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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.

2. Fryer

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

1. Fryer

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.