THE JEW, IN DISGUISE, POISONS HIS TRUANT

SLAVE.

ACT IV., SCENE 5.

Bell. A French musician -Come, let's hear your skill.

Bara. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first.

a

Itha. Wilt drink, Frenchman? here's to thee with -Pox on this drunken hiccup!

Bara. Gramercy, monsieur.

Bell. Prithee, Pilia-Borza, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his hat there.

Pilia. Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy. Bara. A votre commandement, madame.

[Giving nosegay. Bell. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell! Itha. Like thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like 'em. Pilia. Foh methinks they stink like a hollyhock. Bara. So, now I am reveng'd upon 'em all: The scent thereof was death; I poison'd it.

[Aside. Itha. Play, fiddler, or I'll cut your cat's guts into chitterlings.

Bara. Pardonnez moi, be no in tune yet: so, now, now all be in.

Itha. Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine. Pilia. There's two crowns for thee: play.

[Giving money.

Bara. How liberally the villain gives me mine own [Aside, and then plays.

gold!

Pilia. Methinks he fingers very well.
Bara. So did you when you stole my gold.

[Aside.

Pilia. How swift he runs!

Bara. You run swifter when you threw my gold out

of my window.

Bell. Musician, hast been in Malta long!
Bara. Two, three, four month, madam.

Itha. Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas ?

[Aside.

Bara. Very mush; monsieur, you no be his man?
Pilia. His man!

Itha. I scorn the peasant; tell him so.

Bara. He knows it already.

[Aside.

Itha. 'Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon pickled grasshoppers and sauced mushrooms.

Bara. What a slave's this! the governor feeds not as I do. [Aside. Itha. He never put on clean shirt since he was circumcised.

Bara. Oh rascal! I change myself twice a-day. [Aside. Itha. The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder when he hanged himself.

Bara. 'Twas sent me for a present from the Great Cham. [Aside. Pilia. A nasty slave he is.-Whither now, fiddler ? Bara. Pardonnez moi, monsieur; me be no well. Pilia. Farewell, fiddler. [Exit BARABAS.] One letter more to the Jew.

Bell. Prithee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. Itha. No, 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. Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning. Itha. The meaning has a meaning. Come, let's in: To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin.

Enter GAVESTON, reading a letter from the king.
Gav. My father is deceased! Come, Gaveston,
And share the kingdom with thy dearest friend.
Ah words that make me surfeit with delight!

2

What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston,

Than live and be the favourite of a king!

Sweet prince, I come; these, these thy amorous lines
Might have enforced me to have swum from France,
And like Leander, gasped upon the sand,

So thou would'st smile, and take me in thine arms.
The sight of London to my exiled eyes
Is as Elysium to a new-come soul;
Not that I love the city, or the men,
But that it harbours him I hold so dear—
The king, upon whose bosom let me lie,
And with the world be still at enmity.
What need the arctic people love starlight,
To whom the sun shines both by day and night?
Farewell base stooping to the lordly peers!
My knee shall bow to none but to the king.
As for the multitude, they are but sparks,
Raked up in embers of their poverty-
Tanti; I'll fawn first on the wind

That glanceth at my lips, and flieth away
But how now, what are these?

Enter three poor Men.

Men. Such as desire your worship's service.
Gav. What canst thou do?

1 Man. I can ride.

Gav. But I have no horse. What art thou?

2 Man. A traveller.

Gav. Let me see-thou would'st do well

To wait at my trencher, and tell me lies at dinner

time;

And as I like your discoursing, I'll have you.

And what art thou?

3 Man. A soldier, that hath served against the Scot.

Gav. Why, there are hospitals for such as you; I have no war; and therefore, sir, be gone.

3 Man. Farewell, and perish by a soldier's hand, That would'st reward them with an hospital.

Gav. Aye, aye, these words of his move me as much As if a goose would play the porcupine,

And dart her plumes, thinking to pierce my breast. But yet it is no pain to speak men fair;

I'll flatter these, and make them live in hope. [Aside.
You know that I came lately out of France,

And yet I have not viewed my lord the king;
If I speed well, I'll entertain you all.

Omnes. We thank your worship.

Gav. I have some business. Leave me to myself.
Omnes. We will wait here about the court. [Exeunt.
Gav. Do; these are not men for me;

I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant king which way I please :
Music and poetry are his delight;

Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance the antic hay ;
Sometimes a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive-tree,
To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bathe him in a spring; and there, hard by,
One like Actæon, peeping through the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,