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She'll die with grief. [Exit.

Abig. I cannot take my leave of him for tears: Father, why have you thus incens'd them both?

Bab. What's that to thee?

Abig. I'll make 'em friends again.

Bab. You'll make 'em friends!
Are there not Jews enough in Malta.
But thou must doat upon a Christian?

Abig. I will have Don Mathias, he is my love.

Bab. Yes, you shall have him: go, put her in.

Itha. Aye, I'll put her in.

Bab. Now tell me, Ithamore, how lik'st thou this?

Itha. Faith, master, I think by this
You purchase both their lives; is it not so?

Bar. True; and it shall be cunningly perform'd.

Itha. Oh, master, that I might have a hand in this.

Bar. Aye, so thou shalt, 'tis thou must do the

deed:

Take this, and bear it to Mathias straight,
And tell him that it comes from Lodowick.

Itha. 'Tis poison'd, is it not?

Bar. No, no, and yet it might be done that way: It is a challenge feign'd from Lodowick.

Itha. Fear not, I'll so set his heart a fire, that he Shall verily think it comes from him.

Bab. I cannot choose but like thy readiness: Yet be not rash, but do it cunningly.

Itha. As I behave myself in this, employ me hereafter.

Bar. Away then. \ I'.fit

So, now will I s,o into Lodowick,
And, like a cunning spirit, feign some lie,
Till I have set them both at enmity. [Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.
Enter a Courtezan.
Court. Since this town was besieg'd, my gain

grows cold:

The time has been, that but for one bare night
A hundred ducats have been freely given:
But now against my will I must be chaste;
And yet I know my beauty doth not fail.
Fiom Venice, merchants, and from Padua
Were wont to come rare-witted gentlemen,
Scholars I mean, learned and liberal;
And now, save Pilia-borza, comes there none,
And he is very seldom from my house;
And here he comes.

Enter Pilia-borza.
Pilia. Hold thee, wench, there's something for

thee to spend.
Court. 'Tis silver, I disdain it.

Mother. Who made them enemies?

Go v. I know not, and that grieves me most of all.

Mother. My son lov'd thine.

Gov. And so did Lodowick him.

Mother. Lend me that weapon that did kill my

son, And it shall murder me.

Gov. Nay, madam, stay, that weapon was my

son's. And on that rather should Ferneze die.

Mother. Hold, let's inquire the causers of their

deaths, That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads.

Gov. Then take them up, and let them be interr'd Within one sacred monument of stone; Upon which altar I will offer tip My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears, And with my prayers pierce impartial heavens, Till they, the causers of our smarts, Which forc'd their hands divide united hearts: Come, Katherine, our losses equal are, Then of true grief let us take equal share. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Enter Ithamore. Itha. Why, was there ever seen such villainy, so

neatly

Plotted, and so well perform'd? both held in hand, and

Flatly both beguil'd.

Enter Abigail.
Abig. Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st

thou so?

Itha. Oh, mistress, ha! ha! ha!
Abig. Why, what ail'st thou?
Itha. Oh, my master.
Abig. Ha!
Itha. Oh, mistress! I have the bravest, gravest,

secret, subtle

Bottle-nos'd knave to my master, that ever gentle-
man had
Abig. Say, knave,. why rail'st upon my father

thus?

Itha. Oh, my master has the bravest policy.
Abig. Wherein?
Itha. Why, know you not?
Abig. Why, no.
Itha. Know you not of Mathias, and Don Lodo-

wick's disaster? Abig. No, what was it?

Itha. Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathias. And then they met, and, as the story says, In doleful wise they ended both their days. Abig. And was my father furtherer of their

deaths?

Itha. Am I Ithamore?
Abig. Yes.

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Itha. So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.

Auk;. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee thk, Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire For any of the friars of St. Jaques, And say, I pray them come and speak with me.

Itha. I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question?

Abig. Well, sirrah, what is't?

Itha. A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine

sport With the friars now and then?

Abig. Go to, sirrah, sauce, is this your question? get ye gone.

Itha. I will, forsooth, mistress. [Exit.

Abig. Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas,
Was this the pursuit of thy policy?
To make me show them favour severally,
That by my favour they should both be slain?
Admit thou lov'dst not Lodowick for his sin,.
Yet Don Mathias ne'er offended thee:
But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
Because the Prior dispossess'd thee once,
And could'st not 'venge it, but upon his son,
Nor on his son, but by Mathias' means;
Nor on Mathias, but by murdering me.
But I perceive there is no love on earth,
Pity in Jews, or piety in Turks.
But here comes cursed Ithamore, with the friar.

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