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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Jew of Malta

Act: 3 Scene: 2

What sight is this? my Lodovico slaine!

These armes of mine shall be thy Sepulchre.

Oh Lodowicke! hadst thou perish'd by the Turke,

Wretched Ferneze might have veng'd thy death.

Looke, Katherin, looke, thy sonne gave mine these wounds.

Oh that my sighs could turne to lively breath;

And these my teares to blood, that he might live.

I know not, and that grieves me most of all.

And so did Lodowicke him.

Nay Madam stay, that weapon was my son's,

And on that rather should Ferneze dye.

Then take them up, and let them be interr'd

Within one sacred monument of stone;

Upon which Altar I will offer up

My daily sacrifice of sighes and teares,

And with my prayers pierce th'impartiall heavens,

Till they reveal the causers of our smarts,

Which forc'd their hands divide united hearts:

Come, Katherine, our losses equall are,

Then of true griefe let us take equall share.

Act: 3 Scene: 5

Welcome, great Bashaw, how fares Callymath, what wind drives you thus into Malta rhode?

Desire of gold, great Sir?

That's to be gotten in the Westerne Inde:

In Malta are no golden Minerals.

Bashaw, in briefe, shalt have no tribute here,

Nor shall the Heathens live upon our spoyle:

First will we race the City wals our selves,

Lay waste the Iland, hew the Temples downe,

And shipping of our goods to Sicily,

Open an entrance for the wastfull sea,

Whose billowes beating the resistlesse bankes,

Shall overflow it with their refluence.

Farewell:

And now you men of Malta looke about,

And let's provide to welcome Calymath:

Close your Port-cullise, charge your Basiliskes,

And as you profitably take up Armes,

So now couragiously encounter them;

For by this Answer, broken is the league,

And nought is to be look'd for now but warres,

And nought to us more welcome is then wars.