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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Jew of Malta

Act: 5 Scene: 5

How stand the cords? How hang these hinges, fast?

Are all the Cranes and Pulleyes sure?

Leave nothing loose, all leveld to my mind.

Why now I see that you have Art indeed.

There, Carpenters, divide that gold amongst you:

Goe swill in bowles of Sacke and Muscadine:

Downe to the Celler, taste of all my wines.

And if you like them, drinke your fill and dye:

For so I live, perish may all the world.

Now Selim-Calymath ,returne me word

That thou wilt come, and I am satisfied.

Now sirra, what, will he come?

Then now are all things as my wish wud have 'em,

There wanteth nothing but the Governors pelfe,

And see he brings it: Now, Governor, the summe?

Pounds saist thou, Governor, wel since it is no more

I'le satisfie my selfe with that; nay, keepe it still,

For if I keepe not promise, trust not me.

And Governour, now partake my policy:

First,for his Army, they are sent before,

Enter'd the Monastery, and underneath

In severall places are field-pieces pitch'd,

Bombards, whole Barrels full of Gunpowder,

That on the sudden shall dissever it,

And batter all the stones about their eares,

Whence none can possibly escape alive:

Now as for Calymath and his consorts,

Here have I made a dainty Gallery,

The floore whereof, this Cable being cut,

Doth fall asunder; so that it doth sinke

Into a deepe pit past recovery.

Here, hold that knife, and when thou seest he comes,

And with his Bashawes shall be blithely set,

A warning-peace shall be shot off from the Tower,

To give thee knowledge when to cut the cord,

And fire the house; say, will not this be brave?

No, Governor, I'le satisfie thee first,

Thou shalt not live in doubt of any thing.

Stand close, for here they come:

[Governor stands aloof.]

Why, is not this

A kingly kinde of trade to purchase Townes

By treachery, and sell 'em by deceit?

Now tell me, worldlings, underneath the sunne,

If greater falshood ever has bin done.

Welcome great Calymath.

Will't please thee, mighy Selim-Calymath,

To ascend our homely stayres?

Helpe, helpe me, Christians, helpe.

Oh helpe me, Selim, helpe me, Christians.

Governour, why stand you all so pittilesse?

You will not helpe me then?

And villaines, know you cannot helpe me now.

Then Barabas breath forth thy latest fate,

And in the fury of thy torments, strive

To end thy life with resolution:

Know, Governor, 'twas I that slew thy sonne;

I fram'd the challenge that did make them meet:

Know, Calymath, I aym'd thy overthrow,

And had I but escap'd this stratagem,

I would have brought confusion on you all,

Damn'd Christians, dogges, and Turkish Infidels;

But now begins the extremity of heat

To pinch me with intolerable pangs:

Dye life, flye soule, tongue curse thy fill and dye.