MOTHER. Who made them enemies?

Gov. 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 up

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, oùr losses equal are,

Then of true grief let us take equal share. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter ITHA MORE.

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 gentleman 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 Lodowick's disaster?

A BIG. 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.

236

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

the challenge. ABIG. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this, 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. IthẠ. 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.

239

Enter ITHAMORE and FRIAR.

FRI. Virgo, salve.

ITHA. When duck you ?

ABIG. Welcome, grave friar; Ithamore begone.

[Exit Ithamore.

Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.

FRI. Wherein?

ABIG. To get me be admitted for a nun. FRI. Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since That I did labour thy admission,

And then thou didst not like that holy life.

ABIG. Then were my thoughts so frail and un

confirm'd,

And I was chain'd to follies of the world:
But now experience, purchased with grief,
Has made me see the difference of things.
My sinful soul, alas, hath pac'd too long
The fatal labyrinth of misbelief,
Far from the Son that gives eternal life.
FRI. Who taught thee this?

ABIG. The abbess of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
Oh, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
Although unworthy of that sisterhood.

FRI. Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more, For that will be most heavy to thy soul.

ABIG. That was my father's fault.

FRI. Thy father's! how?

ABIG. Nay, you shall pardon me: oh, Barabas, Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,

Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life.

FRI. Come, shall we go?

ABIG. My duty waits on you.

SCENE IV.

Enter BARABAS, reading a letter.

[Exeunt.

BAR. What, Abigail become a nun again?

False and unkind; what, hast thou lost thy father? And all unknown, and unconstrain'd of me,

Art thou again got to the nunnery?

Now here she writes, and wills me to repent.
Repentance! Spurca! what pretendeth this?
I fear she knows ('tis so) of my device

In Don Mathias' and Lodovico's deaths:
If so, 'tis time that it be seen into :
For she that varies from me in belief,

Gives great presumption that she loves me not;
Or loving, doth dislike of something done.

But who comes here? Oh, Ithamore, come near;
Come near, my love; come near, thy master's life,
My trusty servant, nay, my second life;

For I have now no hope but even in thee:

And on that hope my happiness is built:

When saw'st thou Abigail?

ITHA. To day.

BAR. With whom?

ITHA. A friar.

BAR. A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.

ITHA. How, sir?

BAR. Why, made mine Abigail a nun.