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PILIA. Aye, but the Jew has gold, And I will have it, or it shall go

hard. Court. Tell me, how cam'st thou by this?

Pilia. 'Faith, walking the back lanes, through the gardens, I chanc'd to cast mine eye up to the Jew's counting-house where I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clamber'd 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.

COURT. Hide the bag.

Pilia. Look not towards him, let's away :
Zoon's, what a looking thou keep'st,
Thou’lt betray us anon.

[Ereunt Courtezan and Pilia-borza. Itua. O the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I

know she is A courtezan by her attire : now would I give a

hundred Of the Jew's crowns that I had such a concubine, Well, I have deliver'd the challenge in such sort, As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport.

[Erit. SCENE II.

Enter MaturaS. Math. This is the place, now Abigail shall see Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.

Enter LODOWICK, reading. Lod. 'I did it, and revenge it if thou dar'st.' What, dares the villain to write in such base terms?

[They fight. Enter BARABAS, above. Bar. Oh, bravely fought, and yet they thrust not

home. Now Lodowick, now Mathias, so; So now they have shew'd themselves to be tall

fellows. WITHIN. Part 'em, part-'em. BAR. Aye, part'em now they are dead: Farewell, farewell

[Exit. Enter GOVERNOR and Mathias's Mother. Gor. What sight is this? my Lodowick slain ! These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.

MOTHER. Who is this? my son Mathias slain !
Gov. Oh! Lodowick! hadst thou perish'd by the

Wretched Ferneze might have veng'd thy death.
MOTHER. Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge

his death. Gor. Look, Katherine, look, thy son gave mine

these wounds. MOTHER. O leave to grieve me, I am griev'd

enough. Gov. Oh, that my sighs could turn to lively

breath; And these my tears to blood, that he might live.

Mother. Who made them enemies ?
Gov. I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
Mother. My son lov'd thine.
Gov. And so did Lodowick him.
Mother. Lend me that weapon that did kill my

son, And it shall murder me. Gov. Nay, madam, stay, that weapon was my

son's. And on that rather should Ferneze die. Mother. Hold, let's inquire the causers of their

deaths, That we may 'venge their blood


their heads. Gov. Then take them up, and let them be interr'd 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, the causers of our smarts, Which forc'd their hands divide united hearts: Come, Katherine, our losses equal are, Then of true grief let us take equal share. (Ereunt.


Enter ITHAMORE. Irha. Why, was there ever seen such villainy, so

neatly Plotted, and so well perform’d? both held in hand,


Flatly both beguil’d.

Enter ABIGAIL. ABIG. Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st

thou so? ITHA. Oh, mistress, ha! ha! ha! Abig. Why, what ailst thou? ITHA. Oh, my master. ABIG. Ha! Itha. Oh, mistress! I have the bravest, gravest,

secret, subtle Bottle-nos'd knave to my master, that ever gentle

man had Abig. Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father

thus? Itha. Oh, my master has the bravest policy. ABIG. Wherein ? ITHA. Why, know you not? ABIG. Why, no. Itha. Know you not of Mathias, and Don Lodo

wick's disaster? Abig. No, what was it?

Itha. Why, the devil invented 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. ABIG. And was my father furtherer of their

deaths ? ITIA. Am I Ithamore? ABIG, Yes.

Itha. So sure did your father write, and I carry

the challenge. Abig. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this, Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire For any of the friars of St. Jaques, And say, I pray them come and speak with me. Itha. I pray, mistress, will you answer me but

one question? ABIG. Well, sirrah, what ist? Itha. A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine

sport With the friars now and then? Abig. Go to, sirrah, sauce, is this your question?

get ye gone.
ITHA. I will, forsooth, mistress.

Abig. 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 lov'dst not Lodowick for his sin,
Yet Don Mathias ne'er offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the Prior dispossess'd thee once,
And could'st not 'venge it, but upon his son,
Nor on his son, but by Mathias' means;
Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pity in Jews, or piety in Turks.
But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar.

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