 | The Famous Tragedy of The Rich Ievv of Malta |  |
Actus Tertius.
Enter a Curtezane.Since this Towne was besieg'd, my gaine growes cold:
The time has bin, that but for one bare night
A hundred Duckets haue bin freely giuen:
But now against my will I must be chast.
And yet I know my beauty doth not faile.
From Venice Merchants, and from Padua,
Were wont to come rare witted Gentlemen,
Schollers I meane, learned and liberall;
And now, saue Pilia-borza, comes there none,
And he is very seldome from my house;
And here he comes.
Enter Pilia-borza.
Pilia.
Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to spend.
Curt.
'Tis siluer, I disdaine it.
Pilia.
I, but the Iew has gold,
And I will haue it or it shall goe hard.
Curt.
Tell me, how cam'st thou by this?
Pilia.
Faith, walking the backe lanes through the Gardens
I chanc'd to cast mine eye vp to the Iewes counting-house
Where I saw some bags of mony, and in the night I
Clamber'd vp with my hooks, and as I was taking
My choyce, I heard a rumbling in the house; so I tooke
Enter Ithimere.
Curt.
Hide the bagge.
Pilia.
Looke not towards him, let's away:
Zoon's what a looking thou keep'st,
Thou'lt betraye's anon.
Ith.
O the sweetest face that euer I beheld! I know she is
A Curtezane by her attire: now would I giue a hundred
Of the Iewes Crownes that I had such a Concubine.
Well, I haue deliuer'd the challenge in such sort,
As meet they will, and fighting dye; braue sport.
Exit.
Enter Mathias.
Math.
This is the place, now Abigall shall see
Whether Mathias holds her deare or no.
Enter Lodow. reading.
Math.
What, dares the villain write in such base terms?
Lod.
I did it, and reuenge it if thou dar'st.
Fight: Enter Barabas aboue.
Bar.
Oh brauely fought, and yet they thrust not home.
Now Lodowicke, now Mathias, so;
So now they haue shew'd themselues to be tall fellowes.
Within,
Part 'em, part 'em.
Bar.
I, part 'em now they are dead: Farewell, farewell.
Exit.
Enter Gouernor. Mater.
Gov.
What sight is this? my Lodowicke slaine!
These armes of mine shall be thy Sepulchre.
Mater.
Who is this? my sonne Mathias slaine!
Gov.
Oh Lodowicke! hadst thou perish'd by the Turke,
Wretched Ferneze might haue veng'd thy death.
Mater.
Thy sonne slew mine, and I'le reuenge his death.
Gov.
Looke, Katherin, looke, thy sonne gaue mine these woūds
Mat.
O leaue to griue me, I am grieu'd enough.
Gov.
Oh that my sighs could turne to liuely breath;
And these my teares to blood, that he might liue.
Mater.
Who made them enemies?
I know not, and that grieues me most of all.
Mat.
My sonne lou'd thine.
Gov.
And so did Lodowicke him.
Mat.
Lend me that weapon that did kill my sonne,
And it shall murder me.
Gov,
Nay Madem stay, that weapon was my son's,
And on that rather should Ferneze dye.
Mat.
Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths,
That we may venge their blood vpon their heads.
Gov.
Then take them vp, and let them be interr'd
Within one sacred monument of stone;
Vpon which Altar I will offer vp
My daily sacrifice of sighes and teares,
And with my prayers pierce impartiall heauens,
Till they the causers of our smarts,
Which forc'd their hands diuide vnited hearts:
Come, Katherina, our losses equall are,
Then of true griefe let vs take equall share.
Exeunt.
Enter Ithimore.
Ith.
Why was there euer seene such villany, so neatly
Plotted, and so well perform'd? both held in hand, and
Flatly both be guil'd.
Enter Abigall.
Abig.
Why how now Ithimore, why laugh'st thou so?
Ith.
Oh, Mistresse, ha ha ha.
Abig.
Why what ayl'st thou?
Ith.
Oh my master.
Abig.
Ha.
Ith.
Oh Mistris! I haue the brauest, grauest, secret, subtil
Bottle-nos'd knaue to my Master, that euer Gentleman had.
Abig.
Say, knaue, why rail'st vpon my father thus?
Ith.
Oh, my master has the brauest policy.
Abig.
Wherein?
Ith.
Why, know you not?
Abig.
Why no.
Ith.
Know you not of Mathia & Don Lodowick disaster?
No, what was it?
Ith.
Why the deuil inuented a challenge, my Mr. writ it,
And I carried it, first to Lodowicke, and imprimis to Mathia.
And then they met, as the story sayes,
In dolefull wise they ended both their dayes.
Abig.
And was my father furtherer of their deaths?
Ith.
Am I Ithimore?
Abig.
Yes.
Ith.
So sure did your father write, & I cary the chalenge.
Abig.
Well, Ithimore, let me request thee this,
Goe to the new made Nunnery, and inquire
For any of the Fryars of St. Iaynes,
And say, I pray them come and speake with me.
Ith.
I pray, mistris, wil you answer me to one question?
Abig.
Well, sirra, what is't?
Ith.
A very feeling one; haue not the Nuns fine sport
With the Fryars now and then?
Abig.
Go to, sirra sauce, is this your question? get ye gon
Ith.
I will forsooth, Mistris.
Exit.
Abig.
Hard-hearted Father, unkind Barabas,
Was this the pursuit of thy policie?
To make me shew them fauour seuerally,
That by my fauour they should both be slaine?
Admit thou lou'dst not Lodowicke for his sinne,
Yet Don Mathias ne're offended thee:
But thou wert set vpon extreme reuenge,
Because the Pryor dispossest thee once,
And couldst not venge it, but vpon his sonne,
Nor on his sonne, but by Mathias meanes;
Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me.
But I perceiue there is no loue on earth,
Pitty in Iewes, nor piety in Turkes.
But here Comes cursed Ithimore with the Fryar.
Enter Ithimore, Fryar.
Fry.
Uirgo, salve.
Ith.
When ducke you?
Abig.
Welcome graue Fryar; Ithamore begon,
Exit.
Fry.
Wherein?
Abig.
To get me be admitted for a Nun.
Fry.
Why Abigal it is not yet long since
That I did labour thy admition,
And then thou didst not like that holy life.
Abig.
Then were my thoughts so fraile & vnconfirm'd,
And I was chain'd to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with griefe,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinfull soule, alas, hath pac'd too long
The fatall Labyrinth of misbeleefe,
Farre from the Sonne that giues eternall life.
Fry.
Who taught thee this?
Abig.
The Abbasse of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace;
Oh therefore, Iacomi, let me be one,
Although unworthy of that Sister-hood.
Fry.
Abigal I will, but see, thou change no more,
For that will be most heauy to thy soule.
Abig.
That was my father's fault.
Fry.
Thy father's, how?
Abig.
Nay, you shall pardon me: oh Barabas,
Though thou deseruest hardly at my hands,
Yet neuer shall these lips bewray thy life.
Fry.
Come, shall we goe?
Abig.
My duty waits on you.
Exeunt.
Enter Barabas reading a letter.
Bar.
What, Abigall become a Nunne againe?
False, and vnkinde; what hast thou lost thy father?
And all vnknowne, and vnconstrain'd of me,
Art thou againe got to the Nunnery?
Now here she writes, and wils me to repent.
Repentance? Spurea: what pretendeth this?
I feare she knowes ('tis so) of my deuice
In Don Mathias and Lodovicoes deaths:
If so, 'tis time that it be seene into
Giues great presumption that she loues me not;
Or louing, doth dislike of something done.
But who comes here? Oh Ithimore come neere;
Come neere my loue, come neere thy masters life,
My trusty seruant, nay, my second life;
For I haue now no hope but euen in thee;
And on that hope my happinesse is built:
When saw'st thou Abigall?
Ith.
To day.
Bar.
With whom?
Ith.
A Fryar.
Bar.
A Fryar? false villaine, he hath done the deed.
Ith.
How, Sir?
Bar.
Why made mine Abigall a Nunne.
Ith.
That's no lye, for she sent me for him.
Brr.
Oh vnhappy day,
False, credulous, inconstant Abigall!
But let 'em goe: And Ithimore, from hence
Ne're shall she grieue me more with her disgrace;
Ne're shall she liue to inherit ought of mine,
Be blest of me, nor come within my gates,
But perish vnderneath my bitter curse
Like Cain by Adam, for his brother's death.
Ith.
Oh master.
Bar.
Ithimore, intreat not for her, I am mou'd,
And she is hatefull to my soule and me:
And least thou yeeld to this that I intreat,
I cannot thinke but that thou hat'st my life.
Ith.
Who I, master? Why I'le run to some rocke and
Throw my selfe headlong into the sea; Why I'le doe any
Thing for your sweet sake.
Bar.
Oh trusty Ithimore; no seruant, but my friend;
I here adopt thee for mine onely heire,
All that I haue is thine when I am dead,
And whilst I liue vse halfe; spend as my selfe;
Here take my keyes, I'le giue 'em thee anon:
Onely know this, that thus thou art to doe:
But first goe fetch me in the pot of Rice
That for our supper stands vpon the fire.
Ith.
I hold my head my master's hungry: I goe Sir.
Exit.
Bar.
Thus euery villaine ambles after wealth
Although he ne're be richer then in hope:
But hush't.
Enter Ithimore with the pot.
Ith.
Here 'tis, Master.
Bar.
Well said, Ithimore; what hast thou brought
The Ladle with thee too?
Ith.
Yes, Sir, the prouerb saies, he that eats with the deuil
Had need of a long spoone, I haue brought you a Ladle.
Bar.
Very well, Ithimore, then now be secret,
And for thy sake, whom I so dearely loue,
Now shalt thou see the death of Abigall,
That thou mayst freely liue to be my heire.
Ith.
Why, master, wil you poison her with a messe of rice
Porredge that wil preserue life, make her round & plump,
And batten more then you are aware.
Bar.
I but Ithimore seest thou this?
It is a precious powder that I bought
Of an Italian in Ancona once;
Whose operation is to binde, infect,
And poyson deeply: yet not appeare
In forty houres after it is tane.
Ith.
How master?
Bar.
Thus Ithimore:
This Euen they vse in Malta here ('tis call'd
Saint Iagues Euen) and then I say they vse
To send their Almes vnto the Nunneries:
Among the rest beare this, and set it there;
There's a darke entry where they take it in,
Where they must neither see the messenger,
Nor make enquiry who hath sent it them,
How so?
Bar.
Belike there is some Ceremony in't.
There Ithimore must thou goe place this plot:
Stay, let me spice it first.
Ith.
Pray doe, and let me help you Mr. Pray let me taste first.
Bar.
Prethe doe: what saist thou now?
Ith.
Troth Mr. I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoyld.
Bar.
Peace, Ithimore, 'tis better so then spar'd.
Assure thy selfe thou shalt haue broth by the eye.
My purse, my Coffer, and my selfe is thine.
Ith.
Well, master, I goe.
Bar.
Stay, first let me stirre it Ithimore.
As fatall be it to her as the draught
Of which great Alexander drunke, and dyed:
And with her let it worke like Borgias wine,
Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poyson'd.
In few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane;
The iouyce of Hebor, and Cocitus breath,
And all the poysons of the Stygian poole
Breake from the fiery kingdome; and in this
Vomit your venome, and inuenome her
That like a fiend hath left her father thus.
Ith.
What a blessing has he giu'nt? was euer pot of
Rice porredge so sauc't? what shall I doe with it?
Bar.
Oh my sweet Ithimore goe set it downe
And come againe so soone as thou hast done,
For I haue other businesse for thee.
Ith.
Here's a drench to poyson a whole stable of
Flanders mares: I'le carry't to the Nuns with a powder.
Bar.
And the horse pestilence to boot; away.
Ith.
I am gone.
Pay me my wages for my worke is done.
Exit.
Bar.
Ile pay thee with a vengeance Ithamore.
Exit.
Enter Govern, Byseo, Knights, Bashaw.
Gov.
Welcome great Bashaws, how fares Callymath,
What wind drives you thus into Malta rhode?
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 haue no tribute here,
Nor shall the Heathens liue vpon our spoyle:
First will we race the City wals our selues,
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 ouerflow it with their refluence.
Bash.
Well, Gouernor, 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 selues 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 prouide to welcome Calymath:
Close your Port-cullise, charge your Basiliskes,
And as you profitably take vp 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 vs 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.
The Abbasse sent for me to be confest:
Oh what a sad confession will there be?
1 Fry.
And so did faire Maria send for me:
I'le to her lodging; hereabouts she lyes.
Exit.
Enter Abigall.
2 Fry.
What, all dead saue onely Abigall?
Abig.
And I shall dye too, for I feele death comming.
Where is the Fryar that conuerst with me?
2 Fry.
Oh he is gone to see the other Nuns.
Abig.
I sent for him, but seeing you are come
Be you my ghostly father; and first know,
That in this house I liu'd religiously,
Chast, and deuout, much sorrowing for my sinnes,
But e're I came—
2 Fry.
What then?
Abig.
I did offend high heauen so grieuously?
As I am almost desperate for my sinnes:
And one offence torments me more then all.
You knew Mathias and Don Lodowicke?
2 Fry.
Yes, what of them?
Abig.
My father did contract me to 'em both:
First to Don Lodowicke, him I neuer lou'd;
Mathias was the man that I held deare,
And for his sake did I become a Nunne.
2 Fry.
So, say how was their end?
Abig.
Both iealous of my loue, enuied each other:
And by my father's practice, which is there
Set downe at large, the Gallants were both slaine.
2 Fry.
Oh monstrous villany:
Abig.
To worke my peace, this I confesse to thee:
Reueale it not, for then my father dyes.
2 Fry.
Know that Confession must not be reueal'd,
The Canon Law forbids it, and the Priest
That makes it knowne, being degraded first,
Shall be condemn'd and then sent to the fire,
Abig.
So I haue heard; pray therefore keepe it close,
Death seizeth on my heart, ah gentle Fryar
And witnesse that I dye a Christian.
2 Fry.
I, and a Virgin too, that grieues me most:
But I must to the Iew and exclaime on him,
And make him stand in feare of me.
Enter 1 Fryar.
1 Fry.
Oh brother, all the Nuns are dead, let's bury them.
2 Fry.
First helpe to bury this, then goe with me
And helpe me to exclaime against the Iew.
1 Fry.
Why? what has he done?
2 Fry,
A thing that makes me tremble to vnfold.
1 Fry.
What has he crucified a child?
2 Fry.
No, but a worse thing: 'twas told me in shrift,
Thou know'st 'tis death and if it be reueal'd.
Come let's away.
Exeunt.
| The Famous Tragedy of The Rich Ievv of Malta | |