The Jew of Malta.
I'le feast you, lodge you, give you faire words,
And after that, I and my trusty Turke
No more but so: it must and shall be done.
Ithimore, tell me, is the Fryar asleepe?
Enter Ithimore.
Ith.
Yes; and I know not what the reason is;
Doe what I can he will not strip himselfe,
Nor goe to bed, but sleepes in his owne clothes;
I feare me he mistrusts what we intend.
Bar.
No, 'tis an order which the Fryars use:
Yet if he knew our meanings, could he scape?
Ith.
No, none can heare him, cry he ne're so loud.
Bar.
Why true, therefore did I place him there:
The other Chambers open towards the street.
Ith.
You loyter, master, wherefore stay we thus?
Oh how I long to see him shake his heeles.
Bar.
Come on, sirra, off with your girdle, make a hansom noose;
Fryar awake.
Fry.
What doe you meane to strangle me?
Ith.
Yes, 'cause you use to confesse.
Bar.
Blame not vs but the proverb, Confes & be hang'd
Pull hard.
Fry.
What, will you save my life?
Bar.
Pull hard, I say, you would have had my goods.
Ith.
I, and our lives too, therefore pull amaine.
'Tis neatly done, Sir, here's no print at all.
Bar.
Then is it as it should be, take him vp.
Ith.
Nay, Mr. be rul'd by me a little; so, let him leane
Upon his staffe; excellent, he stands as if he were begging of Bacon.
Bar.
Who would not thinke but that this Fryar liv'd?
What time a night is't now, sweet Ithimore?
Ith.
Towards one.
Enter Jocoma.
Bar.
Then will not Jocoma be long from hence.
Joco.
This is the houre wherein I shall proceed;
Oh happy houre, wherein I shall convert
An
