Act Two, Scene ThreeEnter Officers with slaves.
This is the Market-place, here let 'em stand
Feare not their sale, for they'll be quickly bought.
Every ones price is written on his backe,
And so much must they yeeld or not be sold.
Here comes the Jew, had not his goods bin seiz'd,
He'de give us present mony for them all.
In spite of these swine-eating Christians,
(Unchosen Nation, never circumciz'd;
Such as, poore villaines, were ne're thought upon
Till Titus and Vespasian conquer'd us)
Am I become as wealthy as I was:
They hop'd my daughter would ha bin a Nun;
But she's at home, and I have bought a house
As great and faire as is the Governors;
And there in spite of Malta will I dwell:
Having Fernezes hand, whose heart I'le have;
I, and his sonnes too, or it shall goe hard.
I am not of the Tribe of Levy, I,
That can so soone forget an injury.
We Jewes can fawne like Spaniels when we please;
And when we grin we bite, yet are our lookes
As innocent and harmelesse as a Lambes.
I learn'd in Florence how to kisse my hand,
Heave up my shoulders when they call me dogge,
And ducke as low as any bare-foot Fryar,
Hoping to see them starve upon a stall,
Or else be gather'd for in our Synagogue;
That when the offering-Bason comes to me,
Even for charity I may spit intoo't.
Here comes Don Lodowicke the Governor's sonne,
One that I love for his good fathers sake.
I heare the wealthy Jew walked this way;
I'le seeke him out, and so insinuate,
That I may have a sight of Abigall;
For Don Mathias tels me she is faire.
Now will I shew my selfe to have more of the Serpent then the Dove; that is, more knave than foole. Lodowicke
Yond walks the Jew, now for faire Abigall.
I, I, no doubt but shee's at your command.
Barabas, thou know'st I am the Governors sonne.
I wud you were his father too, Sir, that's al the harm I
wish you: the slave looks like a hogs cheek new sindg'd. [Aside.]
Whither walk'st thou, Barabas?
No further: 'tis a custome held with us,
That when we speake with Gentiles like to you,
We turne into the Ayre to purge our selves:
For unto us the Promise cloth belong.
Well, Barabas, canst helpe me to a Diamond?
Oh, Sir, your father had my Diamonds.
Yet I have one left that will serve your turne:
I meane my daughter:—but e're he shall have her
I'le sacrifice her on a pile of wool.
I ha the poyson of the City for him,
And the white leprosie.
What sparkle does it give without a foile?
The Diamond that I talke of, ne'r was foild:
But when he touches it, it will be foild:
Lord Lodowicke, it sparkles bright and faire.
Is it square or pointed, pray let me know.
Pointed it is, good Sir,—but not for you.
I like it much the better.
So doe I too.
How showes it by night?
Outshines Cinthia's rayes:
You'le like it better farre a nights than dayes.
And what's the price?
Your life and if you have it.—
Oh my Lord we will not jarre about the price;
Come to my house and I will giv't your honour—
With a vengeance.
No, Barabas, I will deserve it first.
Your father has deserv'd it at my hands,
Who of meere charity and Christian ruth,
To bring me to religious purity,
And as it were in Catechising sort,
To make me mindfull of my mortall sinnes,
Against my will, and whether I would or no,
Seiz'd all I had, and thrust me out a doves,
And made my house a place for Nuns most chast.
No doubt your soule shall reape the fruit of it.
I, but my Lord, the harvest is farre off:
And yet I know the prayers of those Nuns
And holy Fryers, having mony for their paines,
Are wondrous; and indeed doe no man good:
And seeing they are not idle, but still doing,
'Tis likely they in time may reape some fruit,
I meane in fulnesse of perfection.
Good Barabas glance not at our holy Nuns.
No, but I doe it through a burning zeale,
Hoping ere long to set the house a fire;
For though they doe a while increase and multiply,
I'le have a saying to that Nunnery.
As for the Diamond, Sir, I told you of,
Come home and there's no price shall make us part,
Even for your Honourable fathers sake.
It shall goe hard but I will see your death.
But now I must be gone to buy a slave.
And, Barabas, I'le beare thee company.
Come then, here's the marketplace; whats the price of
this slave, two hundred Crowns? Do the Turkes weigh so much? 1. Officer
Sir, that's his price.
What, can he steale that you demand so much?
Belike he has some new tricke for a purse;
And if he has, he is worth three hundred plats.
So that, being bought, the Towne-seale might be got
To keepe him for his life time from the gallowes.
The Sessions day is criticall to theeves,
And few or none scape but by being purg'd.
Ratest thou this Moorebut at two hundred plats?
No more, my Lord.
Why should this Turke be dearer then that Moore? 1. Officer
Because he is young and has more qualities.
What, hast the Philosophers stone? and thou hast,
breake my head with it, I'le forgive thee.
No Sir, I can cut and shave.
Let me see, sirra, are you not an old shaver?
Alas, Sir, I am a very youth.
A youth? I'le buy you, and marry you to Lady vanity,
if you doe well.
I will serve you, Sir.
Some wicked trick or other. It may be under colourof
shaving, thou'lt cut my throat for my goods.
Tell me, hast thou thy health well?
I, passing well.
So much the worse; I must have one that's sickly, and
be but for sparing vittles: 'tis not a stone of beef a day will main-
taine you in these chops; let me see one that's somewhat leaner.
Here's a leaner, how like you him?
Where was thou borne?
In Trace; brought up in Arabia. Barabas
So much the better, thou art for my turne.
An hundred Crownes, I'le have him; there's the coyne.
Then marke him, Sir, and take him hence.
I, marke him, you were best, for this is he
That by my helpe shall doe much villanie.
My Lord farewell: Come Sirra you are mine.
As for the Diamond it shall be yours;
I pray, Sir, be no stranger at my house,
All that I have shall be at your command.
What makes the Jew and Lodowicke so private?
I feare me 'tis about faire Abigall.
Yonder comes Don Mathias, let us stay;
He loves my daughter, and she holds him deare:
But I have sworne to frustrate both their hopes,
And be reveng'd upon the —Governor.
This Moore is comeliest, is he not? speake son.
No, this is the better, mother, view this well.
Seeme not to know me here before your mother
Lest she mistrust the match that is in hand:
When you have brought her home, come to my house;
Thinke of me as thy father; Sonne farewell.
But wherefore talk'd Von Lodowick with you?
Tush man, we talk'd of Diamonds, not of Abigal.
Tell me, Mathias, is not that the Jew?
As for the Comment on the Machabees
I have it, Sir, and 'tis at your command.
Yes, Madam, and my talke with him was but
About the borrowing of a booke or two.
Converse not with him, he is cast off from heaven.
Thou hast thy Crownes, fellow, come let's away.
Exeunt [Mater and slave].
Sirra, Jew, remember the booke.
Marry will I, Sir.
Come, I have made a reasonable market,
[Exeunt Officers with slaves.]
Now let me know thy name, and therewithall
Thy birth, condition, and profession.
Faith, Sir, my birth is but meane, my name's Ithimor,
My profession what you please.
Hast thou no Trade? then listen to my words,
And I will teach thee that shall sticke by thee:
First be thou voyd of these affections,
Compassion, love, vaine hope, and hartlesse feare,
Be mov'd at nothing, see thou pitty none,
But to thy selfe smile when the Christians moane.
Oh brave, master, I worship your nose for this.
As for my selfe, I walke abroad a nights
And kill sicke people groaning under walls:
Sometimes I goe about and poyson wells;
And now and then, to cherish Christian theeves,
I am content to lose some of my Crownes;
That I may, walking in my Gallery,
See 'em goe pinion'd along by my dove.
Being young I studied Physicke, and began
To practice first upon the Italian;
There I enrich'd the Priests with burials,
And alwayes kept the Sexton's armes in ure
With digging graves and ringing dead mens keels:
And after that I was an Engineere,
And in the warres 'twixt France and Germanie,
Under presence of helping Charles the fifth,
Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems.
Then after that was I an Usurer,
And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting,
And tricks belonging unto Brokery,
I fill'd the Jailes with Bankrouts in a yeare,
And with young Orphans planted Hospitals,
And every Moone made some or other mad,
And now and then one hang himselfe for griefe,
Pinning upon his breast a long great Scrowle
How I with interest tormented him.
But marke how I am blest for plaguing them,
I have as much coyne as will buy the Towne.
But tell me now, How hast thou spent thy time?
In setting christian villages on fire,
Chaining of Eunuches, binding gally-slaves.
One time I was an Hostler in an Inne,
And in the night time secretly would I steale
To travellers Chambers, and there cut their throats:
Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel'd,
I strowed powder on the Marble stones,
And therewithall their knees would ranckle, so
That I have laugh'd agood to see the cripples
Goe limping home to Christendome on stilts.
Why this is something: make account of me
As of thy fellow; we are villaines both:
Both circumcized, we hate Christians both:
Be true and secret, thou shalt want no gold.
But stand aside, here comes Don Lodowicke.
Oh Barabas well met;
Where is the Diamond you told me of?
I have it for you, Sir; please you walke in with me:
What, ho, Abigall; open the doore I say.
In good time, father, here are letters come
From Ormus, and the Post stayes here within.
Give me the letters, daughter, doe you heare?
Entertaine Lodowicke the Governors sonne
With all the curtesie you can affoord;
Provided, that you keepe your Maiden-head.
Use him as if he were a—Philistine.
Dissemble, sweare, protest, vow to love him,
He is not of the seed of Abraham.
I am a little busie, Sir, pray pardon me.
Abigall, bid him welcome for my sake.
For your sake and his own he's welcome hither.
Daughter, a word more; kisse him, speake him faire,
And like a cunning Jew so cast about,
That ye be both made sure e're you come out.
O father, Don Mathias is my love.
I know it: yet I say make love to him;
Doe, it is requisite it should be so.
Nay on my life it is my Factors hand,
But goe you in, I'le thinke upon the account:
[Exeunt Lodowicke and Abigall.]
The account is made, for Lodovico dyes.
My Factor sends me word a Merchant's fled
That owes me for a hundred Tun of Wine:
I weigh it thus much; I have wealth enough.
For now by this has he kist Abigall;
And she vowes love to him, and hee to her.
As sure as heaven rain'd Manna for the Jewes,
So sure shall he and Don Mathias dye:
His father was my chiefest enemie.
Whither goes Don Mathias? stay a while.
Whither but to my faire love Abigall?
Thou know'st, and heaven can witnesse it is true,
That I intend my daughter shall be thine.
I, Barabas, or else thou wrong'st me much.
Oh heaven forbid I should have such a thought.
Pardon me though I weepe; the Governors sonne
Will, whether I will or no, have Abigall:
He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings.
Does she receive them?
Shee? No, Mathias, no, but sends them backe,
And when he comes, she lockes her selfe up fast;
Yet through the key-hole will he talke to her,
While she runs to the window looking out
When you should come and hale him from the doore.
Oh treacherous Lodowicke!
Even now as I came home, he slips me in,
And I am sure he is with Abigall.
I'le rouze him thence.
Not for all Malta, therefore sheath your sword;
If you love me, no quarrels in my house;
But steale you in, and seeme to see him not;
I'le give him such a warning e're he goes
As he shall have small hopes of Abigall.
Away, for here they come.
Enter Lodowicke, Abigall.
What, hand in hand, I cannot suffer this.
Mathias, as thou lov'st me, not a word.
Well, let it passe, another time shall serve.
Barabas, is not that the widowes sonne?
I, and take heed, for he hath sworne your death.
My death? what, is the base borne peasant mad?
No, no, but happily he stands in feare
Of that which you, I thinke, ne're dreame upon,
My daughter here, a paltry silly girle.
Why, loves she Don Mathias?
Doth she not with her smiling answer you?
He has my heart, I smile against my will.
Barabas, thou know'st I have lov'd thy daughter long.
And so has she done you, even from a child.
And now I can no longer hold my minde.
Nor I the affection that I beare to you.
This is thy Diamond, tell me, shall I have it?
Win it, and weare it, it is yet unfoyl'd.
Oh but I know your Lordship wud disdaine
To marry with the daughter of a Jew:
And yet I'le give her many a golden crosse
With Christian posies round about the ring.
'Tis not thy wealth, but her that I esteeme,
Yet crave I thy consent.
And mine you have, yet let me talke to her;
This offspring of Cain, this Jebusite
That never tasted of the Passeover,
Nor e're shall see the land of Canaan,
Nor our Messias that is yet to come,
This gentle Magot, Lodowicke I meane,
Must be deluded: let him have thy hand,
But keepe thy heart till Don Mathias comes.
What, shall I be betroth'd to Lodowicke?
It's no sinne to deceive a Christian;
For they themselves hold it a principle,
Faith is not to be held with Heretickes;
But all are Hereticks that are not Jewes;
This followes well, and therefore daughter feare not.
I have intreated her, and she will grant.
Then gentle Abigal plight thy faith to me.
I cannot chuse, seeing my father bids:—
Nothing but death shall part my love and me.
Now have I that for which my soule hath long'd.
So have not I, but yet I hope I shall.
Oh wretched Abigal, what hast thou done?
Why on the sudden is your colour chang'd?
I know not, but farewell, I must be gone.
Stay her,— but let her not speake one word more.
Mute a the sudden; here's a sudden change.
Oh muse not at it, 'tis the Hebrewes guize,
That maidens new betroth'd should weepe a while:
Trouble her not, sweet Lodowicke depart:
Shee is thy wife, and thou shalt be mine heire.
Oh, is't the custome, then I am resolv'd:
But rather let the brightsome heavens be dim,
And Natures beauty choake with stifeling clouds,
Then my faire Abigal should frowne on me.
There comes the villaine, now I'le be reveng'd.
Be quiet Lodowicke, it is enough
That I have made thee sure to Abigal.
Well, let him goe.
Well, but for me, as you went in at dores
You had bin stab'd, but not a word on't now;
Here must no speeches passe, nor swords be drawne.
Suffer me, Barabas, but to follow him.
No; so shall I, if any hurt be done,
Be made an accessary of your deeds;
Revenge it on him when you meet him next.
For this I'le have his heart.
Doe so; loe here I give thee Abigall.
What greater gift can poore Mathias have?
Shall Lodowicke rob me of so faire a love?
My life is not so deare as Abigall.
My heart misgives me, that to crosse your love,
Hee's with your mother, therefore after him.
What, is he gone unto my mother?
Nay, if you will, stay till she comes her selfe.
I cannot stay; for if my mother come,
Shee'll dye with griefe.
I cannot take my leave of him for teares:
Father, why have you thus incenst them both?
What's that to thee?
I'le make 'em friends againe.
You'll make 'em friends?
Are there not Jewes enow in Malta,
But thou must dote upon a Christian?
I will have Don Mathias, he is my love.
Yes, you shall have him: Goe put her in.
I, I'le put her in.
Now tell me, Ithimore, how lik'st thou this?
Faith Master, I thinke by this
You purchase both their lives; is it not so?
True; and it shall be cunningly perform'd.
Oh, master, that I might have a hand in this.
I, so thou shalt, 'tis thou must doe the deed:
Take this and beare it to Mathias streight,
And tell him that it comes from Lodowicke.
Tis poyson'd, is it not?
No, no, and yet it might be done that way:
It is a challenge feign'd from Lodowicke.
Feare not, I'le so set his heart a fire,
That he shall verily thinke it comes from him.
I cannot choose but like thy readinesse:
Yet be not rash, but doe it cunningly.
As I behave my selfe in this, imploy me hereafter.
So, now will I goe in to Lodowicke,
And like a cunning spirit feigne some lye,
Till I have set 'em both at enmitie.