The Jew of Malta.
Bash.
The wind that bloweth all the world besides,
Desire of gold.
Gov.
Desire of gold, great Sir?
That's to be gotten in the Westerne Inde:
In Malta are no golden Minerals.
Bash.
To you of Malta thus saith Calymath:
The time you tooke for respite, is at hand,
For the performance of your promise past;
And for the Tribute-mony I am sent.
Gov.
Bashaw, in briefe, shalt have no tribute here,
Nor shall the Heathens live upon our spoyle:
First will we race the City wals our selves,
Lay waste the Iland, hew the Temples downe,
And shipping of our goods to Sicily,
Open an entrance for the wastfull sea,
Whose billowes beating the resistlesse bankes,
Shall overflow it with their refluence.
Bash.
Well, Governor, since thou hast broke the league
By flat denyall of the promis'd Tribute,
Talke not of racing downe your City wals,
You shall not need trouble your selves so farre,
For Selim-Calymath shall come himselfe,
And with brasse-bullets batter downe your Towers,
And turne proud Malta to a wildernesse
For these intolerable wrongs of yours; And so farewell.
Gov.
Farewell:
And now you men of Malta looke about,
And let's provide to welcome Calymath:
Close your Port-cullise, charge your Basiliskes,
And as you profitably take up Armes,
So now couragiously encounter them;
For by this Answer, broken is the league,
And nought is to be look'd for now but warres,
And nought to us more welcome is then wars. Exeunt.
Enter two Fryars and Abigall.
1 Fry.
Oh brother, brother, all the Nuns are sicke,
And Physicke will not helpe them, they must dye.
2 Fry.
