The Jew of Malta.
Abig.
No, what was it?
Ith.
Why the devil invented a challenge, my Mr. writ it,
And I carried it, first to Lodowicke, and impremis to Mathia.
And then they met, as the story sayes,
In dolefull wise they ended both their dayes.
Abig.
And was my father furtherer of their deaths?
Ith.
Am I Ithimore?
Abig.
Yes.
Ith.
So sure did your father write, & I cary the chalenge.
Abig.
Well, Ithimore, let me request thee this,
Goe to the new made Nunnery, and inquire
For any of the Fryars of St. Jaynes,
And say, I pray them come and speake with me.
Ith.
I pray, mistris, wil you answer me to one question?
Abig.
Well, sirra, what is't?
Ith.
A very feeling one; have not the Nuns fine sport
With the Fryars now and then?
Abig.
Go to, sirra sauce, is this your question? get ye gon
Ith.
I will forsooth, Mistris. Exit.
Abig.
Hard-hearted Father, unkind Barabas,
Was this the pursuit of thy policie?
To make me shew them favour severally,
That by my favour they should both be slaine?
Admit thou lov'dst not Lodowicke for his sinne,
Yet Don Mathias ne're offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the Pryor dispossest thee once,
And couldst not venge it, but upon his sonne,
Nor on his sonne, but by Mathias meanes;
Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pitty in Jewes, nor piety in Turkes.
But here Comes cursed Ithimore with the Fryar.
Enter Ithimore. Fryar.
Fry.
Virgo, salve.
Ith.
When ducke you?
Abig.
Welcome grave Fryar; Ithamore begon, Exit.
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