The Jew of Malta by Christopher Marlowe (great books to read TXT) 📕

a staff in its hand.] So, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were begging of bacon.

BARABAS. Who would not think but that this friar liv’d? What time o’ night is’t now, sweet Ithamore?

ITHAMORE. Towards one.<141>

BARABAS. Then will not Jacomo be long from hence. [Exeunt.]

Enter FRIAR JACOMO.<142>

FRIAR JACOMO. This is the hour wherein I shall proceed;<143> O happy hour, wherein I shall convert An infidel, and bring his gold into our treasury! But soft! is not this Barnardine? it is; And, understanding I should come this way, Stands here o’ purpose, meaning me some wrong, And intercept my going to the Jew.— Barnardine! Wilt thou not speak? thou think’st I see thee not; Away, I’d wish thee, and let me go by: No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I’ll force my way; And, see, a staff stands ready for the purpose. As thou lik’st that, stop me another time! [Takes the staff, and strikes down the body.]

Enter BARABAS and ITHAMORE.

BARABAS. Why, how now, Jacomo! what hast thou done?

FRIAR JACOMO. Why, stricken him that would have struck at me.

BARABAS. Who is it? Barnardine! now, out, alas, he is slain!

ITHAMORE. Ay, master, he’s slain; look how his brains drop out on’s<144> nose.

FRIAR JACOMO. Good sirs, I have done’t: but nobody knows it but you two; I may escape.

BARABAS. So might my man and I hang with you for company.

ITHAMORE. No; let us bear him to the magistrates.

FRIAR JACOMO. Good Barabas, let me go.

BARABAS. No, pardon me; the law must have his course: I must be forc’d to give in evidence, That, being importun’d by this Barnardine To be a Christian, I shut him out, And there he sate: now I, to keep my word, And give my goods and substance to your house, Was up thus early, with intent to go Unto your friary, because you stay’d.

ITHAMORE. Fie upon ‘em! master, will you turn Christian, when holy friars turn devils and murder one another?

BARABAS. No; for this example I’ll remain a Jew: Heaven bless me! what, a friar a murderer! When shall you see a Jew commit the like?

ITHAMORE. Why, a Turk could ha’ done no more.

BARABAS. To-morrow is the sessions; you shall to it.— Come, Ithamore, let’s help to take him hence.

FRIAR JACOMO. Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not.

BARABAS. The law shall touch you; we’ll but lead you, we: ‘Las, I could weep at your calamity!— Take in the staff too, for that must be shown: Law wills that each particular be known. [Exeunt.]

Enter BELLAMIRA<145> and PILIA-BORZA.

BELLAMIRA. Pilia-Borza, didst thou meet with Ithamore?

PILIA-BORZA. I did.

BELLAMIRA. And didst thou deliver my letter?

PILIA-BORZA. I did.

BELLAMIRA. And what thinkest thou? will he come?

PILIA-BORZA. I think so: and yet I cannot tell; for, at the reading of the letter, he looked like a man of another world.

BELLAMIRA. Why so?

PILIA-BORZA. That such a base slave as he should be saluted by such a tall<146> man as I am, from such a beautiful dame as you.

BELLAMIRA. And what said he?

PILIA-BORZA. Not a wise word; only gave me a nod, as who should say, “Is it even so?” and so I left him, being driven to a non-plus at the critical aspect of my terrible countenance.

BELLAMIRA. And where didst meet him?

PILIA-BORZA. Upon mine own free-hold, within forty foot of the gallows, conning his neck-verse,<147> I take it, looking of<148> a friar’s execution; whom I saluted with an old hempen proverb, Hodie tibi, cras mihi, and so I left him to the mercy of the hangman: but, the exercise<149> being done, see where he comes.

Enter ITHAMORE.

ITHAMORE. I never knew a man take his death so patiently as this friar; he was ready to leap off ere the halter was about his neck; and, when the hangman had put on his hempen tippet, he made such haste to his prayers, as if he had had another cure to serve. Well, go whither he will, I’ll be none of his followers in haste: and, now I think on’t, going to the execution, a fellow met me with a muschatoes<150> like a raven’s 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 clean 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 myself; 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 look upon her.

PILIA-BORZA. This is the gentleman you writ to.

ITHAMORE. Gentleman! he flouts me: what gentry can be in a poor Turk of tenpence?<151> I’ll be gone. [Aside.]

BELLAMIRA. Is’t not a sweet-faced youth, Pilia?

ITHAMORE. Again, sweet youth! [Aside.]—Did not you, sir, bring the sweet youth a letter?

PILIA-BORZA. I did, sir, and from this gentlewoman, who, as myself and the rest of the family, stand or fall at your service.

BELLAMIRA. Though woman’s modesty should hale me back, I can withhold no longer: welcome, sweet love.

ITHAMORE. Now am I clean, or rather foully, out of the way. [Aside.]

BELLAMIRA. Whither so soon?

ITHAMORE. I’ll go steal some money from my master to make me handsome [Aside].—Pray, pardon me; I must go see a ship discharged.

BELLAMIRA. Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus?

PILIA-BORZA. An ye did but know how she loves you, sir!

ITHAMORE. Nay, I care not how much she loves me.—Sweet Bellamira, would I had my master’s wealth for thy sake!

PILIA-BORZA. And you can have it, sir, an if you please.

ITHAMORE. If ‘twere above ground, I could, and would have it; but he hides and buries it up, as partridges do their eggs, under the earth.

PILIA-BORZA. And is’t not possible to find it out?

ITHAMORE. By no means possible.

BELLAMIRA. What shall we do with this base villain, then? [Aside to PILIA-BORZA.]

PILIA-BORZA. Let me alone; do but you speak him fair.— [Aside to her.] But you know<152> some secrets of the Jew, Which, if they were reveal’d, would do him harm.

ITHAMORE. Ay, and such as—go to, no more! I’ll make him<153> send me half he has, and glad he scapes so too: I’ll write unto him; we’ll have money straight.

PILIA-BORZA. Send for a hundred crowns at least.

ITHAMORE. Ten hundred thousand crowns.—[writing] MASTER BARABAS,—

PILIA-BORZA. Write not so submissively, but threatening him.

ITHAMORE. [writing] SIRRAH BARABAS, SEND ME A HUNDRED CROWNS.

PILIA-BORZA. Put in two hundred at least.

ITHAMORE. [writing] I CHARGE THEE SEND ME THREE HUNDRED BY THIS BEARER, AND THIS SHALL BE YOUR WARRANT: IF YOU DO NOT—NO MORE, BUT SO.

PILIA-BORZA. Tell him you will confess.

ITHAMORE. [writing] OTHERWISE I’LL CONFESS ALL.— Vanish, and return in a twinkle.

PILIA-BORZA. Let me alone; I’ll use him in his kind.

ITHAMORE. Hang him, Jew! [Exit PILIA-BORZA with the letter.]

BELLAMIRA. Now, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.— Where are my maids? provide a cunning<154> banquet; Send to the merchant, bid him bring me silks; Shall Ithamore, my love, go in such rags?

ITHAMORE. And bid the jeweller come hither too.

BELLAMIRA. I have no husband; sweet, I’ll marry thee.

ITHAMORE. Content: but we will leave this paltry land, And sail from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece;— I’ll be thy Jason, thou my golden fleece;— Where painted carpets o’er the meads are hurl’d, And Bacchus’ vineyards overspread the world; Where woods and forests go in goodly green;— I’ll be Adonis, thou shalt be Love’s Queen;— The meads, the orchards, and the primrose-lanes, Instead of sedge and reed, bear sugar-canes: Thou in those groves, by Dis above, Shalt live with me, and be my love.<155>

BELLAMIRA. Whither will I not go with gentle Ithamore?

Re-enter PILIA-BORZA.

ITHAMORE. How now! hast thou the gold<?>

PILIA-BORZA. Yes.

ITHAMORE. But came it freely? did the cow give down her milk freely?

PILIA-BORZA. At reading of the letter, he stared and stamped, and turned aside: I took him by the beard,<156> and looked upon him thus; told him he were best to send it: then he hugged and embraced me.

ITHAMORE. Rather for fear than love.

PILIA-BORZA. Then, like a Jew, he laughed and jeered, and told me he loved me for your sake, and said what a faithful servant you had been.

ITHAMORE. The more villain he to keep me thus: here’s goodly ‘parel, is there not?

PILIA-BORZA. To conclude, he gave me ten crowns. [Delivers the money to ITHAMORE.]

ITHAMORE. But ten? I’ll not leave him worth a grey groat. Give me a ream of paper: we’ll have a kingdom of gold for’t.<157>

PILIA-BORZA. Write for five hundred crowns.

ITHAMORE. [writing] SIRRAH JEW, AS YOU LOVE YOUR LIFE, SEND ME FIVE HUNDRED CROWNS, AND GIVE THE BEARER A HUNDRED.—Tell him I must have’t.

PILIA-BORZA. I warrant, your worship shall have’t.

ITHAMORE. And, if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I scorn to write a line under a hundred crowns.

PILIA-BORZA. You’d make a rich poet, sir. I am gone. [Exit with the letter.]

ITHAMORE. Take thou the money; spend it for my sake.

BELLAMIRA. ‘Tis not thy money, but thyself I weigh: Thus Bellamira esteems of gold; [Throws it aside.] But thus of thee. [Kisses him.]

ITHAMORE. That kiss again!—She runs division<158> of my lips. What an eye she casts on me! it twinkles like a star. [Aside.]

BELLAMIRA. Come, my dear love, let’s in and sleep together.

ITHAMORE. O, that ten thousand nights were put in one, that we might sleep seven years together afore we wake!

BELLAMIRA. Come, amorous wag, first banquet, and then sleep. [Exeunt.]

Enter BARABAS,<159> reading a letter.

BARABAS. BARABAS, SEND ME THREE HUNDRED CROWNS;— Plain Barabas! O, that wicked courtezan! He was not wont to call me Barabas;— OR ELSE I WILL CONFESS;—ay, there it goes: But, if I get him, coupe de gorge for that. He sent a shaggy, tatter’d,<160> staring slave, That, when he speaks, draws out his grisly beard, And winds it twice or thrice about his ear; Whose face has been a grind-stone for men’s swords; His hands are hack’d, some fingers cut quite off; Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog, and looks Like one that is employ’d in catzery<161> And cross-biting;<162> such a rogue As is the husband to a hundred whores; And I by him must send three hundred crowns. Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still; And, when he comes—O, that he were but here!

Enter PILIA-BORZA.

PILIA-BORZA. Jew, I must ha’ more gold.

BARABAS. Why, want’st thou any of thy tale?<163>

PILIA-BORZA. No; but three hundred will not serve his turn.

BARABAS. Not serve his turn, sir!

PILIA-BORZA. No, sir; and therefore I must have five hundred more.

BARABAS. I’ll rather–-

PILIA-BORZA. O, good words, sir, and send it you were best! see, there’s his letter. [Gives letter.]

BARABAS. Might he not as well come as send? pray, bid him come and fetch it: what he writes for you,<164> ye shall have straight.

PILIA-BORZA. Ay, and the rest too, or else–-

BARABAS. I must make this villain away [Aside].—Please you dine with me, sir—and you shall be most heartily poisoned. [Aside.]

PILIA-BORZA. No, God-a-mercy. Shall I have these crowns?

BARABAS. I cannot do it; I have lost my keys.

PILIA-BORZA. O, if that be all, I can pick ope your locks.

BARABAS. Or climb up to my counting-house window: you know my meaning.

PILIA-BORZA. I know enough, and therefore talk not to me of your counting-house. The gold! or know, Jew, it is