The Jew of Malta Act III.
by Christopher Marlowe

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Act III.

Footnotes

          Enter BELLAMIRA. 91

BELLAMIRA. 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.
]From 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-BORZA.
Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to spend.
[Shewing a bag of silver.]

BELLAMIRA. 'Tis silver; I disdain it.

PILIA-BORZA. Ay, but the Jew has gold,
And I will have it, or it shall go hard.

BELLAMIRA. Tell me, how cam'st thou by this?

PILIA-BORZA. Faith, walking the back-lanes, through the gardens,
I chanced to cast mine eye up to the Jew's counting-house, where
I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clambered up with
my hooks; and, as I was taking my choice, I heard a rumbling in
the house; so I took only this, and run my way.—But here's the
Jew's man.

BELLAMIRA. Hide the bag.

Enter ITHAMORE.

PILIA-BORZA. Look not towards him, let's away. Zoons, what a
looking thou keepest! thou'lt betray's anon.
[Exeunt BELLAMIRA and PILIA-BORZA.]

ITHAMORE. O, the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she
is a courtezan by her attire: now would I give a hundred of
the Jew's crowns that I had such a concubine.
Well, I have deliver'd the challenge in such sort,
As meet they will, and fighting die,—brave sport!
[Exit.]

Enter MATHIAS.

MATHIAS. This is the place: 92 now Abigail shall see
Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.

Enter LODOWICK.

What, dares the villain write in such base terms?
[Looking at a letter.]

LODOWICK. I did it; and revenge it, if thou dar'st!
[They fight.]

Enter BARABAS above.

BARABAS. O, bravely fought! and yet they thrust not home.
Now, Lodovico! 93 now, Mathias!—So;
[Both fall.]
So, now they have shew'd themselves to be tall 94 fellows.

[Cries within] Part 'em, part 'em!

BARABAS. Ay, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell!
[Exit above.]

Enter FERNEZE, KATHARINE, and ATTENDANTS.

FERNEZE. What sight is this! 95 my Lodovico 96 slain!
These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre. 97

KATHARINE. Who is this? my son Mathias slain!

FERNEZE. O Lodowick, hadst thou perish'd by the Turk,
Wretched Ferneze might have veng'd thy death!

KATHARINE. Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death.

FERNEZE. Look, Katharine, look! thy son gave mine these wounds.

KATHARINE. O, leave to grieve me! I am griev'd enough.

FERNEZE. O, that my sighs could turn to lively breath,
And these my tears to blood, that he might live!

KATHARINE. Who made them enemies?

FERNEZE. I know not; and that grieves me most of all.

KATHARINE. My son lov'd thine.

FERNEZE. And so did Lodowick him.

KATHARINE. Lend me that weapon that did kill my son,
And it shall murder me.

FERNEZE. Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's,
And on that rather should Ferneze die.

KATHARINE. Hold; let's inquire the causers of their deaths,
That we may venge their blood upon their heads.

FERNEZE. 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 [reveal] the causers of our smarts,
Which forc'd their hands divide united hearts.
Come, Katharine; 98 our losses equal are;
Then of true grief let us take equal share.
[Exeunt with the bodies.]

Enter ITHAMORE. 99

ITHAMORE. Why, was there ever seen such villany,
So neatly plotted, and so well perform'd?
Both held in hand, 100 and flatly both beguil'd?

Enter ABIGAIL.

ABIGAIL. Why, how now, Ithamore! why laugh'st thou so?

ITHAMORE. O mistress! ha, ha, ha!

ABIGAIL. Why, what ail'st thou?

ITHAMORE. O, my master!

ABIGAIL. Ha!

ITHAMORE. O mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret,
subtle, bottle-nosed 101 knave to my master, that ever
gentleman had!

ABIGAIL. Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus?

ITHAMORE. O, my master has the bravest policy!

ABIGAIL. Wherein?

ITHAMORE....

(The entire section is 3,613 words.)