The Jew of Malta.
Having Fernezes hand, whose heart I'le have;
I, and his sonnes too, or it shall goe hard.
I am not of the Tribe of Levy, I,
That can so soone forget an injury.
We Jewes can fawne like Spaniels when we please;
And when we grin we bite, yet are our lookes
As innocent aud harmelesse as a Lambes.
I learn'd in Florence how to kisse my hand,
Heave up my shoulders when they call me dogge,
And ducke as low as any bare-foot Fryar,
Hoping to see them starve upon a stall,
Or else be gather'd for in our Synagogue;
That when the offering-Bason comes to me,
Even for charity I may spit intoo't.
Here comes Don Lodowicke the Governor's sonne,
One that I love for his good fathers sake.
Enter Lodowicke.
Lod.
I heare the wealthy Jew walked this way;
I'le seeke him out, and so insinuate,
That I may have a sight of Abigall;
For Don Mathias tels me she is faire.
Bar.
Now will I shew my selfe to have more of the Serpent
Then the Dove; that is, more knave than foole.
Lod.
Yond walks the Jew, now for faire Abigall.
Bar.
I, I, no doubt but shee's at your command.
Lod.
Barabas, thou know'st I am the Governors sonne.
Bar.
I wud you were his father too, Sir, that's al the harm
I wish you: the slave looks like a hogs cheek new sindg'd.
Lod.
Whither walk'st thou Barabas?
Bar.
No further: 'tis a custome held with us,
That when we speake with Gentiles like to you,
We turne into the Ayre to purge our selves:
For unto us the Promise doth belong.
Lod.
Well, Barabas, canst helpe me to a Diamond?
Bar.
Oh, Sir, your father had my Diamonds.
Yet I have one left that will serve your turne:
I meane my daughter:but e're he shall have her
I'le
