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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!
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
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
Take this, and bear it to Mathias straight,
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,
ACT THE THIRD.
The time has been, that but for one bare night
thee to spend.
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
Plotted, and so well perform'd? both held in hand, and
Flatly both beguil'd.
Itha. Oh, mistress, ha! ha! ha!
Bottle-nos'd knave to my master, that ever gentle-
Itha. Oh, my master has the bravest policy.
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
Itha. Am I Ithamore?
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,