The Jew of Malta by Christopher Marlowe (read along books .txt) 📕
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Christopher Marlowe wrote The Jew of Malta at the height of his career, and it remained popular until England’s theaters were closed by Parliament in 1642. Many have critiqued it for its portrayal of Elizabethan antisemitism, but others argue that Marlowe criticizes Judaism, Islam, and Christianity equally for their hypocrisy. This antisemitism debate continues on to Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, which was written about ten years later and which some consider to be directly influenced by The Jew of Malta.
The play focuses on a wealthy Jewish merchant named Barabas who lives on the island of Malta. When the island’s governor strips Barabas of all his wealth in order to pay off the invading Turks, Barabas plots and schemes to get his revenge, killing all who get in his way and ultimately pitting Spanish Christians against Ottoman Muslims in an attempt to punish them all.
Scholars dispute the authorship of the play, with some suggesting that the last half was written by a different author. Though the play is known to have been performed as early as 1594, the earliest surviving print edition is from 1633, which includes a prologue and epilogue written by another playwright for a planned revival.
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- Author: Christopher Marlowe
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Ay, and the rest too, or else—
BarabasI must make this villain away. Aside.
Please you dine with me, sir;—and you shall be most heartily poisoned. Aside.
Pilia-BorzaNo, God-a-mercy. Shall I have these crowns?
BarabasI cannot do it; I have lost my keys.
Pilia-BorzaO, if that be all, I can pick ope your locks.
BarabasOr climb up to my counting-house window: you know my meaning.
Pilia-BorzaI know enough, and therefore talk not to me of your counting-house. The gold! or know, Jew, it is in my power to hang thee.
BarabasI am betrayed.—Aside.
’Tis not five hundred crowns that I esteem,
I am not moved at that: this angers me,
That he, who knows I love him as myself,
Should write in this imperious vein. Why, sir,
You know I have no child, and unto whom
Should I leave all but unto Ithamore?
Here’s many words, but no crowns: the crowns!
BarabasCommend me to him, sir, most humbly,
And unto your good mistress, as unknown.
Speak, shall I have ’em, sir?
BarabasSir, here they are. Gives money.
O, that I should part with so much gold! Aside.
Here, take ’em, fellow, with as good a will—
As I would see thee hanged; Aside. O, love stops my breath:
Never loved man servant as I do Ithamore!
I know it, sir.
BarabasPray, when, sir, shall I see you at my house?
Pilia-BorzaSoon enough to your cost, sir. Fare you well.
Exit. BarabasNay, to thine own cost, villain, if thou com’st!
Was ever Jew tormented as I am?
To have a shag-rag knave to come, force from me
Three hundred crowns, and then five hundred crowns!
Well, I must seek a means to rid ’em all,
And presently; for in his villany
He will tell all he knows, and I shall die for’t.
I have it:
I will in some disguise go see the slave,
And how the villain revels with my gold.
I’ll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off.
IthamoreSay’st thou me so? have at it; and do you hear? Whispers.
BellamiraGo to, it shall be so.
IthamoreOf87 that condition I will drink it up.
Here’s to thee.
Nay, I’ll have all or none.
IthamoreThere, if thou lov’st me, do not leave a drop.
BellamiraLove thee! fill me three glasses.
IthamoreThree and fifty dozen, I’ll pledge thee.
Pilia-BorzaKnavely spoke, and like a knight-at-arms.
IthamoreHey, Rivo Castiliano!88 a man’s a man.
BellamiraNow to the Jew.
IthamoreHa! to the Jew; and send me money he were best.
Pilia-BorzaWhat would’st thou do, if he should send thee none?
IthamoreDo nothing; but I know what I know; he’s a murderer.
BellamiraI had not thought he had been so brave a man.
IthamoreYou knew Mathias and the governor’s son; he and I killed ’em both, and yet never touched ’em.
Pilia-BorzaO, bravely done.
IthamoreI carried the broth that poisoned the nuns; and he and I, snickle hand too fast,89 strangled a friar.
BellamiraYou two alone?
IthamoreWe two; and ’twas never known, nor never shall be for me.
Pilia-BorzaThis shall with me unto the governor. Aside to Bellamira.
BellamiraAnd fit it should: but first let’s ha’ more gold. Aside to Pilia-Borza.
Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.
Love me little, love me long: let music rumble,
Whilst I in thy incony90 lap do tumble.
A French musician! come, let’s hear your skill.
BarabasMust tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first.
IthamoreWilt drink, Frenchman? here’s to thee with a—Pox on this drunken hiccup!
BarabasGramercy, monsieur.
BellamiraPrithee, Pilia-Borza, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his hat there.
Pilia-BorzaSirrah, you must give my mistress your posy.
BarabasA votre commandement, madame. Giving nosegay.
BellamiraHow sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell!
IthamoreLike thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like ’em.
Pilia-BorzaFoh! methinks they stink like a hollyhock.
BarabasSo, now I am revenged upon ’em all:
The scent thereof was death; I poisoned it. Aside.
Play, fiddler, or I’ll cut your cat’s guts into chitterlings.
BarabasPardonnez moi, be no in tune yet: so, now, now all be in.
IthamoreGive him a crown, and fill me out more wine.
Pilia-BorzaThere’s two crowns for thee; play. Giving money.
BarabasHow liberally the villain gives me mine own gold! Aside, Barabas then plays.
Pilia-BorzaMethinks he fingers very well.
BarabasSo did you when you stole my gold. Aside.
Pilia-BorzaHow swift he runs!
BarabasYou run swifter when you threw my gold out of my window. Aside.
BellamiraMusician, hast been in Malta long?
BarabasTwo, three, four month, madam.
IthamoreDost not know a Jew, one Barabas?
BarabasVery mush: monsieur, you no be his man?
Pilia-BorzaHis man?
IthamoreI scorn the peasant; tell him so.
BarabasHe knows it already. Aside.
Ithamore’Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon pickled grasshoppers and sauced mushrooms.
BarabasWhat a slave’s this? the governor feeds not as I do. Aside.
IthamoreHe never put on clean shirt since he was circumcised.
BarabasO rascal! I change myself twice a day. Aside.
IthamoreThe hat he wears, Judas left under the elder91 when he hanged himself.
Barabas’Twas sent me for a present from the Great Cham. Aside.
Pilia-BorzaA musty slave he is.—Whither now, fiddler?
BarabasPardonnez moi, monsieur, me be no well.
Pilia-BorzaFarewell, fiddler!
Exit Barabas.One letter more to the Jew.
BellamiraPrithee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp.
IthamoreNo, I’ll send by word of mouth now—Bid him deliver thee a thousand crowns, by the same token, that the nuns loved rice, that Friar Barnardine slept in his own clothes; any of ’em will do it.
Pilia-BorzaLet me alone to urge it, now I
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