TheStationersRegister

The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Jew of Malta

Act: 4 Scene: 1<<

Enter Barabas, Ithamore. Bells within.

There is no musicke to a Christians knell:

How sweet the Bels ring now the Nuns are dead

That sound at other times like Tinkers pans?

I was afraid the poyson had not wrought;

Or though it wrought, it would have done no good,

For every yeare they swell, and yet they live;

Now all are dead, not one remaines alive.

That's brave, master, but think you it wil not be known?

How can it if we two be secret.

For my part feare you not.

I'de cut thy throat if I did.

And reason too;

But here's a royall Monastry hard by,

Good master let me poyson all the Monks.

Thou shalt not need, for now the Nuns are dead.

They'll dye with griefe.

Doe you not sorrow for your daughters death?

No, but I grieve because she liv'd so long.

An Hebrew bome, and would become a Christian?

Cazzo , diabolo.

Enter the two Fryars.

Look, look, master, here come two religious Caterpillers.

I smelt 'em e're they came.

God-a-mercy nose; come let's begone.

Stay wicked Jew, repent, I say, and stay.

Thou hast offended, therefore must be damn'd.

I feare they know we sent the poyson'd broth.

And so doe I, master, therefore speake 'em faire.

Barabas, thou hast—

I, that thou hast—

True, I have mony, 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 speake not of her, then I dye with griefe.

Remember that—

I, remember that—

I must needs say that I have beene a great usurer.

Thou hast committed—

Fornication? but that was in another Country:

And besides, the Wench is dead.

I, but Barabas, remember Mathias and Don Lodowick.

Why, what of them?

I will not say that by a forged challenge they met.

She has confest, and we are both undone,

My bosome inmate, but I must dissemble.

Aside.

Oh holy Fryars, the burthen of my sinnes

Lye heavy on my soule; then pray you tell me,

Is't not too late now to turne Christian?

I have beene zealous in the Jewish faith,

Hard harted to the poore, a covetous wretch,

That would for Lucars sake have sold my soule.

A hundred for a hundred I have tane;

And now for store of wealth may I compare

With all the Jewes in Malta but what is wealth?

I am a Jew, and therefore am I lost.

Would pennance serve for this my sinne,

I could afford to whip my selfe to death.

And so could I; but pennance will not serve.

To fast, to pray, and weare a shirt of haire,

And on my knees creepe to Jerusalem .

Cellers of Wine, and Sollers full of Wheat,

Ware-houses stuft with spices and with drugs,

Whole Chests of Gold, in Bullion, and in Coyne,

Besides I know not how much weight in Pearle

Orient and round, have I within my house;

At Alexendria, Merchandize unsold:

But yesterday two ships went from this Towne,

Their voyage will be worth ten thousand Crownes.

In Florence, Venice, Antwerpe, London, Civill,

Frankeford, Lubecke, Mosco, and where not,

Have I debts owing; and in most of these,

Great summes of mony lying in the bancho;

All this I'le give to some religious house

So I may be baptiz'd 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 sinn'd,

You shall convert me, you shall have all my wealth.

[Aside to 2. Fryar.]

Oh Barabas, their Lawes are strict.

I know they are, and I will be with you.

[Aside to 2. Fryar.]

They weare no shirts, and they goe bare-foot too.

Then 'tis not for me; and I am resolv'd

You shall confesse me, and have all my goods.

[Aside to 1. Fryar.]

Good Barabas, come to me.

You see I answer him, and yet he stayes;

Rid him away, and goe you home with me.

[Aside to 1. Fryar.]

I'le be with you to night.

Come to my house at one a clocke this night.

[Aside to 2. Fryar.]

You heare your answer, and you may be gone.

Why goe, get you away.

I will not goe for thee.

Not? then I'le make thee, rogue.

How, cost call me rogue?

Fight.

Part 'em, master, part 'em.

This is meere frailty, brethren, be content.

Fryar Barnardine goe you with Ithimore.

You know my mind, let me clone with him.

[Aside to 2. Fryar.]

Why does he goe to thy house? let him begone.

Exit [Ithimore and 2. Fryar].

I'le give him something and so stop his mouth.

I never heard of any man but he

Malign'd the order of the Jacobines:

But doe you thinke that I beleeve his words?

Why, Brother, you converted Abigall;

And I am bound in charitie to requite it,

And so I will, oh Jacomo, faile not but come.

But Barabas, who shall be your godfathers,

For presently you shall be shriv'd.

Marry the Turke shall be one of my godfathers,

But not a word to any of your Covent.

I warrant thee, Barabas.

Exit.

So, now the feare is past, and I am safe:

For he that shriv'd her is within my house.

What if I murder'd him e're Jacomo comes?

Now I have such a plot for both their lives,

As never Jew nor Christian knew the like:

One turn'd my daughter, therefore he shall dye;

The other knowes enough to have my life,

Therefore 'tis 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 whips; I'le none of that.

Now Fryar Bernardine I come to you,

I'le feast you, lodge you, give you faire words,

And after that, I and my trusty Turke—

No more but so: it must and shall be done.

Ithimore, tell me, is the Fryar asleepe?

Enter Ithimore.

Yes; and I know not what the reason is:

Doe what I can he will not strip himselfe,

Nor goe to bed, but sleepes in his owne clothes;

I feare me he mistrusts what we intend.

No, 'tis an order which the Fryars use:

Yet if he knew our meanings, could he scape?

No, none can heare him, cry he ne're so loud.

Why true, therefore did I place him there:

The other Chambers open towards the street.

You loyter, master, wherefore stay we thus?

Oh how I long to see him shake his heeles.

Come on, sirra,

Off with your girdle, make a hansom noose;

Fryar, awake.

What, doe you meane to strangle me?

Yes, 'cause you use to confesse.

Blame not us but the proverb, Confes and be hang'd.

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 amaine.

[Dies.]

'Tis neatly done, Sir, here's no print at all.

Then is it as it should be, take him up.

Nay, master, be rul'd by me a little; so, let him leane upon his staffe; excellent, he stands as if he were begging of Bacon.

Who would not thinke but that this Fryar liv'd?

What time a night is't now, sweet Ithimore?

Towards one.

Then will not Jacomo be long from hence.

[They go aside.]

Enter [1. Fryar] Jacomo .

This is the houre

Wherein I shall proceed; Oh happy houre,

Wherein I shall convert an Infidell,

And bring his gold into our treasury.

But soft, is not this Bernardine? it is;

And understanding I should come this way,

Stands here a purpose, meaning me some wrong,

And intercept my going to the Jew;

Bernardine —

Wilt thou not speake? thou think'st I see thee not;

Away, I'de wish thee, and let me goe by:

No, wilt thou not? nay then I'le force my way;

And see, a staffe stands ready for the purpose:

As thou lik'st that, stop me another time.

Strike him, he fals. Enter [come forward] Barabas [and Ithimore].

Why, how now Jacomo , what hast thou done?

Why, stricken him that would have stroke at me.

Who is it? Bernardine? now out alas, He is slaine.

I, master, he's slain; look how his brains drop out on's nose.

Good sirs I have don't, but no body knowes it but you two, I may escape.

So might my man and I hang with you for company.

No, let us beare him to the Magistrates.

Good Barabas let me goe.

No, pardon me, the Law must have his course.

I must be forc'd to give in evidence,

That being importun'd by this Bernardine

To be a Christian, I shut him out,

And there he sate: now I to keepe my word,

And give my goods and substance to your house,

Was up thus early; with intent to goe

Unto your Friery, because you staid.

Fie upon 'em, master, will you turne Christian, when holy Friars turne devils and murder one another.

No, for this example I'le remaine a Jew:

Heaven blesse me; what, a Fryar a murderer?

When shall you see a Jew commit the like?

Why, a Turke could ha done no more.

To morrow is the Sessions; you shall to it.

Come Ithimore, let's helpe to take him hence.

Villaines, I am a sacred person, touch me not.

The Law shall touch you, we'll but lead you, we:

'Las I could weepe at your calamity.

Take in the staffe too, for that must be showne:

Law wils that each particular be knowne.

Exeunt.

Act: 4 Scene: 2<<

Enter Curtezane, and Pilia- borza.

Pilia-borza, didst thou meet with Ithimore?

I did.

And didst thou deliver my letter?

I did.

And what think'st thou, will he come?

I think so, and yet I cannot tell, for at the reading of the letter, he look'd 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 beautifull dame as you.

And what said he?

Not a wise word, only gave me a nod, as who shold 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 mine owne free hold within fortie foot of the gallowes, conning his neck-verse I take it, looking of a Fryars Execution, whom I saluted with an old hempen proverb, Hodie tibi, cras mihi, and so I left him to the mercy of the Hangman: but the Exercise being done, see where he comes.

Enter Ithimore.

I never knew a man take his death so patiently as this Fryar: he was ready to leape off e're the halter was about his necke; and when the Hangman had put on his hempen Tippet, he made such haste to his prayers, as if hee had had another Cure to serve; well, goe whither he will, I'le be none of his followers in haste: And now I thinke on's, going to the execution, a fellow met me with a muschatoes like a Ravens wing, and a Dagger with a hilt like a warming-pan, and he gave me a letter from one Madam Bellamira, saluting me in such sort as if he had meant to make cleane my Boots with his lips; the effect was, that I should come to her house. I wonder what the reason is. It may be she sees more in me than I can find in my selfe: for she writes further, that she loves me ever since she saw me, and who would not requite such love? here's her house, and here she comes, and now would I were gone, I am not worthy to looke upon her.

This is the Gentleman you writ to.

Gentleman, he flouts me, what gentry can be in a pooreTurke of ten pence? I'le be gone. [Aside.]

Is't not a sweet fac'd youth, Pilia?

Agen, sweet youth; did not you, Sir, bring the sweet youth a letter?

I did Sir, and from this Gentlewoman, who as my selfe, and the rest of the family, stand or fall at your service.

Though womans modesty should hale me backe, I can with-hold no longer; welcome sweet love.

[Kisse him.]

Now am I cleane, or rather fouly out of the way.

[Aside.]

Whither so soone?

I'le goe steale some mony from my Master to make me hansome: [Aside.] Pray pardon me, I must goe see a ship discharg'd.

Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus?

And ye did but know how she loves you, Sir.

Nay, I care not how much she loves me;

Sweet Bellamira , would I had my Masters wealth for thy sake.

And you can have it, Sir, and if you please.

If 'twere above ground I could, and would have it; but tree hides and buries it up as Partridges doe their egges, under the earth.

And is't not possible to find it out?

By no meanes possible.

What shall we doe with this base villaine then?

[Aside to Pilia-borza.]

Let me alone, doe but you speake him faire:

But you know some secrets of the Jew,

Which if they were reveal'd, would doe him harme.

I, and such as— Goe to, no more,

I'le make him send me half he has, and glad he scapes so too.

Pen and Inke:

I'le write unto him, we're have mony strait.

Send for a hundred Crownes at least.

Ten hundred thousand crownes, Master Barabas.

He writes

Write not so submissively, but threatning him.

Sirra Barabas, send me a hundred crownes.

Put in two hundred at least.

I charge thee send me three hundredby this bearer, and this shall be your warrant; if you doe not, no more but so.

Tell him you will confesse.

Otherwise I'le confesse all:—

Vanish and returne in a twinckle.

Let me alone, I'le use him in his kinde.

[Exit.]

Hang him, Jew.

Now, gentle Ithimore, lye in my lap.

Where are my Maids? provide a running Banquet;

Send to the Merchant, bid him bring me silkes,

Shall Ithimore my love goe in such rags?

And bid the Jeweller come hither too.

I have no husband, sweet, I'le marry thee.

Content, but we will leave this paltry land,

And saile from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece,

I'le be thy Jason, thou my golden Fleece;

Where painted Carpets o're the meads are hurl'd,

And Bacchus vineyards over-spread the world:

Where Woods and Forrests goe in goodly greene,

I'le be Adonis, thou shalt be Loves Queene.

The Meads, the Orchards, and the Primrose lanes,

Instead of Sedge and Reed, beare Sugar Canes:

Thou in those Groves, by Dis above,

Shalt live with me and be my love.

Whither will I not goe with gentle Ithimore?

Enter Pilea-borza.

How now? hast thou the gold?

Yes.

[Gives him bag.]

But came it freely, did the Cow give down her milk freely?

At reading of the letter, he star'd and stamp'd, and turnd aside. I tooke him by the beard, and look'd upon him thus; told him he were best to send it; then he hug'd and imbrac'd me.

Rather for feare then love.

Then like a Jew he laugh'd and jeer'd, and told me he lov'd me for your sake, and said what a faithfull servant you had bin.

The more villaine he to keep me thus:

Here's goodly 'parrell, is there not?

To conclude, he gave me ten crownes.

But ten? I'le not leave him worth a gray groat. Give me a Reame of paper, we'll have a kingdome of gold for't.

Write for five hundred Crownes.

Sirra Jew, as you love your life send me five hundred crowns, and give the Bearer one hundred. Tell him I must hav't.

I warrant your worship shall hav't.

And if he aske why I demand so much, tell him, I scorne to write a line under a hundred crownes.

You'd make a rich Poet, Sir. I am gone.

Exit.

Take thou the mony, spend it for my sake.

Tis not thy mony, but thy selfe I weigh: Thus Bellamira esteemes of gold; [Throw it aside.] But thus of thee

Kisse him.

That kisse againe; she runs division of my lips. What an eye she casts on me? It twinckles like a Starre.

Come my deare love, let's in and sleepe together.

Oh that ten thousand nights were put in one, That wee might sleepe seven yeeres together afore we wake.

Come Amorous wag, first banquet and then sleep.

[Exeunt.]

Act: 4 Scene: 3<<

Enter Barabas, reading a letter.

Barabas send me three hundred Crownes.

Plaine Barabas: oh that wicked Curtezane!

He was not wont to call me Barabas.

Or else I will confesse: I, there it goes:

But if I get him, Coupe de Gorge for that.

He sent a shaggy totter'd staring slave,

That when he speakes, drawes out his grisly beard,

And winds it twice or thrice about his eare;

Whose face has bin a grind-stone for mens swords,

His hands are hacks, some fingers cut quite off;

Who when he speakes, grunts like a hog, and looks

Like one that is imploy'd in Catzerie

And crosbiting, such a Rogue

As is the husband to a hundred whores:

And I by him must send three hundred crownes.

Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still;

And when he comes: oh that he were but here!

Enter Pilia-borza.

Jew, I must ha more gold.

Why, wantst thou any of thy tale?

No; but three hundred will not serve his turne.

Not serve his turne, Sir?

No Sir; and therefore I must have five hundred more.

I'le rather—

Oh good words, Sir, and send it you, weere best se; there's his letter.

Might he not as well come as send; pray bid him come and fetch it: what tree writes for you, ye shall have streight.

I, and the rest too, or else—

I must make this villaine away: please you dine with me, Sir, and you shal be most hartily poyson'd.

[Aside.]

No god-a-mercy, shall I have these crownes?

I cannot doe it, I have lost my keyes.

Oh, if that be all, I can picke ope your locks.

Or climbe up to my Counting-house window: you know my meaning.

I know enough, and therfore talke not to me of your Counting-house: the gold, or know Jew it is in my power to hang thee.

I am betraid.—

[Aside.]

'Tis not five hundred Crownes that I esteeme,

I am not mov'd at that: this angers me,

That he who knowes I love him as my selfe

Should write in this imperious vaine! why Sir,

You know I have no childe, and unto whom

Should I leave all but unto Ithimore?

Here's many words but no crownes; the crownes.

Commend me to him, Sir, most humbly,

And unto your good mistris as unknowne.

Speake, shall I have 'um, Sir?

Sir, here they are.

Oh that I should part with so much gold!

[Aside.]

Here take 'em, fellow, with as good a will—

As I wud see thee hang'd; oh, love stops my breath:

Never lov'd man servant as I doe Ithimore.

I know it, Sir.

Pray when, Sir, shall I see you at my house?

Soone enough to your cost, Sir:

Fare you well.

Exit.

Nay to thine owne cost, villaine, if thou com'st.

Was ever Jew tormented as I am?

To have a shag-rag knave to come demand

Three hundred Crownes, and then five hundred Crownes?

Well, I must seeke a meanes to rid 'em all,

And presently: for in his villany

He will tell all he knowes and I shall dye for't.

I have it.

I will in some disguize goe see the slave,

And how the villaine revels with my gold.

Exit.

Act: 4 Scene: 4<<

Enter Curtezane, Ithimore, Pilia-borza.

I'le pledge thee, love, and therefore drinke it off.

Saist thou me so? have at it; and doe you heare?

[Whispers her.]

Goe to, it shall be so.

Of that condition I wil drink it up; here's to thee.

Nay, I'le have all or none.

There, if thou lov'st me doe not leave a drop.

Love thee, fill me three glasses.

Three and fifty dozen, I'le pledge thee.

Knavely spoke, and like a Knight at Armes.

Hey Rivo Castiliano, a man's a man.

Now to the Jew.

Ha, to the Jew, and send me mony you were best.

What wudst thou doe if he should send thee none?

Doe?nothing; but I know what I know.

He's a murderer.

I had not thought he had been so brave a man.

You knew Mathias and the Governors son; he and I kild 'em both, and yet never touch'd 'em.

Oh bravely done.

I carried the broth that poyson'd the Nuns, and he and I, snicle hand too fast, strangled a Fryar.

You two alone?

We two, and 'twas never knowne, nor never shall be for me.

This shall with me unto the Governor.

[Aside to Bellamira.]

And fit it should: but first let's ha more gold.

[Aside to Pilia-borza.]

Come gentle Ithimore, lye in my lap.

Love me little, love me long, let musicke rumble,

Whilst I in thy incony lap doe tumble.

Enter Barabas with a Lute, disguis'd.

A French Musician, come let's heare your skill?

Must tuna my Lute for sound, twang twang first.

Wilt drinke French-man, here's to thee with a—pox on this drunken hick-up.

Gramercy Mounsier.

Prethe, Pilia-borza, bid the Fidler give me the posey in his hat there.

Sirra, you must give my mistris your posey.

A voustre commandemente Madam.

How sweet, my Ithimore, the flowers smell.

Like thy breath, sweet-hart, no violet like 'em.

Foh, me thinkes they stinke like a Holly-Hoke.

So, now I am reveng'd upon 'em all.

[Aside.]

The scent thereof was death, I poyson'd it.

Play, Fidler, or I'le cut your cats guts into chitterlins.

Pardona moy, be no in tune yet; so, now, now all be in.

Give him a crowne, and fill me out more wine.

There's two crownes for thee, play.

How liberally the villian gives me mine own gold.

Aside.

Me thinkes he fingers very well.

So did you when you stole my gold.

Aside.

How swift he runnes.

You run swifter when you threw my gold out of my

Window.

Aside.

Musician, hast beene in Malta long?

Two, three, foure month Madam.

Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas?

Very mush, Mounsier, you no be his man?

His man?

I scorne the Peasant, tell him so.

He knowes it already.

[Aside.]

Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon pickled Grashoppers, and sauc'd Mushrumbs.

What a slave's this?The Governour feeds not as I doe.

Aside

He never put on cleane shirt since he was circumcis'd.

Oh raskall! I change my selfe twice a day.

Aside

The Hat he weares, Judas left under the Elder when he hang'd himselfe.

'Twas sent me for a present from the great Cham.

Aside

A mastyslave he is.

Whether now, Fidler?

Pardona moy, Mounsier, mebe no well.

Exit.

Farewell Fidler: One letter more to the Jew.

Prethe sweet love, one more, and write it sharp.

No, I'le send by word of mouth now; Bid him deliver thee a thousand Crownes, by the same token, that the Nuns lov'd Rice, that Fryar Bernardine slept in his owne clothes. Any of 'em will doe it.

Let me alone to urge it now I know the meaning.

The meaning has a meaning; come let's in:

To undoe a Jew is charity, and not sinne.

Exeunt.

Nav.