The Jew of Malta.
Know, holy Sir, I am bold to sollicite thee.
Fry.
Wherein?
Abig.
To get me be admitted for a Nun.
Fry.
Why Abigal it is not yet long since
That I did labour thy admition,
And then thou didst not like that holy life.
Abig.
Then were my thoughts so fraile & unconfirm'd,
And I was chain'd to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with griefe,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinfull soule, alas, hath pac'd too long
The fatall Labyrinth of misbeleefe,
Farre from the Sonne that gives eternall life.
Fry.
Who taught thee this?
Abig.
The Abbasse of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
Oh therefore, Jacomi, let me be one,
Although unworthy of that Sister-hood.
Fry.
Abigal I will, but see, thou change no more,
For that will be most heavy to thy soule.
Abig.
That was my father's fault.
Fry.
Thy father's, how?
Abig.
Nay, you shall pardon me: oh Barabas,
Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,
Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life.
Fry.
Come, shall we goe?
Abig.
My duty waits on you. Exeunt.
Enter Barabas reading a letter.
Bar.
What, Abigall become a Nunne againe?
False, and unkinde; what hast thou lost thy father?
And all unknowne, and unconstrain'd of me,
Art thou againe got to the Nunnery?
Now here she writes, and wils me to repent.
Repentance? Spurca: what pretendeth this?
I feare she knowes ('tis so) of my device
In Don Mathias and Lodovicoes deaths:
If so, 'tis time that it be seene into:
For
