The Works of Christopher Marlowe
The Jew of Malta
Act:
4
Scene:
1
Ithimore
That's brave, master, but think you it wil not be known?
Ithimore
For my part feare you not.
Ithimore
And reason too;
But here's a royall Monastry hard by,
Good master let me poyson all the Monks.
Ithimore
Doe you not sorrow for your daughters death?
Ithimore
Look, look, master, here come two religious Caterpillers.
Ithimore
God-a-mercy nose; come let's begone.
Ithimore
And so doe I, master, therefore speake 'em faire.
Ithimore
And so could I; but pennance will not serve.
Ithimore
Part 'em, master, part 'em.
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.
Ithimore
No, none can heare him, cry he ne're so loud.
Ithimore
You loyter, master, wherefore stay we thus?
Oh how I long to see him shake his heeles.
Ithimore
Yes, 'cause you use to confesse.
Ithimore
I, and our lives too, therefore pull amaine.
[Dies.]
'Tis neatly done, Sir, here's no print at all.
Ithimore
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.
Ithimore
Towards one.
Ithimore
I, master, he's slain; look how his brains drop out on's nose.
Ithimore
No, let us beare him to the Magistrates.
Ithimore
Fie upon 'em, master, will you turne Christian, when holy Friars turne devils and murder one another.
Ithimore
Why, a Turke could ha done no more.
