The Jew of Malta Christopher Marlowe (top non fiction books of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Christopher Marlowe
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Ay, so thou shalt, ’tis thou must do the deed:
Take this, and bear it to Mathias straight, Gives a letter.
And tell him that it comes from Lodowick.
’Tis poisoned, is it not?
BarabasNo, no, and yet it might be done that way:
It is a challenge feigned from Lodowick.
Fear not; I will so set his heart afire,
That he shall verily think it comes from him.
I cannot choose but like thy readiness:
Yet be not rash, but do it cunningly.
As I behave myself in this, employ me hereafter.
BarabasAway, then.
Exit Ithamore.So; now will I go in to Lodowick,
And, like a cunning spirit, feign some lie.
Till I have set ’em both at enmity.
Since this town was besieged, my gain grows cold:
The time has been, that but for one bare night,
A hundred ducats have been freely given:
But now against my will I must be chaste;
And yet I know my beauty doth not fail.
From Venice merchants, and from Padua
Were wont to come rare-witted gentlemen,
Scholars I mean, learned and liberal;
And now, save Pilia-Borza, comes there none,
And he is very seldom from my house;
And here he comes.
Hold thee, wench, there’s something for thee to spend. Shews a bag of silver.
Bellamira’Tis silver. I disdain it.
Pilia-BorzaAy, but the Jew has gold,
And I will have it, or it shall go hard.
Tell me, how cam’st thou by this?
Pilia-Borza‘Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens, I chanced to cast mine eye up to the Jew’s counting-house, where I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clambered up with my hooks, and, as I was taking my choice, I heard a rumbling in the house; so I took only this, and run my way: but here’s the Jew’s man.
BellamiraHide the bag.
Enter Ithamore. Pilia-BorzaLook not towards him, let’s away; zoons, what a looking thou keep’st; thou’lt betray’s anon.
Exeunt Bellamira and Pilia-Borza. IthamoreO, the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a courtesan by her attire: now would I give a hundred of the Jew’s crowns that I had such a concubine.
Well, I have delivered the challenge in such sort,
As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport.
This is the place; now Abigail shall see
Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.
What, dares the villain write in such base terms? Looking at a letter.
LodowickI did it; and revenge it, if thou dar’st!
They fight.
O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home.
Now, Lodovico! now, Mathias! So—
Both fall.
So, now they have shewed themselves to be tall48 fellows.
Cries within. Part ’em, part ’em!
BarabasAy, part ’em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell!
Exit. Enter Ferneze, Katharine, and Attendants. FernezeWhat sight is this!—my Lodovico slain!
These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.
Who is this? my son Mathias slain!
FernezeO Lodowick! hadst thou perished by the Turk,
Wretched Ferneze might have ’venged thy death!
Thy son slew mine, and I’ll revenge his death.
FernezeLook, Katharine, look!—thy son gave mine these wounds.
KatharineO, leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough.
FernezeO! that my sighs could turn to lively breath;
And these my tears to blood, that he might live.
Who made them enemies?
FernezeI know not, and that grieves me most of all.
KatharineMy son loved thine.
FernezeAnd so did Lodowick him.
KatharineLend me that weapon that did kill my son,
And it shall murder me.
Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son’s,
And on that rather should Ferneze die.
Hold; let’s inquire the causers of their deaths,
That we may ’venge their blood upon their heads.
Then take them up, and let them be interred
Within one sacred monument of stone;
Upon which altar I will offer up
My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears,
And with my prayers pierce impartial heavens,
Till they reveal the causers of our smarts,
Which forced their hands divide united hearts:
Come, Katharine, our losses equal are;
Then of true grief let us take equal share.
Why, was there ever seen such villany,
So neatly plotted, and so well performed?
Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled?
Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh’st thou so?
IthamoreO mistress, ha! ha! ha!
AbigailWhy, what ail’st thou?
IthamoreO, my master!
AbigailHa!
IthamoreO mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had!
AbigailSay, knave, why rail’st upon my father thus?
IthamoreO, my master has the bravest policy.
AbigailWherein?
IthamoreWhy, know you not?
AbigailWhy, no.
IthamoreKnow you not of Mathias’ and Don Lodowick’s disaster?
AbigailNo, what was it?
IthamoreWhy, the devil inverted a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathias.
And then they met, and, as the story says,
In doleful wise they ended both their days.
And was my father furtherer of their deaths?
IthamoreAm I Ithamore?
AbigailYes.
IthamoreSo sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.
AbigailWell, Ithamore, let me request thee this,
Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire
For any of the friars of Saint Jaques,
And say, I pray them come and speak with me.
I pray, mistress, will you answer me to one question?
AbigailWell, sirrah, what is’t?
IthamoreA very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?
AbigailGo to, sirrah sauce! is this your question? get ye gone.
IthamoreI will, forsooth,
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