READ STUDY GUIDE: (III.i); (III.ii); (III.iii) | (III.iv); (III.v); (III.vi) |
|
Act III
 Enter BELLAMIRA. |
| BELLAMIRA. Since this town was besieg'd, my gain grows cold: |
| The time has been, that but for one bare night |
| A hundred ducats have been freely given; |
| But now against my will I must be chaste: |
| And yet I know my beauty doth not fail. |
| >From Venice merchants, and from Padua |
| Were wont to come rare-witted gentlemen, |
| Scholars I mean, learned and liberal; |
| And now, save Pilia-Borza, comes there none, |
| And he is very seldom from my house; |
| And here he comes. |
| Enter PILIA-BORZA. |
| PILIA-BORZA. |
| Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to spend. |
| [Shewing a bag of silver.] |
| BELLAMIRA. 'Tis silver; I disdain it. |
| PILIA-BORZA. Ay, but the Jew has gold, |
| And I will have it, or it shall go hard. |
| BELLAMIRA. Tell me, how cam'st thou by this? |
| PILIA-BORZA. Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens, |
| I chanced to cast mine eye up to the Jew's counting-house, where |
| I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clambered 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. |
| BELLAMIRA. Hide the bag. |
| Enter ITHAMORE. |
| PILIA-BORZA. Look not towards him, let's away. Zoons, what a |
| looking thou keepest! thou'lt betray's anon. |
| [Exeunt BELLAMIRA and PILIA-BORZA.] |
| ITHAMORE. 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! |
| [Exit.] |
| Enter MATHIAS. |
| MATHIAS. This is the place: now Abigail shall see |
| Whether Mathias holds her dear or no. |
| Enter LODOWICK. |
| What, dares the villain write in such base terms? |
| [Looking at a letter.] |
| LODOWICK. I did it; and revenge it, if thou dar'st! |
| [They fight.] |
| Enter BARABAS above. |
| BARABAS. O, bravely fought! and yet they thrust not home. |
| Now, Lodovico! now, Mathias!—So; |
| [Both fall.] |
| So, now they have shew'd themselves to be tall fellows. |
| [Cries within] Part 'em, part 'em! |
| BARABAS. Ay, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell! |
| [Exit above.] |
| Enter FERNEZE, KATHARINE, and ATTENDANTS. |
| FERNEZE. What sight is this! my Lodovico slain! |
| These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre. |
| KATHARINE. Who is this? my son Mathias slain! |
| FERNEZE. O Lodowick, hadst thou perish'd by the Turk, |
| Wretched Ferneze might have veng'd thy death! |
| KATHARINE. Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death. |
| FERNEZE. Look, Katharine, look! thy son gave mine these wounds. |
| KATHARINE. O, leave to grieve me! I am griev'd enough. |
| FERNEZE. O, that my sighs could turn to lively breath, |
| And these my tears to blood, that he might live! |
| KATHARINE. Who made them enemies? |
| FERNEZE. I know not; and that grieves me most of all. |
| KATHARINE. My son lov'd thine. |
| FERNEZE. And so did Lodowick him. |
| KATHARINE. Lend me that weapon that did kill my son, |
| And it shall murder me. |
| FERNEZE. Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's, |
| And on that rather should Ferneze die. |
| KATHARINE. Hold; let's inquire the causers of their deaths, |
| That we may venge their blood upon their heads. |
| FERNEZE. 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 [reveal] the causers of our smarts, |
| Which forc'd their hands divide united hearts. |
| Come, Katharine; our losses equal are; |
| Then of true grief let us take equal share. |
| [Exeunt with the bodies.] |
| Enter ITHAMORE. |
| ITHAMORE. Why, was there ever seen such villany, |
| So neatly plotted, and so well perform'd? |
| Both held in hand, and flatly both beguil'd? |
| Enter ABIGAIL. |
| ABIGAIL. Why, how now, Ithamore! why laugh'st thou so? |
| ITHAMORE. O mistress! ha, ha, ha! |
| ABIGAIL. Why, what ail'st thou? |
| ITHAMORE. O, my master! |
| ABIGAIL. Ha! |
| ITHAMORE. O mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret, |
| subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever |
| gentleman had! |
| ABIGAIL. Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus? |
| ITHAMORE. O, my master has the bravest policy! |
| ABIGAIL. Wherein? |
| ITHAMORE. Why, know you not? |
| ABIGAIL. Why, no. |
| ITHAMORE. |
| Know you not of Mathia[s'] and Don Lodowick['s] disaster? |
| ABIGAIL. No: what was it? |
| ITHAMORE. Why, the devil inverted a challenge, my master |
| writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis |
| to Mathia[s]; |
| And then they met, [and], as the story says, |
| In doleful wise they ended both their days. |
| ABIGAIL. And was my father furtherer of their deaths? |
| ITHAMORE. Am I Ithamore? |
| ABIGAIL. Yes. |
| ITHAMORE. |
| So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge. |
| ABIGAIL. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this; |
| Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire |
| For any of the friars of Saint Jaques, |
| And say, I pray them come and speak with me. |
| ITHAMORE. I pray, mistress, will you answer me to one question? |
| ABIGAIL. Well, sirrah, what is't? |
| ITHAMORE. A very feeling one: have not the nuns fine sport with |
| the friars now and then? |
| ABIGAIL. Go to, Sirrah Sauce! is this your question? get ye gone. |
| ITHAMORE. I will, forsooth, mistress. |
| [Exit.] |
| ABIGAIL. Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas! |
| Was this the pursuit of thy policy, |
| To make me shew them favour severally, |
| That by my favour they should both be slain? |
| Admit thou lov'dst not Lodowick for his sire, |
| Yet Don Mathias ne'er offended thee: |
| But thou wert set upon extreme revenge, |
| Because the prior dispossess'd thee once, |
| And couldst 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, nor piety in Turks.— |
| But here comes cursed Ithamore with the friar. |
| Re-enter ITHAMORE with FRIAR JACOMO. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Virgo, salve. |
| ITHAMORE. When duck you? |
| ABIGAIL. Welcome, grave friar.—Ithamore, be gone. |
| [Exit ITHAMORE.] |
| Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Wherein? |
| ABIGAIL. To get me be admitted for a nun. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since |
| That I did labour thy admission, |
| And then thou didst not like that holy life. |
| ABIGAIL. Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirm'd |
| As I was chain'd to follies of the world: |
| But now experience, purchased with grief, |
| Has made me see the difference of things. |
| My sinful soul, alas, hath pac'd too long |
| The fatal labyrinth of misbelief, |
| Far from the sun that gives eternal life! |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Who taught thee this? |
| ABIGAIL. The abbess of the house, |
| Whose zealous admonition I embrace: |
| O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one, |
| Although unworthy, of that sisterhood! |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Abigail, I will: but see thou change no more, |
| For that will be most heavy to thy soul. |
| ABIGAIL. That was my father's fault. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Thy father's! how? |
| ABIGAIL. Nay, you shall pardon me.—O Barabas, |
| Though thou deservest hardly at my hands, |
| Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life! |
| [Aside.] |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Come, shall we go? |
| ABIGAIL. My duty waits on you. |
| [Exeunt.] |
| Enter BARABAS, reading a letter. |
| BARABAS. What, Abigail become a nun again! |
| False and unkind! what, hast thou lost thy father? |
| And, all unknown and unconstrain'd of me, |
| Art thou again got to the nunnery? |
| Now here she writes, and wills me to repent: |
| Repentance! Spurca! what pretendeth this? |
| I fear she knows—'tis so—of my device |
| In Don Mathias' and Lodovico's deaths: |
| If so, 'tis 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.— |
| But who comes here? |
| Enter ITHAMORE. |
| O Ithamore, come near; |
| Come near, my love; come near, thy master's 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 saw'st thou Abigail? |
| ITHAMORE. To-day. |
| BARABAS. With whom? |
| ITHAMORE. A friar. |
| BARABAS. A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed. |
| ITHAMORE. How, sir! |
| BARABAS. Why, made mine Abigail a nun. |
| ITHAMORE. That's no lie; for she sent me for him. |
| BARABAS. O unhappy day! |
| False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! |
| But let 'em go: and, Ithamore, from hence |
| Ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace; |
| Ne'er shall she live to inherit aught of mine, |
| Be bless'd of me, nor come within my gates, |
| But perish underneath my bitter curse, |
| Like Cain by Adam for his brother's death. |
| ITHAMORE. O master— |
| BARABAS. Ithamore, entreat not for her; I am mov'd, |
| And she is hateful to my soul and me: |
| And, 'less thou yield to this that I entreat, |
| I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life. |
| ITHAMORE. Who, I, master? why, I'll run to some rock, |
| And throw myself headlong into the sea; |
| Why, I'll do any thing for your sweet sake. |
| BARABAS. 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,—I'll give 'em 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. |
| ITHAMORE. I hold my head, my master's hungry [Aside].—I go, sir. |
| [Exit.] |
| BARABAS. Thus every villain ambles after wealth, |
| Although he ne'er be richer than in hope:— |
| But, husht! |
| Re-enter ITHAMORE with the pot. |
| ITHAMORE. Here 'tis, master. |
| BARABAS. Well said, Ithamore! What, hast thou brought |
| The ladle with thee too? |
| ITHAMORE. Yes, sir; the proverb says, he that eats with the |
| devil had need of a long spoon; I have brought you a ladle. |
| BARABAS. Very 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. |
| ITHAMORE. 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. |
| BARABAS. Ay, 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 ta'en. |
| ITHAMORE. How, master? |
| BARABAS. Thus, Ithamore: |
| This even they use in Malta here,—'tis call'd |
| Saint Jaques' Even,—and then, I say, they use |
| To send their alms unto the nunneries: |
| Among the rest, bear this, and set it there: |
| There's a dark entry where they take it in, |
| Where they must neither see the messenger, |
| Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them. |
| ITHAMORE. How so? |
| BARABAS. Belike there is some ceremony in't. |
| There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot: |
| Stay; let me spice it first. |
| ITHAMORE. Pray, do, and let me help you, master. |
| Pray, let me taste first. |
| BARABAS. Prithee, do.[ITHAMORE tastes.] What say'st thou now? |
| ITHAMORE. Troth, master, I'm loath such a pot of pottage should |
| be spoiled. |
| BARABAS. Peace, Ithamore! 'tis better so than spar'd. |
| [Puts the powder into the pot.] |
| Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye: |
| My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine. |
| ITHAMORE. Well, master, I go. |
| BARABAS. Stay; 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 Borgia's wine, |
| Whereof his sire the Pope was poisoned! |
| In few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane, |
| The juice of hebon, and Cocytus' breath, |
| And all the poisons of the Stygian pool, |
| Break from the fiery kingdom, and in this |
| Vomit your venom, and envenom her |
| That, like a fiend, hath left her father thus! |
| ITHAMORE. What a blessing has he given't! was ever pot of |
| rice-porridge so sauced? [Aside].—What shall I do with it? |
| BARABAS. O my sweet Ithamore, go set it down; |
| And come again so soon as thou hast done, |
| For I have other business for thee. |
| ITHAMORE. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders |
| mares: I'll carry't to the nuns with a powder. |
| BARABAS. And the horse-pestilence to boot: away! |
| ITHAMORE. I am gone: |
| Pay me my wages, for my work is done. |
| [Exit with the pot.] |
| BARABAS. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore! |
| [Exit.] |
| Enter FERNEZE, MARTIN DEL BOSCO, KNIGHTS, and BASSO. |
| FERNEZE. Welcome, great basso: how fares Calymath? |
| What wind drives you thus into Malta-road? |
| BASSO. The wind that bloweth all the world besides, |
| Desire of gold. |
| FERNEZE. Desire of gold, great sir! |
| That's to be gotten in the Western Inde: |
| In Malta are no golden minerals. |
| BASSO. To you of Malta thus saith Calymath: |
| The time you took for respite is at hand |
| For the performance of your promise pass'd; |
| And for the tribute-money I am sent. |
| FERNEZE. Basso, in brief, shalt have no tribute here, |
| Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil: |
| First will we raze the city-walls ourselves, |
| Lay waste the island, hew the temples down, |
| And, shipping off our goods to Sicily, |
| Open an entrance for the wasteful sea, |
| Whose billows, beating the resistless banks, |
| Shall overflow it with their refluence. |
| BASSO. Well, governor, since thou hast broke the league |
| By flat denial of the promis'd tribute, |
| Talk not of razing down your city-walls; |
| You shall not need trouble yourselves so far, |
| For Selim Calymath shall come himself, |
| And with brass bullets batter down your towers, |
| And turn proud Malta to a wilderness, |
| For these intolerable wrongs of yours: |
| And so, farewell. |
| FERNEZE. Farewell. |
| [Exit BASSO.] |
| And now, you men of Malta, look about, |
| And let's provide to welcome Calymath: |
| Close your port-cullis, charge your basilisks, |
| And, as you profitably take up arms, |
| So now courageously encounter them, |
| For by this answer broken is the league, |
| And naught is to be look'd for now but wars, |
| And naught to us more welcome is than wars. |
| [Exeunt.] |
| Enter FRIAR JACOMO and FRIAR BARNARDINE. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. O brother, brother, all the nuns are sick, |
| And physic will not help them! they must die. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. The abbess sent for me to be confess'd: |
| O, what a sad confession will there be! |
| FRIAR JACOMO. And so did fair Maria send for me: |
| I'll to her lodging; hereabouts she lies. |
| [Exit.] |
| Enter ABIGAIL. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. What, all dead, save only Abigail! |
| ABIGAIL. And I shall die too, for I feel death coming. |
| Where is the friar that convers'd with me? |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. O, he is gone to see the other nuns. |
| ABIGAIL. I sent for him; but, seeing you are come, |
| Be you my ghostly father: and first know, |
| That in this house I liv'd religiously, |
| Chaste, and devout, much sorrowing for my sins; |
| But, ere I came— |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. What then? |
| ABIGAIL. I did offend high heaven so grievously |
| As I am almost desperate for my sins; |
| And one offense torments me more than all. |
| You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick? |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. Yes; what of them? |
| ABIGAIL. My father did contract me to 'em both; |
| First to Don Lodowick: him I never lov'd; |
| Mathias was the man that I held dear, |
| And for his sake did I become a nun. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. So: say how was their end? |
| ABIGAIL. Both, jealous of my love, envied each other; |
| And by my father's practice, which is there |
| [Gives writing.] |
| Set down at large, the gallants were both slain. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. O, monstrous villany! |
| ABIGAIL. To work my peace, this I confess to thee: |
| Reveal it not; for then my father dies. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. Know that confession must not be reveal'd; |
| The canon-law forbids it, and the priest |
| That makes it known, being degraded first, |
| Shall be condemn'd, and then sent to the fire. |
| ABIGAIL. So I have heard; pray, therefore, keep it close. |
| Death seizeth on my heart: ah, gentle friar, |
| Convert my father that he may be sav'd, |
| And witness that I die a Christian! |
| [Dies.] |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. Ay, and a virgin too; that grieves me most. |
| But I must to the Jew, and exclaim on him, |
| And make him stand in fear of me. |
| Re-enter FRIAR JACOMO. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. O brother, all the nuns are dead! let's bury them. |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. First help to bury this; then go with me, |
| And help me to exclaim against the Jew. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. Why, what has he done? |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. A thing that makes me tremble to unfold. |
| FRIAR JACOMO. What, has he crucified a child? |
| FRIAR BARNARDINE. No, but a worse thing: 'twas told me in shrift; |
| Thou know'st 'tis death, an if it be reveal'd. |
| Come, let's away. |
| [Exeunt.] |
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