The Jew of Malta Christopher Marlowe (top non fiction books of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Christopher Marlowe
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For that is theft! and, if you rob me thus,
I must be forced to steal and compass more. First Knight
Grave governor, list not to his exclaims.
Convert his mansion to a nunnery;
His house will harbour many holy nuns.
It shall be so.
Re-enter Officers.Now, officers, have you done?
First OfficerAy, my lord, we have seized upon the goods
And wares of Barabas, which, being valued,
Amount to more than all the wealth in Malta.
And of the other we have seized half.
Then we’ll take order for the residue.
BarabasWell, then, my lord, say, are you satisfied?
You have my goods, my money, and my wealth,
My ships, my store, and all that I enjoyed;
And, having all, you can request no more;
Unless your unrelenting flinty hearts
Suppress all pity in your stony breasts,
And now shall move you to bereave my life.
No, Barabas, to stain our hands with blood
Is far from us and our profession.
Why, I esteem the injury far less
To take the lives of miserable men
Than be the causers of their misery.
You have my wealth, the labour of my life,
The comfort of mine age, my children’s hope,
And therefore ne’er distinguish of the wrong.
Content thee, Barabas, thou hast naught but right.
BarabasYour extreme right does me exceeding wrong:
But take it to you, i’ the devil’s name.
Come, let us in, and gather of these goods
The money for this tribute of the Turk.
’Tis necessary that be looked unto:
For, if we break our day, we break the league,
And that will prove but simple policy.
Ay, policy! that’s their profession,
And not simplicity, as they suggest.
The plagues of Egypt, and the curse of Heaven,
Earth’s barrenness, and all men’s hatred
Inflict upon them, thou great Primus Motor!
And here upon my knees, striking the earth,
I ban their souls to everlasting pains
And extreme tortures of the fiery deep,
That thus have dealt with me in my distress!
O yet be patient, gentle Barabas.
BarabasO silly brethren, born to see this day;
Why stand you thus unmoved with my laments?
Why weep you not to think upon my wrongs?
Why pine not I, and die in this distress?
Why, Barabas, as hardly can we brook
The cruel handling of ourselves in this;
Thou seest they have taken half our goods.
Why did you yield to their extortion?
You were a multitude, and I but one:
And of me only have they taken all.
Yet, brother Barabas, remember Job.
BarabasWhat tell you me of Job? I wot his wealth
Was written thus: he had seven thousand sheep,
Three thousand camels, and two hundred yoke
Of labouring oxen, and five hundred
She-asses: but for every one of those,
Had they been valued at indifferent rate,
I had at home, and in mine argosy,
And other ships that came from Egypt last,
As much as would have bought his beasts and him,
And yet have kept enough to live upon:
So that not he, but I, may curse the day,
Thy fatal birth-day, forlorn Barabas;
And henceforth wish for an eternal night,
That clouds of darkness may inclose my flesh,
And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes:
For only I have toiled to inherit here
The months of vanity and loss of time,
And painful nights, have been appointed me.
Good Barabas, be patient.
BarabasAy, I pray, leave me in my patience. You,
Were ne’er possess’d of wealth, are pleased with want;
But give him liberty at least to mourn,
That in a field amidst his enemies,
Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarmed,
And knows no means of his recovery:
Ay, let me sorrow for this sudden chance;
’Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak;
Great injuries are not so soon forgot.
Come, let us leave him; in his ireful mood
Our words will but increase his ecstasy.18
On, then: but trust me ’tis a misery
To see a man in such affliction.—
Farewell, Barabas.
Ay, fare you well.
See the simplicity of these base slaves,
Who, for the villains have no wit themselves,
Think me to be a senseless lump of clay
That will with every water wash to dirt:
No, Barabas is born to better chance,
And framed of finer mould than common men,
That measure naught but by the present time.
A reaching thought will search his deepest wits,
And cast with cunning for the time to come:
For evils are apt to happen every day.—
But whither wends my beauteous Abigail?
O! what has made my lovely daughter sad?
What, woman! moan not for a little loss:
Thy father has enough in store for thee.
Not for myself, but aged Barabas:
Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail:
But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears,
And, urged thereto with my afflictions,
With fierce exclaims run to the senate-house,
And in the senate reprehend them all,
And rend their hearts with tearing of my hair,
Till they reduce20 the wrongs done to my father.
No, Abigail, things past recovery
Are hardly cured with exclamations.
Be silent, daughter, sufferance breeds ease
And time may yield us an occasion
Which on the sudden cannot serve the turn.
Besides, my girl, think me not all so fond21
As negligently to forgo so much
Without provision for thyself and me,
Ten thousand portagues,22 besides great pearls,
Rich costly jewels, and stones infinite,
Fearing the worst of this before it fell,
I closely hid.
Where, father?
BarabasIn my house, my girl.
AbigailThen shall they ne’er be seen of Barabas:
For they have seized upon thy house and wares.
But they will give me leave once more, I trow,
To go into my house.
That may they not:
For there I left the governor placing nuns,
Displacing me; and of thy house they mean
To make a nunnery, where none but their own sect23
Must enter in; men generally barred.
My gold! my gold! and all my wealth is gone!
You partial heavens, have I deserved this plague?
What, will you thus oppose me, luckless stars,
To make me desperate in
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