Act Four, Scene ThreeEnter Barabas, reading a letter.
Barabas send me three hundred Crownes.
Plaine Barabas: oh that wicked Curtezane!
He was not wont to call me Barabas.
Or else I will confesse: I, there it goes:
But if I get him,Coupe de Gorgefor that.
He sent a shaggy totter'd staring slave,
That when he speakes, drawes out his grisly beard,
And winds it twice or thrice about his eare;
Whose face has bin a grind-stone for mens swords,
His hands are hacks, some fingers cut quite off;
Who when he speakes, grunts like a hog, and looks
Like one that is imploy'd in Catzerie
And crosbiting, such a Rogue
As is the husband to a hundred whores:
And I by him must send three hundred crownes.
Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still;
And when he comes: oh that he were but here!
Jew, I must ha more gold. Barabas
Why, wantst thou any of thy tale?
No; but three hundred will not serve his turne.
Not serve his turne, Sir?
No Sir; and therefore I must have five hundred more.
Oh good words, Sir, and send it you, weere best se;
there's his letter.
Might he not as well come as send; pray bid him come
and fetch it: what tree writes for you, ye shall have streight.
I, and the rest too, or else—
I must make this villaine away: please you dine with me,
Sir, and you shal be most hartily poyson'd. [Aside.]
No god-a-mercy, shall I have these crownes?
I cannot doe it, I have lost my keyes.
Oh, if that be all, I can picke ope your locks.
Or climbe up to my Counting-house window: you know
I know enough, and therfore talke not to me of your
Counting-house: the gold, or know Jew it is in my power to
hang thee. Barabas
I am betraid.—
'Tis not five hundred Crownes that I esteeme,
I am not mov'd at that: this angers me,
That he who knowes I love him as my selfe
Should write in this imperious vaine! why Sir,
You know I have no childe, and unto whom
Should I leave all but unto Ithimore?
Here's many words but no crownes; the crownes. Barabas
Commend me to him, Sir, most humbly,
And unto your good mistris as unknowne.
Speake, shall I have 'um, Sir? Barabas
Sir, here they are.
Oh that I should part with so much gold!
Here take 'em, fellow, with as good a will—
As I wud see thee hang'd; oh, love stops my breath:
Never lov'd man servant as I doe Ithimore.
I know it, Sir. Barabas
Pray when, Sir, shall I see you at my house?
Soone enough to your cost, Sir: Fare you well.
Nay to thine owne cost, villaine, if thou com'st.
Was ever Jew tormented as I am?
To have a shag-rag knave to come demand
Three hundred Crownes, and then five hundred Crownes?
Well, I must seeke a meanes to rid 'em all,
And presently: for in his villany
He will tell all he knowes and I shall dye for't.
I have it.
I will in some disguize goe see the slave,
And how the villaine revels with my gold.