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Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap. Itha. Love me little, love me long; let musick rumble, Whilst I in thy incony lap do tumble. Enter BARABAs, with a lute, disguis’d. Court. A French musician; come, let's have your skill? BAR. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first. ITHA. Wilt drink Frenchman 2 here's to thee with aPox on this drunken hiccup. BAR. Gramercy, monsieur. Court. Pr'ythee, Pilia-borsa, bid the fiddler give ine The posy in his hat there. PIL1A. Sirrah,you must give my mistress your posy BAR. A votre commandment, madame. Count. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell. ITHA. Like thy breath, sweetheart, no violet like 'em. PIL1A. Fohl methinks they stink like a hollyhock. BAR. 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. BAR. Pardonnez moi, be no in tune yet; so now, now all be in. Ith A. Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine.

Pilla. There's two crowns for thee, play.
BAR. How liberally the villain gives me mine own
gold. [Aside.
PIL1A. Methinks he fingers very well.
BAR. So did you when you stole my gold. [Aside.
PILIA. How swift he runs.
BAR. You run swifter when you threw my gold
out of my window. [Aside.
Court. Musician, hast been in Malta long?
BAR. Two, three, four month, madam.
ITHA. Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas?
BAR. Very mush; monsieur, you no be his man?
PIL1A. His man 2
ITHA. I scorn the peasant: tell him so.
BAR. He knows it already.
ITHA. Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives
upon
Pickled grasshoppers, and sauc’d mushrooms.
BAR. What a slave's this? the governor feeds not
as I do. [Aside.
ITHA. He never put on clean shirt since he was
circumcis'd.
BAR. Ch, rascal! I change myself twice a day.
[Aside.
IrHA. The hat he wears, Judas left under the
elder when he hang'd himself.
BAR. "Twas sent me for a present from the great
Cham. [Aside.
PILIA. A nasty slave he is; whither now, fiddler?

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BAR. Pardonnez moi, monsieur, me be no well. [Erit. PILIA. Farewell, fiddler: one letter more to the Jew. Court. Pr'ythee, 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 lov'd rice, that Friar Barnardine slept in his own clothes; any of 'em will do it. PIL1A. 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. [Ereunt.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I. Enter Gov ERNok, KNIGHTs, and MARTIN Del Bosco.

Gov. Now, gentlemen, betake you to your arms, And see that Malta be well fortified ; And it behoves you to be resolute; For Calymath having hover'd here so long, Will win the town, or die before the walls.

KNIGHTs. And die he shall, for we will never Enter Cou RTEzAN and PILIA-BortsA. Court. Oh, bring us to the governor. Gov. Away with her, she is a courtezan. Court. Whate'er I am, yet, governor, hear me speak; I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain: Mathias did it not, it was the Jew. Pili.A. Who, besides the slaughter of these gentlemen, Poison'd his own daughter and the nuns, Strangled a friar, and I know not what Mischief beside. Gov. Had we but proof of this Court. Strong proof, my lord; his man's now at my lodging, That was his agent, he'll confess it all. Gov. Go fetch him straight; I always fear'd that Jew. Enter BARABAs and ITHA MoR.E. BAR. I'll go alone; dogs, do not hale me thus. ITHA. Nor me neither, I cannot out-run you, constable: oh, my belly. BAR. One dram of powder more had made all sure ; What a damn'd slave was Il Gov. Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetch'd. KNIGHTs. Nay, stay, my lord,'t may be he will confess?

yield. 4.

BAR. Confess! what mean you, lords, who should confess? Gov. Thou and thy Turk; ’twas you that slew my son. ITHA. Guilty, my lord, I confess: your son and Mathias Were both contracted unto Abigail; He forg'd a counterfeit challenge. BAR. Who carried that challenge? ITHA. I carried it, I confess; but who writ it? Marry, even he that strangled Barnardine, poison'd the nuns, and his own daughter. Gov. Away with him, his sight is death to me. BAR. For what, you men of Malta? hear me speak: She is a courtezan, and he a thief, And he my bondman. Let me have law, For none of this can prejudice my life. Gov. Once more away with him; you shall have law. BAR. Devils do your worst, I live in spite of you. As these have spoke so be it to their souls: I hope the poison'd flowers will work anon. [Erit. Enter the Mother of MATHI As. Motu ER. Was my Mathias murder'd by the Jew? Ferneze, 'twas thy son that murder'd him. Gov. Be patient, gentle madam, it was he, He forg'd the daring challenge made them fight. Motri ER. Where is the Jew 2 where is that murderer 2

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