The Jew of Malta Christopher Marlowe (top non fiction books of all time txt) š
- Author: Christopher Marlowe
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Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas!
Was this the pursuit of thy policy!
To make me show them favour severally,
That by my favour they should both be slain?
Admit thou lovādst not Lodowick for his sire,
Yet Don Mathias neāer offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the governor50 dispossessed thee once,
And couldst not āvenge it but upon his son
Nor on his son, but by Mathiasā means;
Nor on Mathias but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pity in Jews, nor piety in Turks.
But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar.
Virgo, salve.
IthamoreWhen! duck you!
AbigailWelcome, grave friar; Ithamore, be gone.
Exit Ithamore.Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.
Friar JacomoWherein?
AbigailTo get me be admitted for a nun.
Friar JacomoWhy, Abigail, it is not yet long since
That I did labour thy admission,
And then thou didāst not like that holy life.
Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirmed
As I was chained to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with grief,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinful soul, alas, hath paced too long
The fatal labyrinth of misbelief,
Far from the sun that gives eternal life!
Who taught thee this?
AbigailThe abbess of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
Although unworthy, of that sisterhood.
Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more,
For that will be most heavy to thy soul.
That was my fatherās fault.
Friar JacomoThy fatherās! how?
AbigailNay, you shall pardon me.ā āO Barabas,
Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,
Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life! Aside.
Come, shall we go?
AbigailMy duty waits on you.
Exeunt. Scene IV Enter Barabas, reading a letter.51 BarabasWhat, Abigail become a nun again!
False and unkind; what, hast thou lost thy father?
And all unknown, and unconstrained of me,
Art thou again got to the nunnery?
Now here she writes, and wills me to repent.
Repentance! Spurca! what pretendeth52 this?
I fear she knowsā āātis soā āof my device
In Don Mathiasā and Lodovicoās deaths:
If so, ātis time that it be seen into:
For she that varies from me in belief
Gives great presumption that she loves me not;
Or loving, doth dislike of something done.ā ā
But who comes here?
O Ithamore, come near;
Come near, my love; come near, thy masterās life,
My trusty servant, nay, my second self:
For I have now no hope but even in thee,
And on that hope my happiness is built.
When sawāst thou Abigail?
To-day.
BarabasWith whom?
IthamoreA friar.
BarabasA friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.
IthamoreHow, sir!
BarabasWhy, made mine Abigail a nun.
IthamoreThatās no lie; for she sent me for him.
BarabasO unhappy day!
False, credulous, inconstant Abigail!
But let āem go: and, Ithamore, from hence
Neāer shall she grieve me more with her disgrace;
Neāer shall she live to inherit aught of mine,
Be blest of me, nor come within my gates,
But perish underneath my bitter curse,
Like Cain by Adam for his brotherās death.
O master!
BarabasIthamore, entreat not for her, I am moved,
And she is hateful to my soul and me:
And āless thou yield to this that I entreat,
I cannot think but that thou hatāst my life.
Who, I, master? Why, Iāll run to some rock,
And throw myself headlong into the sea;
Why, Iāll do anything for your sweet sake.
O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend:
I here adopt thee for mine only heir,
All that I have is thine when I am dead,
And, whilst I live, use half; spend as myself;
Here, take my keys, Iāll give āem thee anon:
Go buy thee garments: but thou shalt not want:
Only know this, that thus thou art to do:
But first go fetch me in the pot of rice
That for our supper stands upon the fire.
I hold my head, my masterās hungry. Aside.ā āI go, sir.
Exit. BarabasThus every villain ambles after wealth,
Although he neāer be richer than in hope:ā ā
But, husht!
Here ātis, master,
BarabasWell said, Ithamore! What, hast thou brought
The ladle with thee too?
Yes, sir, the proverb says, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon; I have brought you a ladle.
BarabasVery well, Ithamore; then now be secret;
And, for thy sake, whom I so dearly love,
Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail,
That thou mayst freely live to be my heir.
Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more than you are aware.
BarabasAy, but, Ithamore, seest thou this?
It is a precious powder that I bought
Of an Italian, in Ancona, once,
Whose operation is to bind, infect,
And poison deeply, yet not appear
In forty hours after it is taāen.
How, master?
BarabasThus, Ithamore.
This even they use in Malta hereā āātis called
Saint Jacquesā Evenā āand then, I say, they use
To send their alms unto the nunneries:
Among the rest bear this, and set it there:
Thereās a dark entry where they take it in,
Where they must neither see the messenger,
Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.
How so?
BarabasBelike there is some ceremony ināt.
There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot!
Stay, let me spice it first.
Pray, do, and let me help you, master. Pray, let me taste first.
BarabasPrithee, do. Ithamore tastes. What sayāst thou now?
IthamoreTroth, master, Iām loath such a pot of pottage should be spoiled.
BarabasPeace, Ithamore! ātis better so than spared.
Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye,
My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.
Well, master, I go.
BarabasStay, first let me stir it, Ithamore.
As fatal be it to her as the draught
Of which great Alexander drunk and died:
And with her let it work like Borgiaās wine,
Whereof his sire the Pope was poisoned!
In few,
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