In Trace; brought up in Arabia.

Faith, Sir, my birth is but meane, my name's Ithimor,

My profession what you please.

Oh brave, master, I worship your nose for this.

Faith, Master,

In setting christian villages on fire,

Chaining of Eunuches, binding gally-slaves.

One time I was an Hostler in an Inne,

And in the night time secretly would I steale

To travellers Chambers, and there cut their throats:

Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel'd,

I strowed powder on the Marble stones,

And therewithall their knees would ranckle, so

That I have laugh'd agood to see the cripples

Goe limping home to Christendome on stilts.

I, I'le put her in.

Faith Master, I thinke by this

You purchase both their lives; is it not so?

Oh, master, that I might have a hand in this.

Tis poyson'd, is it not?

Feare not, I'le so set his heart a fire,

That he shall verily thinke it comes from him.

As I behave my selfe in this, imploy me hereafter.

O the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a Curtezane by her attire: now would I give a hundred of the Jewes Crownes that I had such a Concubine.

Well, I have deliver'd the challenge in such sort,

As meet they will, and fighting dye; brave sport.

Why, was there ever seene such villany,

So neatly plotted, and so well perform'd?

Both held in hand, and flatly both beguil'd.

Oh, Mistresse, ha ha ha.

Oh my master.

Oh Mistris! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtil, bottle-nos'd knave to my Master, that ever Gentleman had.

Oh, my master has the bravest policy.

Why, know you not?

Know you not of Mathias and Don Lodowickes disaster?

Why the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowicke, and imprimis to Mathias.

And then they met, and as the story sayes,

In dolefull wise they ended both their dayes.

Am I Ithimore?

So sure did your father write, and I cary the chalenge.

I pray, mistris, wil you answer me to one question?

A very feeling one; have not the Nuns fine sport with the Fryars now and then?

I will forsooth, Mistris.

When, ducke you?

But who comes here? Oh Ithimore come neere;

Come neere, my love, come neere, thy masters life,

My trusty servant, nay, my second selfe;

For I have now no hope but even in thee;

And on that hope my happinesse is built:

When saw'st thou Abigall?

To day.

A Fryar.

How, Sir?

That's no Iye, for she sent me for him.

Oh master.

Who I, master? Why I'le run to some rocke and throw my selfe headlong into the sea; why I'le doe any thing for your sweet sake.

I hold my head my master's hungry: I goe Sir.

Here 'tis, Master.

Yes, Sir, the proverb saies, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoone. I have brought you a Ladle.

Why, master, wil you poison her with a messe of rice porredge? that wil preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more then you are aware.

How master?

How so?

Pray doe, and let me help you, master. Pray let me taste first.

Troth master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoyld.

Well, master, I goe.

What a blessing has he given't? was ever pot of rice porredge so sauc't? what shall I doe with it?

Here's a drench to poyson a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'le carry's to the Nuns with a powder.

I am gone.

Pay me my wages for my worke is done.

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

For my part feare you not.

And reason too;

But here's a royall Monastry hard by,

Good master let me poyson all the Monks.

Doe you not sorrow for your daughters death?

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

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

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

And so could I; but pennance will not serve.

Part 'em, master, part 'em.

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, none can heare him, cry he ne're so loud.

You loyter, master, wherefore stay we thus?

Oh how I long to see him shake his heeles.

Yes, 'cause you use to confesse.

I, and our lives too, therefore pull amaine.

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

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.

Towards one.

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

No, let us beare him to the Magistrates.

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

Why, a Turke could ha done no more.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Nay, I care not how much she loves me;

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

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.

By no meanes possible.

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.

Ten hundred thousand crownes, Master Barabas.

Sirra Barabas, send me a hundred crownes.

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

Otherwise I'le confesse all:—

Vanish and returne in a twinckle.

Hang him, Jew.

And bid the Jeweller come hither too.

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.

How now? hast thou the gold?

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

Rather for feare then love.

The more villaine he to keep me thus:

Here's goodly 'parrell, is there not?

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.

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

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

Take thou the mony, spend it for my sake.

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

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

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

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

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

Three and fifty dozen, I'le pledge thee.

Hey Rivo Castiliano, a man's a man.

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

Doe?nothing; but I know what I know.

He's a murderer.

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

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

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

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

Whilst I in thy incony lap doe tumble.

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

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

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

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

Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas?

I scorne the Peasant, tell him so.

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

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

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

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.

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

To undoe a Jew is charity, and not sinne.

Nor me neither, I cannot out-run you Constable, oh my belly.

Gilty, my Lord, I confesse; your sonne and Mathias were both contracted unto Abigall ; he forg'd a counterfeit challenge.

I carried it, I confesse, but who writ it? Marry, even he that strangled Bernardine, poyson'd the Nuns, and his owne daughter.