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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Act: 4 Scene: 4

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

Goe to, it shall be so.

Nay, I'le have all or none.

Love thee, fill me three glasses.

Now to the Jew.

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

You two alone?

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

[Aside to Pilia-borza.]

Come gentle Ithimore, lye in my lap.

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

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

How sweet, my Ithimore, the flowers smell.

Musician, hast beene in Malta long?

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