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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Jew of Malta

Act: 3 Scene: 4<<

Enter Barabas reading a letter.

Barabas

What, Abigall become a Nunne againe?

False, and unkinde; what, hast thou lost thy father?

And all unknowne, and unconstrain'd of me,

Art thou againe got to the Nunnery?

Now here she writes, and wils me to repent.

Repentance? Spurca: what pretendeth this?

I feare she knowes ('tis so) of my device

In Don Mathias and Lodovicoes deaths:

If so, 'tis time that it be seene into:

For she that varies from me in beleefe

Gives great presumption that she loves me not;

Or loving, doth dislike of something done.

[Enter Ithimore.]

Ithimore

But who comes here? Oh Ithimore come neere;

Come neere, my love, come neere, thy masters life,

My trusty servant, nay, my second selfe;

For I have now no hope but even in thee;

And on that hope my happinesse is built:

When saw'st thou Abigall?

To day.

With whom?

A Fryar.

A Fryar? false villaine, he hath done the deed.

Ithimore

How, Sir?

Barabas

Why, made mine Abigall a Nunne.

Ithimore

That's no Iye, for she sent me for him.

Barabas

Oh unhappy day,

False, credulous, inconstant Abigall!

But let 'em goe: And Ithimore, from hence

Ne're shall she grieve me more with her disgrace;

Ne're shall she live to inherit ought 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.

Ithimore

Oh master.

Barabas

Ithimore, intreat not for her, I am mov'd,

And she is hatefull to my soule and me:

And less thou yeeld to this that I intreat,

I cannot thinke but that thou hat'st my life.

Ithimore

Who I, master? Why I'le run to some rocke and throw my selfe headlong into the sea; why I'le doe any thing for your sweet sake.

Barabas

Oh trusty lthimore; no servant, but my friend;

I here adopt thee for mine onely heire,

All that I have is thine when I am dead,

And whilst I live use halfe; spend as my selfe;

Here take my keyes, I'le give 'em thee anon.

Goe buy thee garments: but thou shalt not want:

Onely know this, that thus thou art to doe:

But first goe fetch me in the pot of Rice

That for our supper stands upon the fire.

Ithimore

I hold my head my master's hungry: I goe Sir.

Exit.

Barabas

Thus every villaine ambles after wealth

Although he ne're be richer then in hope:

But hush't.

Enter Ithimorewith the pot.

Ithimore

Here 'tis, Master.

Barabas

Well said, Ithimore;

What, hast thou brought the Ladle with thee too?

Ithimore

Yes, Sir, the proverb saies, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoone. I have brought you a Ladle.

Barabas

Very well, Ithimore, then now be secret;

And for thy sake, whom I so dearely love,

Now shalt thou see the death of Abigall,

That thou mayst freely live to be my heire.

Ithimore

Why, master, wil you poison her with a messe of rice porredge? that wil preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more then you are aware.

Barabas

I but Ithimore seest thou this?

It is a precious powder that I bought

Of an Italian in Ancona once,

Whose operation is to binde, infect,

And poyson deeply: yet not appeare

In forty houres after it is tane.

Ithimore

How master?

Barabas

Thus Ithimore:

This Even they use in Malta here ('tis call'd

Saint Jaques Even) and then I say they use

To send their Almes unto the Nunneries:

Among the rest beare this, and set it there;

There's a darke entry where they take it in,

Where they must neither see the messenger,

Nor make enquiry who hath sent it them.

Ithimore

How so?

Barabas

Belike there is some Ceremony in't.

There Ithimore must thou goe place this pot:

Stay, let me spice it first.

Ithimore

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

Barabas

Prethe doe: what saist thou now?

Ithimore

Troth master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoyld.

Barabas

Peace, Ithimore, tis better so then spar'd.

Assure thy selfe thou shalt have broth by the eye.

My purse, my Coffer, and my selfe is shine.

Ithimore

Well, master, I goe.

Barabas

Stay, first let me stirre it Ithimore.

As fatall be it to her as the draught

Of which great Alexander drunke, and dyed:

And with her let it worke like Borgias wine,

Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poysoned.

In few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane;

The jouyce of Hebon, and Cocitus breath,

And all the poysons of the Stygian poole

Breake from the fiery kingdome; and in this

Vomit your venome, and invenome her

That like a fiend hath left her father thus.

Ithimore

What a blessing has he given't? was ever pot of rice porredge so sauc't? what shall I doe with it?

Barabas

Oh my sweet Ithimore go set it downe

And come againe so soone as thou hast done,

For I have other businesse for thee.

Ithimore

Here's a drench to poyson a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'le carry's to the Nuns with a powder.

Barabas

And the horse pestilence to boot; away.

Ithimore

I am gone.

Pay me my wages for my worke is done.

Exit.

Barabas

Ile pay thee with a vengeance lthamore.

Exit.

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