating Christians, unchosen nation never circumcised, poor villains such as Wernere thought upon till Titus and Vespasian conquered us, am I become as wealthy as I was. They hoped my daughter would have been a nun, but she's at home, and I have bought a house as great and fair as is the governor's. Even there, in spite of Malta, will I dwell, having for niece's hand whose heart I'll have, I, and his sons, too, or it shall go hard. I am not of the tribe of Levi, I, that can so soon forget an injury. We Jews can fawn like spaniels when we please, and when we grin we bite, yet are our looks as innocent and harmless as a lambs. I learned in Florence how to kiss my hand. Heave up my shoulders when they call me dog, and duck as low as any barefoot friar, hoping to see them starve upon a stall, or else be gathered for in our synagogue, that when the offering basin comes to me, even for charity I may spit into it. Here comes Don Lodawick, the governor's son, one that I love for his good father's sake. Enter Lodawick. I hear the wealthy Jewel this way. I see him out, and so insinuate, that I may have sight of Abigail, for Don Mathias tells me she is fair. Now will I shoo myself to have more of the serpent than the dove? That is, more naïve than fool. Yon waltz the Jew. Never fair Abigail. I, I, no doubt, but she's at your command. Barabbas, thou'st most I'm the governor's son. I would, you were his father, too, sir. That's all the harm I wish you. The slave looks like a hog's cheek, new singed. With a waltz thou, Barabbas? No further, tis a custom held with us, that when we speak with the Gentiles like to you, we turn into the air to purge ourselves for unto us the promise doth belong. Well, Barabbas, couldst help me to a diamond? Oh, sir, your father had my diamonds, yet I have one left that will serve your turn. I mean my daughter, but ere he shall have her. I'll sacrifice her on a pile of wood I had the poison of the city for him, and the white leprosy. What sparkle does it give without a foil? The diamond that I talk of ne'er was foiled, but when he touches it, it will be foiled. Lord Lodowick, it sparkles bright and fair. Is it square or pointed? Pray, let me know. Pointed it is, good sir, but not for you. I like it much the better. So do I, too. I shrews it by night. Outshines Cynthia's rays. You like it better far on nights than days. And what's the price? Your life, and if you have it, oh, my lord, we will not jar about the price, come to my house, and I will give it to your honour with a vengeance. Now, Barabbas, I will deserve it first. Good sir, your father has deserved it at my hands. Who of mere charity and Christian ruth to bring me to religious purity, and, as it were, in a catacysing sort, to make me mindful of my mortal sins against my will, and whether I would or no, seized all I had, and thrust me out of doors, and made my house a place for nuns most chaste. No doubt your soul shall reap the fruit of it. Aye, but my lord, the harvest is far off, and yet I know the prayers of those nuns and holy friars having money for their pains are wondrous. And indeed do no man good. And seeing they are not idle, but still doing, tis likely they in time may reap some fruit, I mean, in fullness of perfection. Good Barabbas glance not at our holy nuns. No, but I do it through a burning zeal, hoping ear long to set the house afire. For, though they do a while increase and multiply, I'll have a saying to that nunnery, as for the diamonds, sir, I told you of, come home, and there's no price shall make us part, even for your honorable father's sake. It shall go hard, but I will see your death, but now I must be gone to buy a slave. And Barabbas, I'll bet thee come for me. Come then, here's the marketplace. What's the price of this slave? Two hundred crowns do the Turks weigh so much? Sir, that is his price. What can he steal that you demand so much? Be like he has some new trick for a purse, and if he has, he is worth three hundred plates. So that being bought, the town seal might be got to keep him for his lifetime from the gallows. The session's day is critical to thieves, and fewer nuns escape but by being purged. Rust by this more but a two hundred plates. No more, my lord. Why should this Turk be dearer than that more? Because he is young, and has more qualities. What, hast the philosopher's stone? And thou hast, break my head with it, I'll forgive thee. No, sir, I can cut and shave. Let me see, sir, are you not an old shaver? Alas, sir, I am a very youth. A youth? I'll buy you and marry you to Lady Vanity if you do well. I will serve you, sir. Some wicked trick or other it may be, under color of shaving, thou'lt cut my throat from my goods. Tell me, hast thou thy health well? Aye, passing well. So much the worse. I must have one that's sickly, ant, but bee, but for sparing victuals. Tis not a stone of beef a day will maintain you in these chops. Let me see one that's somewhat leaner. Ah, here's a learner. How like you him. Where was thou born? In Trace, brought up in Arabia. So much the better, thou art from my turn, and hundered crowns? I'll have him. There's the coin. Gives money. Then mark him, sir, and take him hence. Aye, mark him, you were best. For this is he that by my help shall do much villainy. My lord farewell, come, sirrah, you are mine. As for the diamond, it shall be yours. I pray, sir, be no stranger at my house. All that I have shall be at your command. Enter Mathias and Catherine. What make the Jew and Lodowick so private? I fear me it is about fair Abigail. To Lodowick. Yanda comes down Mathias, let us stay. He loves my daughter and she holds him dear, but I have sworn to frustrate both their hopes and be revenged upon the governor. Exit Lodowick. This maw is the comliest, is he not? Speak, son. No, this is the better, mother, view this well. Seem not to know me here before your mother, lest she mistrust the match that is in hand. When you have brought her home, come to my house. Think of me as thy father. Son, farewell. But wherefore talked Don Lodowick with you? Tush, man, we talk of diamonds, not of Abigail. Tell me, Mathias, is not that the Jew? As for the comet and the Maccabees, I have it, sir, and tis at your command. Yes, madam, and my talk with him was about the borrowing of a book or two. Converse not with him. He is cast off from heaven. Thou hast thy crowns, fellow. Come, let's away. Siridrew, remember the book. Mary, will I, sir? Excellent Catherine and Mathias. Come, I have made a reasonable market. Let's away. Excellent officers with slaves. Now, let me know thy name and there with all thy birth, condition, and profession. Faith, sir. My birth is but mean. My name's Ithamore. My profession? What do you please? Hast thou no trade? Then listen to my words, and I will teach thee that shall stick by thee. First, be thou void of these defections. Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear. Be moved at nothing. See thou pity none, but to thyself smile when the Christians moan. Oh, brave master. I worship your nose for this. As for myself, I walk abroad on nights and kill sick people groaning under walls. Sometimes I go about and poison wells. And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves, I am content to lose some of my crowns that I may, walking in my gallery, see them go pinioned along by my door. Being young, I studied Physique and began to practice first upon the Italian. There I enriched the priests with burials and always kept the sexton's arms and yore, with digging graves and ringing dead men's knells. And after that was I an engineer, and in the wars twixed France and Germany under pretense of helping Charles V. slew friend and enemy with my stratageums. Then after that was I a new sir. And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting, and tricks belonging on to brokery, I filled the gallows with bankrupts in a year. And with young orphans planted hospitals, and every moon made some or other mad. And now and then one hang himself for grief, pinning upon his breast a long great scroll how I with interest tormented him, but mark how I am blessed for plaguing them. I have as much coin as will buy the town. But tell me now, how has thou spent thy time? Faith, master, in setting Christian villages on fire, chaining of eunuchs, binding galley slaves, one time I was an osler in an inn, and in the night time secretly would I steal to travellers' chambers, and there cut their throats. Once at Jerusalem where the pilgrims kneeled, I strewed powder on the marble stones, and there with all their knees would rankle so that I have left a good to see the cripples go limping home to Christendom on stilts. Why, this is something. Make account of me as of thy fellow. We are villains both. Both circumcised. We hate Christians both. Be true and secret. Thou shalt want no gold, but stand aside. Here comes Don Lodawick. Enter Lodawick. Oh, Barobas, well met. Where is the diamond you told me of? I have it for you, sir. Please you walk in with me. What's ho, Abigail? Open the door, I say. Enter Abigail with letters. In good time, father. Here our letters come from Ormus, and the post stays here within. Give me the letters. Aside to her. Daughter, do you hear? Entertain Lodawick, the governor's son, with all the courtesy you can afford, provided that you keep your maiden head. Use him as if he were a Philistine. Dissemble, swear, protest. Vow, love to him. He is not of the seat of Abraham. I am a little busy, sir. Pray pardon me. Abigail, bid him welcome for my sake. For your sake and his own. He's welcome hither. Aside to her. Daughter, a word more. Kiss him, speak him fair, and like a cunning Jew so cast about, that she both made sure ere you come out. O father, Don Matthias is my love. Aside to her. I know it, yet I say make love to him. Do, it is requisite it should be so. Nay, on my life it is my factor's hand, but go you in, I'll think upon the account. Excellent, Abigail, and Lodawick into the house. The account is made, for Lodawicko dies. My factor sends me word of merchants fled that owes me for a hundred ton of wine. I weigh it thus much, I have wealth enough. For now by this has he kissed Abigail, and she vows love to him and he to her. As sure as heaven reigned manner for the Jews, so sure shall he and Don Matthias die. His father was my chiefest enemy. Enter Matthias. Where the goes, Don Matthias, stay awhile. Wither but to my fair love Abigail. Thou knowest, and heaven can witness it is true, that I intend my daughter shall be thine. Aye, Barabas, or else thou wrongs to be much. O heaven forbid I should have such a thought. Pardon me though I weep, the governor's son, will whether I will or no have Abigail. He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings. Does she receive them? She? No, Matthias, no, but sends them back. And when he comes she locks herself up fast. Yet through the keyhole will he talk to her, while she runs to the window looking out, when you should come and hail him from the door. O treacherous Lordowick! Even now as I came home he slipped me in and I am sure he is with Abigail. I'll rouse him thence. Not for all malta, therefore sheath your sword. If you love me, no quarrels in my house. Still you win, and seem to see him not. I'll give him such a warning ere he goes as he shall have small hopes of Abigail. Away, for here they come. Re-enter Lordowick in Abigail. What? Hand in hand. I cannot suffer this. Matthias as thou loves me, not a word. Well, let it pass. Another time shall serve. Exit into the house. Barabas, is that not the widow's son? Die and take heed, for he hath sworn your death. My death? What is the base-born peasant mad? No, no, but happily he stands in fear of that which you, I think, ne'er dream upon. My daughter here, a paltry silly girl. Why, loves she done, Matthias? Doth she not with her smiling answer you? Aside, he has my heart. I smile against my will. Barabas, thou knows I have loved thy daughter long. And so has she done you, even from a child. And now I can no longer hold my mind. Nor I, the affection that I bear to you. This is thy diamond. Tell me, shall I have it? Win it and wear it. It is yet unsoiled. Oh, but I know your lordship would disdain to marry with the daughter of a Jew, and yet I'll give her many a golden cross with Christian posies round about the ring. It is not thy wealth, but heard that I esteem. Yet crave I thy consent. And mine you have. Yet let me talk to her. Aside to her. This offspring of Cain, this Jebusite that never tasted of the Passover, nor ere shall see the land of Canaan, nor are Messiahs that is yet to come. This gentle, maggot Lodawick, I mean, must be deluded. Let him have thy hand, but keep thy heart till Don Matthias comes. What? Shall I be betrothed to Lodawick? Aside to her. It's no sin to deceive a Christian, for they themselves hold it a principle. Faith is not to be held with heretics, but all are heretics that are not Jews. This follows well, and therefore, daughter, fear not. I have entreated her, and she will grant. Then gentle Abigail, plight thy faith to me. I cannot choose. Seeing my father bids, nothing but death shall part my love in me. Now have I that for which my soul hath longed? So have not I, but yet I hope I shall. Aside. Oh, wretched Abigail, what hast thou done? Why on the sudden is your color changed? I know not, but farewell. They must be gone. Stay her, but let her not speak one word more. Muto, this sudden. Here's a sudden change. Oh, Mew's not at it. Tis the Hebrew's guise that maidens knew betrothed should weep a while. Trouble or not, sweet Lodawick, depart. She is thy wife, and thou shalt be mine ere. Oh, it's the custom. Then I am resolved. But rather let the brightened heavens be dim, and nature's beauty choke with stifling clouds, than might their Abigail should frown on me. There comes the villain. Now I'll be revenged. Reander Matthias. Be quiet, Lodawick. It is enough that I've made thee sure to Abigail. Well, let him go. Exit. Well, but for me, as you went in at doors, you had been stabbed. But not a word on it now. Here must no speeches pass, no swords be drawn. Suffer me, Barabas, but to follow him. No, so shall I, if any hurt be done, be made an accessory of your deeds. Revenge it on him when you meet him next. For this I'll have his heart. Do so. Lo, here I give the Abigail. What greater gift can poor Matthias have? Shall Lodawick rob me of so fair a love? My life is not so dear as Abigail. My heart misgives me that to cross your love he's with your mother, therefore after him. What? Is he gone unto my mother? Nay, if he will, stay till she comes herself. I cannot stay, for if my mother came she'll die with grief. Exit. I cannot take my leave of him for tears. Father, why have you thus incensed them both? What's that to thee? I'll make him friends again. You'll make him friends? Are they not Jews and now in Malta, but thou must dot upon a Christian? I will have done, Matthias. He's my love. Yes, you shall have him. Go, put her in. Aye, I'll put her in. Put an Abigail. Now, tell me a thing more. How likes thou this? Faith, master, I think by this you purchase. Both their lives. Is it not so? True. And it shall be cunningly performed. Oh, master, that I might have a hand in this? Aye, so thou shalt. Tis thou must do the deed. Take this and bear it to Matthias straight. Giving a letter. And tell him that it comes from Lodawick. Tis poisoned. Is it not? No, no. When yet it might be done that way. It is a challenge feigned from Lodawick. Fear not. I will so set his heart afire, that he shall verily think it comes from him. I cannot choose but like thy readiness. Yet be not rash, but do it cunningly. As I behave myself in this, employ me hereafter. Away, then. Exit Ithamore. So, now will I go into Lodawick, and like a cunning spirit, feign some lie, till I have set them both at enmity. Exit. End of Act II. Act III of the Jew of Malta, by Christopher Merleau. Edited by the Reverend Alexander Dice. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Enter 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 chased, and yet I know my beauty does not fail. From Venice merchants, and from Padua, were want to come rare with it gentlemen. Scholars, I mean. Learn it, and liberal. And now, save Piliaborza, comes then none. And he is very seldom from my house. And here he comes. Enter Piliaborza. Hold thee, Wench, there's something for thee to spend. Shoeing a bag of silver. To silver? I disdain it. Aye, but the Jew has gold, and I will have it, or it shall go hard. Tell me, how came thou by this? 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 clamored 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. Hide the bag. Enter Ithamore. Look not towards him, let's away. Soonce would a looking thou keepest. Thou's betrays a none. Excellent fellow, Mara, and Piliaborza. Oh, 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. Enter Matthias. This is the place. Now Abigail shall see whether Matthias holds her dear or no. Enter Ludovic. What? Dares the villain right in such base terms. Looking at a letter. I did it. I'm revenge it, I've dast. They fight. Enter Barabbas, above. Oh, bravely fought, and yet they thrust not home. Thou, Ludovico, now Matthias. So. Both fall. So now they have showed themselves to be tall fellows. Cry as within. Partim. Partim. I, partim, now they are dead. Farewell. Farewell. Exit above. Enter Frenes, Catherine, and attendance. What sight is this? My Ludovico slain. These arms of mine shall be thyssa Parker. Who is this? My son Matthias. Slain. Oh, Ludovic, hadst thou perished by the Turk, wretched Frenes might have avenged thy death. Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death. Look, Catherine, look thy son gave mine these wounds. Oh, leave to grieve me. I am grieved enough. Oh, that my size could turn to lively breath, and these my tears to blood that he might live. Who made them enemies? I know not, and that grease me most of all. My son loved thine. And so did Ludovic him. Lend me that weapon that it kill my son, and it shall murder me. Nay, madam, stay, that weapon was my son's, and on that rather should Frenes die. Hold, let's inquire the causes of their deaths, that we may avenge their blood upon their heads. 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 size and tears, and with my prayers pierce impartial heavens, till they reveal the causes of our smarts, which force their hands divide united hearts. Come, Catherine, our losses equal are, then of true grief let us take equal share. Excellent with the bodies. Enter Ithamore. Why, was there ever seen such villainy? So neatly plotted, and so well performed. Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled. Enter Abigail. Why, how now Ithamore, my laugh is thou so? Oh, mistress, ha, ha, ha, ha! Why, what else, thou? Oh, my master. Ha! Oh, mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottled-nosed, knave to my master, that ever gentleman had. Say, knave, why railest upon my father thus? Oh, my master has the bravest policy. We're in. Why, no you not. Why, no. No you not of Matthias's and Don Lodowick's disaster. No, what was it? Why, the devil inverted a challenge. My master rid it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick and in primus to Matthias. And then they met and, as the story says, indoleful wise they ended both their days. And was my father further of their deaths? Am I Ithamore? Yes. So sure did your father write, and I carried the challenge. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this. Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire for any of the friars of St. Jacques, and say, I pray them come and speak with me. I pray, mistress, will you answer me to one question? Well, Sura, what is it? A very, hmm, feeling one. Have not the nuns find sport with the friars now and then? Go to, Sura, Sos, is this your question? Get ye gone. I will, forsooth, mistress. Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabbas, was this the pursuit of thy policy, to make me shoe them favour severly, that by my favour they should both be slain, that thou lovest not Lodwik for his sire, hithon Matthias never offended thee, but that which set upon extreme revenge, because the prior dispossessed thee once, and could not avenge it but upon his son. Nor on his son, but by Matthias means, nor on Matthias, but by murdering me. But I perceive there is no love on earth, pity in Jews, nor piety in Turks, and it seems cursed Ithymor with the friar. Re-enter Ithymor with Friar Giacomo. Virgo Salde. When duc you? Welcome, grave friar. Ithymor, be gone. Exit Ithymor. No, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee. Wherein? To get me be admitted for a nun. Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since that I did labour thy admission, and then doubt it's not like that holy life. Then were my thoughts so frail and un-conformid, as I was chained into 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. Who taught thee this? The abyss of the house, whose zealous admonition I embrace. O therefore, Giacomo, let me be one, although unworthy of that sisterhood. Abigail, I will, but see thou changed no more, for that we most heavy to thy soul. That was my father's fault. Thy father's? How? Nay, you shall pardon me. O Barabbas, though thou deservest hardly at my hands, yet never shall these lips betray thy life. Come, shall we go? My duty waits on you. Excellent. Enter Barabbas, reading a letter. What? Abigail become a nun again? False and unkind. What is thou, lost thy father? And all unknown and unconstrained of me, hath thou again got to the nunnery? Now here she writes, and wills me to repent. Repent, Sperka! What pretendeth this? I fear she knows, to his soul, of my device, and Don Matthias is in Lodovico's deaths. If so, to his 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 sawest thou, Abigail? Today. With whom? A friar. A friar, false villain he hath done the deed. How, sir? Why, made mine Abigail a nun. That's no lie, for she sent me for him. O unhappy day! False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! But let him go. And Ithamore, from hence ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace. Ne'er shall she live to inherit ought of mine. Be blessed of me, nor come within my gates, but perish underneath my bitter curse like Cain by Adam for his brother's death. O master! Ithamore, entreat not for her I am moved, and she is hateful to my soul and me. And lest thou yield to this that I entreat, I cannot think but that thou hast my life. Who? I, master? Why, I'll run to Sun Rock and throw myself headlong into the sea. Why, I'll do anything for your sweet sake. O trusty Ithamore, no servant but my friend, I hear adoptee from mine only air, 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 them the anon. Go buy the 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. I hold my head, my master's hungry. I go, sir. Exit. Thus every villain ambles after wealth, although he ne'er be richer than in hope but hushed. We enter Ithamore with the pot. Here it is, master. Well said, Ithamore. What, has thou brought the ladle with thee, too? I guess, sir. The proverb says, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon. I have brought you a ladle. 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 mayest freely live to be my heir. Why, master, will you poison her with the mess of rice porridge that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more than you are aware? I, but Ithamore, seeest thou this? It is a precious powder that I bought of an Italian, an Ancona once, whose operation is to bind, infect, and poison deeply, yet not appear in forty hours after it is tain. How, master? Thus, Ithamore, this even they use in Malta here, tis called St. Jock's even, and then I say they use to send their alms into 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 to them. How so? Be like there is some ceremony in it. There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot. Stay, let me spice it first. Pray, do, and let me help you, master. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, do, and let me help you, master. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Pray, let me taste first. Myself is thine. Well, master, I go. Stay, first let me stir it, hithomore, as fatal be it to her as the draft 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 Hibon, and Kokitis's breath, and all the poisons of the Stygian pool break from the fiery kingdom, and in this vomit your venom, and in venom her that like a fiend hath left her father thus. What a blessing has he given, was ever part of rice, porridge so sauced. What shall I do with it? Oh, my sweet hithomore, go set it down, and come again so soon as thou has done, or I have other business for thee. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders' mares. I'll carry it to the nuns with a powder. And the horse pestilence to boot away. I am gone. Pay me my wages, for my work is done. Exit with a pot. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, hithomore. Exit. Welcome, great basso, how fair's Calimath, what wind drives you thus into Malta Road. The wind that bloweth all the world besides desire of gold. Desire of gold, great sir, that's to be gotten in the western end. In Malta are no golden minerals. To you of Malta, thus saith Calimath, the time you took for his feet is at hand, for the performance of your promised past, and for the tribute money I'm sent. Basso, in brief shall have no tribute here, nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil. First will we raise the city walls ourselves. They waste the island, you 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. Well, governor, since thou hast broke the league by flat denial of the promised tribute, talk not of raising down your city walls. You shall not need trouble yourselves so far, for Selim Calimath 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 far well, far well, exit Basso. And now, you men of Malta, look about, and let's provide to welcome Calimath. 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 not is to be looked for now but wars, and not to us more welcome is than wars. Excellents, enter Friar Giacomo and Friar Barnardine. Oh, brother, brother, all the nuns are sick, and the physic will not help them, they must die. The Abbas sent for me to be confessed, oh, what a sad confession there will be. And so did Fair Maria send for me, unto her lodging, hear about she lies. Exit. Enter Abigail. What? All dead? Save only Abigail? And I shall die too, for I feel death coming. Where is the Friar that conversed with me? Oh, he is gone to see the other nuns. I sent for him, but seeing you are come, be you my ghostly father, and first know that in this house I lived religiously, chastened about, much sorrowing for my sins. But here I came. What, then? I did offend I heaven so grievously, as I am almost desperate for my sins, and one offence torments me more than all. You knew Matthias and Don Lodwick. Yes, what of them? My father did contract me to them both. First to Don Lodwick, him I never loved. Matthias was the man that I held dear, and for his sake did I become a nun. So say, how was their end? Both jealous of my love, envy'd each other, and by my father's practice, which is there set down at large. Gives writing. The gallants were both slain. Oh, monstrous villainy! To work my peace, this I confess to thee, reveal it not, for then my father dies. 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. So I have heard, pray, therefore, keep it close, death seizeth on my heart, ha, a gentle friar, convert my father that he may be saved, and witness that I die a Christian. I, 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 for our jacomo. O brother, all the nuns are dead, let's bury them. First, help to bury this, then go with me and help me to exclaim against the Jew. Why, what has he done? A thing that makes me tremble to unfold. What has he crucified a child? No, but a worse thing, twas told me in shrift, thou knowest tis'd death, and if it be revealed, come let's away. Excellent. End of Act 3. Act 4 of the Jew of Malta by Christopher Merlo, edited by the Reverend Alexander Dice. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Enter Barabbas and Ithamore, bells within. There is no music to a Christian's knell. How sweet the bells ring, now all the nuns are dead, that sound at other times like tinker's pams. I was afraid the poison had not wrought, or though it wrought it would have done no good. For every year they swell, and yet they live. Now all are dead, not one remains alive. That's brave, master, but think you it will not be known. How can it, if we two be secret? For my part, fear you not. I'd cut thy throat if I did. And reason, too. But here's a royal monastery hard by. Good master, let me poison all the monks. Thou shalt not need, for now the nuns are dead, they'll die with grief. Do you not sorrow for your daughter's death? No, but I grieve because she lived so long, and Hebrew-born, and would become a Christian, chas-o diabol-o. Look, look, master, here come two religious caterpillars. Enter Friar Giacomo and Friar Barnardine. I smelt him here they came. God of mercy knows. Come, let's be gone. Say, wicked Jew, repent, I say, and stay. Thou hast offended, therefore must be damned. I fear they know we sent the poisoned broth. And so do I, master. Therefore speak them fair. Brabus, thou hast- I that thou hast. True, I have money, what though I have? Thou art a- I that thou art a- What needs all this? I know I am a Jew. Thy daughter- I thy daughter. Oh, speak not of her, then I die with grief. Remember that. I must need say that I have been a great usur. Thou hast committed- Fornication, but that was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead. I, but Brabus, remember Matthias and Don Ludwig. Why? What of them? I will not say that by a forged challenge they met. Aside, Ithamore. She is confessed, and we are both undone. My bosom inmate, but I must assemble. Oh, holy friars, the burden of my sins. Lie heavy on my soul, then pray you tell me it's not too late now to turn Christian. I have been zealous in the Jewish faith, hard-hearted to the poor, a covetous wretch, that would for Lucas' sake have sold my soul, a hundred for a hundred I have tain, and now for store of wealth may I compare with all the Jews and Malta, but what is wealth? I am a Jew, and therefore am I lost. Would penance serve to atone for this my sin, I could afford to whip myself to death? And so could I, but penance will not serve. To fast, to pray, and wear a shirt of hair on my knees creep to Jerusalem. Sellers of wine and solars full of wheat, warehouses stuffed with spices and with drugs, whole chests of gold and bullion and in coin. Besides, I not know how much weight in pearl-orient and round have I with in my house. At Alexandria merchandise untold, and yesterday two ships went from this town, their voyage will be worth ten thousand crowns, in Florence, Venice, Antwerp, London, Seville, Frankfurt, Lubeck, Moscow and where not. Have I debt-sewing and in most of these great sums of money lying in the Banco? All this I'll give to some religious house so I may be baptized and live therein. Oh, good Barabas, come to our house. Oh, no good Barabas, come to our house, and Barabas, you know- I know that I have highly sinned, you shall convert me, you shall have all my wealth. Oh, Barabas, their laws are strict. I know they are, and I will be with you. They wear no shirts, and they go barefoot too. Then tis not for me, and I'm resolved, you shall confess me, and have all my goods. Good Barabas, come to me. You see I answer him, and yet he stays. Rid him away, and go you home with me. I'll be with you tonight. Come to my house at one o'clock this night. You hear your answer, and you may be gone. Why, go, get you away. I will not go for thee. Not, then I'll make thee go. How dost call me rogue? They fight. Parkum, master. Parkum. This is mere frailty, brethren. Be content. Friar Barnadine, go you with Ithamore. You know my mind, let me alone with him. Why does he go to thy house? Let him be gone. I'll give him something, and so stop his mouth. Exit Ithamore with Friar Barnadine. I never heard of any man, but he maligned the order of the Jacobins. But do you think that I believe his words? Why, brother, you converted Abigail, and I am bound in charity to requite it, and so I will. O Jacobo, fail not, but come. But Barabas, who shall be your godfathers, for presently you shall be shrived. Mary, the Turk shall be one of my godfathers, but not a word to any of your covent. I warrant thee, Barabas. Exit. So now the fear is past, and I am safe. For he that shrived her is within my house. What, if I murdered him, here Jacobo comes? Now I have such a plot for both their lives, as never Jew nor Christian knew the like. One turned my daughter, therefore he shall die. The other knows enough to have my life. Therefore it is not requisite he should live. But are not both these wise men to suppose that I will leave my house, my goods and all, to fast and be well whipped? I'll none of that. Friar Barnardine, I come to you. I'll feast you, lodge you, give you fair words, and after that I, in my trusty Turk, know more but so. It must and shall be done. Enter Ithamore. Ithamore, tell me, is the Friar asleep? Yes, and I know not what the reason is. Do what I can, he will not strip himself, nor go to bed. What sleeps in his own clothes? I fear me he mistrusts what we intend. No, it is an order which the Friars use. Yet, if he knew our meanings, could he escape? No, none can hear him, cry he ne'er so loud. Why true, therefore did I place him there. The other chamber is open towards the street. You loiter, master, wherefore stay we thus? Oh, how I long to see him shake his heels. Come on, Sera, off with your girdle, make a handsome noose. Ithamore takes off his girdle and ties the noose on it. Friar, awake! They put the noose around the Friar's neck. What, do you mean to strangle me? Yes, cause you use to confess. Blame not us, but the proverb, confess and be hanged. Pull hard! What, will you have my life? Pull hard, I say, you would have had my goods. I, and our lives too, therefore, pull a mane. They strangle the Friar. It is neatly done, sir. Here's no print at all. Then is it as it should be, take him up. A day, master, be ruled by me a little. Takes the body, sets it upright against the wall, and puts the staff in its hand. So, let him lean upon his staff. Excellent! He stands as if he were begging of bacon. Who would not think but that this Friar lived? What time of night is now, sweet of the Moor? Towards one. Then will not Jacome be long from hence? Excellent! Enter Friar Jacomo. This is the hour where an eye shall proceed. O happy hour where an eye shall convert an infidel, and bring its gold into our treasury. But soft! It's just not Barnardine. It is, and understanding I should come this way, stands for a purpose meaning me some wrong, and intercept my going to the Jew. Barnardine, wilt thou not speak? Thou singst I see thee not. Away I wish thee, and let me go by. No, wilt thou not? Nay, then I'll force my way, and see a staff stands ready for the purpose. As thou liked that, stop me another time. Takes the staff, and strikes down the body. Enter Borebus and Ithamore. Why, how now, Jacomo? What is thou done? I stricken him that would have struck at me. Who is it? Barnardine? Now, out! Alas, he is slain! Ah, master, he is slain. Look how his brains drop out on his nose. Good serves I have done, but nobody knows it but you two. I may escape. So might my man and I hang with you for company. No, let us bear him to the magistrates. Good Barbus, let me go. No, pardon me, the law must have his course. I must be forced to give in evidence that, being important by this Barnardine to be a Christian, I shut him out, and there he sat, now I, to keep my word and give my goods and substance to your house was up thus early, with intent to go on to your friary because you stayed. Thigh upon him. Master, will you turn Christian when holy friars turn devils and murder one another? No, for this example I'll remain a Jew. Heaven bless me, what a friar a murderer! When shall you see a Jew commit the like? Why? A Turk could have done no more. Tomorrow is the sessions, you shall do it. Commit the more, let's help to take him hence. Villains, I am a sacred person, touch me not. The law shall touch you, will but lead you, we, lest I could weep at your calamity. Take in the staff too, for that must be shown. Law wills that each particular be known. Excellent. Enter Bellamira and Piliabosa. Piliabosa, didst thou meet with Ithamore? I did. And didst thou deliver my letter? I did. And what thinkest thou, will he come? I think so, and yet I cannot tell, for at the reading in the letter he looked like a man of another world. Why so? That such a base slave as he should be saluted by such a tall man as I am from such a beautiful dame as you. And what said he? Not a wise word, only gave me a nod, as who should say, is it even so? And so I left him being driven to a non-plus at the critical aspect of my terrible countenance. And where didst meet him? Upon my own freehold within forty foot of the gallows, conning his neck-verse. I take it, looking of a friar's execution, whom I saluted with an old hemp and proverb, hodai tibi krasmihi. And so I left him to the mercy of the hangman. But the exercise being done, see where he comes. Enter Ithamore. I never knew a man take his doth so patiently as this friar. He was ready to leap off ere the altar was about his neck. And when the hangman had put on this hemp and tippet, he made such haste to his prayers as if he had had another cure to serve. Well, go whither he will. I'll be none of his followers in haste. And now, I think, moment, going to the execution, a fellow met me with a mush to toes, like a raven's wing, and a dagger with a hilt, like a warming pan. And he gave me a letter from one Madame Bellamira, saluting me in such sort as if he had meant to make clean my boots with his lips. The effect was that I should come to her house. I wonder what the reason is. Maybe she sees more in me than I can find in myself. For she writes further that she loves me ever since she saw me. And who would not be quite such love? Here's her house. And here she comes. And now, would I were gone? Oh, I am not worthy to look upon her. This is a gentleman you writ to. Gentlemen, he flouts me. What gentry can be in a poor turk of tempants? I'll be gone. Is not a sweet-faced youth, Pylia? Again sweet youth? Did you not, sir, bring the sweet youth a letter? What concern from this gentle woman who has myself and the rest of the family stand or fall at your service? The woman's modesty should hail me back. I can withhold no longer. Welcome, sweet love. Now am I clean or rather foully out of the way? With us so soon. I'll go steal some money from my master to make me handsome. Pray, pardon me. I must go see a ship discharged. Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus? And you did but know how she loves you, sir. Nay, I care not how much she loves me. Sweet Bellamira, would I had my master's wealth for thy sake? And you can have it, sir, and if you please. If it were above ground, I could and would have it. But he hides and buries it up as partridges do their eggs under the earth. And is it not possible to find it out? By no means possible. Aside to Pylia Borsa. What shall we do with this base villain then? Aside to her. Let me alone. Do but you speak him fair. But you know some secrets of the Jew which if they were revealed would do him harm. Aye, and such as. Go to, no more. I'll make him send me half he has. And glad he escapes so too. I'll write unto him. We'll have money straight. Send for a hundred crowns at least. Ten hundred thousand crowns. Writing. Master Barabas. Write not so submissively, but threatening him. Writing. Serah Barabas. Send me a hundred crowns. Put in two hundred at least. Writing. By charge ye send me three hundred by this bearer. And this shall be your warrant if you do not know more but so. Tell him you will confess. Writing. Otherwise I'll confess all. Vanish and return in a tweakle. Let me alone. I'll use him in his kind. Hang him, Jew. Exit Pilioborza with a letter. Now gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap. Where are my maids? Provide a cunning banquet. Send to the merchant bid him bring me silks. Shall Ithamore my love go in such rags. And bid the jeweler come hither too. I have no husband, sweet. I'll marry thee. Content. But we will leave this paltry land. And sail from hence to Greece to lovely Greece. I'll be thy Jason. Thou my golden fleece. Where painted carpets or the meads are hurled. And Bacchus' vineyards or spread the world. Where woods and forests go in goodly green. I'll be Adonis. Thou shalt be love's queen. The meads, the orchards and the primrose lanes. Instead of sedge and reed bear sugar canes. Thou and those groves by this above. Shalt live with me and be my love. Thither will I not go with gentle Ithamore. We enter Pilioborza. How now, hast thou the gold? Yes. But came it freely. Did the cow give down her milk freely? At reading of the letter he stared and stamped and turned aside. I took him by the beard and I looked upon him thus. Told him he were best to send it. He hugged and embraced me. Rather for fear than love. Then, like a Jew, he laughed and jeered and told me he loved me for your sake and said what a faithful servant you had been. The more villain he to keep me thus. Here's goodly, peril. Is there not? To conclude he gave me ten crowns. Deliver some money to Ithamore. But ten? I'll not leave him worth a grey groat. Give me a ring of paper. We'll have a kingdom of gold for it. Right for five hundred crowns. Writing. Sera, Jew, as you love your life, send me five hundred crowns and give the bearer a hundred. Tell him I must have it. I warrant your worship shall have it. And if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I scorned to write a letter under a hundred crowns. You'd make a rich poet, sir. I am gone. Exit with the letter. Take thou the money. Spend it for my sake. This is not thy money, but thy self I weigh. Thus Bellamira esteems of gold. Throws it aside. But thus of thee kisses him. That kiss again. She runs division of my lips. What an eye she casts on me. It twinkles like a star. Come, my dear love. Come in and sleep together. Oh, that ten thousand nights were put in one. That we might sleep seven years together before we wake. Come, amorous wag. First bang quit and then sleep. Excellent. Enter Barabbas reading a letter. Barabbas send me three hundred crowns. Plain Barabbas, oh, that wicked courtesan. He was not wont to call me Barabbas. Or else I will confess. Aye, there it goes, but if I get him, coot a gorge for that. He sent a shaggy, tattered, staring slave. That, when he speaks, draws out his grizzly beard and winds it twice or thrice about his ear, whose face has been a grindstone for men's swords. His hands are hacked, some fingers cut quite off. Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog like one that is employed in katsuri and cross-biting. Such a rogue is as the husband to a hundred whores, and I by him must send three hundred crowns. Well, my hope is he will not stay there still. And when he comes, oh, that he would but hear. Enter Pilioborza. Jew, I must have more gold. Why, wants thou any of thy tail? No, but three hundred will not serve his turn. Not serve his turn, sir. No, sir, and therefore I must have five hundred more. I'll rather... Oh, good word, sir, and send it you were best. See, there's his letter. Give's letter. Might he not as well come as send? Pray, bid him come and fetch it. What he writes for you ye shall have straight. I and the rest, too, or else. I must make this villain away. Please, you dine with me, sir, and you shall be most heartily poisoned. No, God of mercy! Shall I have these crowns? I cannot do it. I have lost my keys. Oh, if that be all, I can pick up your locks. Or climb up to my counting house window. You know my meaning. I know enough, and therefore talk not to me of your counting house. The gold, or no Jew, it is in my power to hang thee. I am betrayed. Tis not five hundred crowns that I esteem. I am not moved at that. This angers me. That he who knows I love him as myself should write in this imperious vein. Why, sir, you know I have no child, and unto whom should I leave all, but untoithamore? Here's many words, but no crowns. The crowns. Commend me to him, sir, most humbly, and unto your good mistress as unknown. Speak. Shall I have them, sir? Sir, here they are. Gives money. Oh, that I should part with so much gold. Here, take them, fellow, with as good a will as I would see thee hanged. Oh, love stops my breath. Never loved man's servants as I do with them, or? I know it, sir. Pray, when, sir, shall I see you at my house? Soon enough to your cost, sir. Fare you well. Exit. Nay, to thine own cost, villain, if thou comest. Was ever Jew tormented as I am? To have a shag-reg knave to come force for me three hundred crowns, and then five hundred crowns. Well, I must seek a means to rid them all and presently, for in his villainy he will tell all he knows, and I shall die for it. I have it. I will, in some disguise, go see the slave, and how the villain revels with my gold. Exit. Enter ye, Bellamira, it the Moor, and Pilioborza. I'll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off. Say it, thou me so, have at it, and do you hear? Whispers to her. Go to, it shall be so. Of that condition I will drink it up. Here's to thee. Nay, I'll have all or none. There, if thou lofts to me, do not leave a drop. Love thee. Fill me three glasses. Three and fifty dozen. I'll pledge thee. Nay, we spoke, and like a knight at arms. Hey, Rivo Castigliano, a man's a man. Now to the Jew. Ha! To the Jew. And send me money, he were best. What would thou do, if he should send thee none? Do nothing. But I know what I know. He's a murderer. I had not thought he had been so brave a man. You knew Matthias and the governor's son. He and I killed him both, and yet never touched him. Oh, bravely done. I carried the broth that poisoned the nuns, and he and I, snickle and too fast, strangled a friar. You two alone? We too, and was never known, nor never shall be for me. Aside to Belomira. This shall with me unto the governor. Aside to Pilioborza. And fit it should, but first let's have more gold. Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap. Love me, little, love me long, let music rumble. Whilst I and I, in cany, lap do tumble. Enter Barabbas, disguised as a French musician, with a lute and a nose-gay in his hat. A French musician? Come, let's hear your skill. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang-twang, first. We'll drink, Frenchman. Here's to thee with a pox on this drunken hiccup. Gramerci, mon sure. Prithee, Pilioborza, bid the fiddler give me the posey in his hat there. Sura, you must give my mistress your posey. A vautre commandment, madame. Giving nose-gay. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell. Like thy breath, sweetheart, no violet like them. Fuh, me thinks they stink like a hollyhock. Aside. So now I'm revenged upon them all. The scent thereof was death. I poisoned it. Play, fiddler, or I'll cut your cat's guts into chitterlings. Pernimoire be in no tune yet, so now all be in. Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine. There's two crowns for thee. Play. Giving money. Aside, and then plays. How liberally the villain gives me my own gold. Me thinks he fingers very well. Aside. So did you when you stole my gold. How swift he runs. Aside. You run swifter when you threw my gold out of my window. Musician, has been immortal long. Two, three, four months, madame. Dust not, no, adieu. One, beribus. Very mosh, monshore. You know be his man? His man. I scorn the peasant. Tell him so. Aside. He knows it already. Tis a strange thing of that Jew. He lives upon pickled grasshoppers and sauced mushrooms. Aside. What a slave's this. The governor feeds not as I do. He never put on clean shirt since he was circumcised. Aside. Oh, rascal. I change myself twice a day. The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder when he hanged himself. Aside. To a sent me for a present from the great chamber. A nasty slave he is. Were there now, fiddler? Pardon, monshore. Me be no well. Farewell, fiddler. Exit beribus. One letter more to the Jew. Prithee, sweet love. One more and write it sharp. No, I'll send by word of mouth now. Bid him deliver thee a thousand crowns by the same token. The nuns loved rice. That friar Bernadine slept in his own clothes. Any of them will do it. Let me alone to urge it. Now I know the meaning. Meaning has a meaning. Come, let's in. To undo a Jew is charity. And not sin. Excellent. End of Act 4.