The Jew of Malta.
What? woman, moane not for a little losse:
Thy father has enough in store for thee.
Abig.
Not for my selfe, but aged Barabas:
Father, for thee lamenteth Abigaile:
But I will learne to leave these fruitlesse teares.
And urg'd thereto with my afflictions,
With fierce exlaimes run to the Senate-house,
And in the Senate reprehend them all,
And rent their hearts with tearing of my haire,
Till they reduce the wrongs done to my father.
Bar.
No, Abigail, things past recovery
Are hardly cur'd with exclamations.
Be silent, Daughter, sufferance breeds ease,
And time may yeeld us an occasion
Which on the sudden cannot serve the turne.
Besides, my girle, thinke me not all so fond
As negligently to forgoe so much
Without provision for thy selfe and me.
Ten thousand Portagnes, besides great Perles,
Rich costly Jewels, and Stones infinite,
Fearing the worst of this before it fell,
I closely hid.
Abig.
Where father?
Bar.
In my house my girle.
Abig.
Then shall they ne're be seene of Barrabas:
For they have seiz'd upon thy house and wares.
Bar.
But they will give me leave once more, I trow,
To goe into my house.
Abig.
That may they not:
For there I left the Governour placing Nunnes,
Displacing me; and of thy house they meane
To make a Nunnery, where none but their owne sect
Must enter in; men generally barr'd.
Bar.
My gold, my gold, and all my wealth is gone.
You partiall heavens, have I deserv'd this plague?
What will you thus oppose me, lucklesse Starres,
To make me desperate in my poverty?
And
