The Jew of Malta.
Pil.
Knauely spoke, and like a Knight at Armes.
Ith.
Hey Rivo Castiliano, a man's a man.
Curt.
Now to the Jew.
Ith.
Ha to the Jew, and send me mony you were best.
Pil.
What wudst thou doe if he should send thee none?
Ith.
Doe nothing; but I know what I know,
He's a murderer.
Curt.
I had not thought he had been so brave a man.
Ith.
You knew Mathias and the Governors son, he and
I kild 'em both, and yet never touch'd 'em.
Pil.
Oh bravely done.
Ith.
I carried the broth that poyson'd the Nuns, and he
And I snicle hand too fast, strangled a Fryar.
Curt.
You two alone.
Ith.
We two, and 'twas never knowne, nor never shall
Be for me.
Pil.
This shall with me unto the Governor.
Curt.
And fit it should: but first let's ha more gold.
Come gentle Ithimore, lye in my lap.
Ith.
Love me little, love me long, let musicke rumble,
Whilst I in thy incoomy lap doe tumble.
Enter Barabas with a Lute, disguis'd.
Curt.
A French Musician, come let's heare your skill?
Bar.
Must tuna my Lute for sound, twang twang first.
Ith.
Wilt drinke French-man, here's to thee with a —
Pox on this drunken hick-up.
Bar.
Gramercy Mounsier.
Curt.
Prethe, Pilia-borza, bid the Fidler give me
The posey in his hat there.
Pil.
Sirra, you must give my mistris your posey.
Bar.
A voustre commandemente Madam.
Curt.
How sweet, my Ithimore, the flowers smell.
Ith.
Like thy breath, sweet-hart, no violet like 'em.
Pil.
Foh, me thinkes they stinke like a Holly-Hoke.
Bar.
So, now I am reveng'd upon 'em all.
The scent thereof was death, I poyson'd it.
Ith.
Play, Fidler, or I'le cut your cats guts into chitterlins
Bar.
