Front Page Titles (by Subject) ACT THE THIRD. - The Works of Christopher Marlowe, vol. 2
ACT THE THIRD. - Christopher Marlowe, The Works of Christopher Marlowe, vol. 2 
The Works of Christopher Marlowe, ed. A.H. Bullen (London: John C. Nimmo, 1885). Vol. 2.
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ACT THE THIRD.
EnterBellamira, a courtesan.
- Since this town was besieged, 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, learnèd and liberal;
- And now, save Pilia-Borsa, comes there none,
- And he is very seldom from my house;
- And here he comes.
- Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to spend.
- 'Tis silver. I disdain it.
- Ay, but the Jew has gold,
- And I will have it, or it shall go hard.
- Tell me, how cam'st thou by this?
- '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.
- Hide the bag.
- Look not towards him, let's away: zoon's, what a looking thou keep'st; thou'lt betray 's anon.
- [Exeunt Courtesan andPilia-Borsa.
- O the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a courtesan by her attire: now would I give a hundred of the Jew's crowns that I had such a concubine. Well,
- I have delivered the challenge in such sort,
- As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport.
- This is the place, now Abigail shall see Whether Mathias holds her dear or no.
- What, dares the villain write in such base terms?
- [Reading a letter.
- I did it; and revenge it if thou dar'st.
- [They fight.
- EnterBarabas, above.
- O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home.
- Now, Lodowick! now, Mathias! So—
- [Both fall.
- So now they have showed themselves to be tall fellows.
- [Cries within.] Part 'em, part 'em.
- Ay, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell.
- Enter Governor andMathias'S Mother.
- What sight is this?—my Lodowick slain!
- These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.
- Who is this? my son Mathias slain!
- O Lodowick! had'st thou perished by the Turk,
- Wretched Ferneze might have 'venged thy death.
- Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death.
- Look, Katherine, look!— thy son gave mine these wounds.
- O leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough.
- O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath;
- And these my tears to blood, that he might live.
- I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
- Lend me that weapon that did kill my son,
- And it shall murder me.
- Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's,
- And on that rather should Ferneze die.
- Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths,
- That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads.
- Then take them up, and let them be interred
- 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 forced their hands divide united hearts:
- Come, Katherine, our losses equal are,
- Then of true grief let us take equal share.
- [Exeunt with the bodies.
- Why, was there ever seen such villainy,
- So neatly plotted, and so well performed?
- Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled?
- Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st thou so?
- O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had.
- Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus?
- O, my master has the bravest policy.
- Know you not of Mathia[s'] and Don Lodo-wick['s] disaster?
- Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathia[s].
- And then they met, [and,] as the story says,
- In doleful wise they ended both their days.
- And was my father furtherer of their deaths?
- So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.
- 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.
- I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question?
- A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?
- Go to, sirrah sauce, is this your question? get ye gone.
- I will, forsooth, mistress.
- 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 sire,
- Yet Don Mathias ne'er offended thee:
- But thou wert set upon extreme revenge,
- Because the Prior dispossessed 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.
- EnterIthamoreandFriar Jacomo.
- F. Jac. Virgo, salve.
- Welcome, grave friar; Ithamore, begone.
- Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.
- To get me be admitted for a nun.
- Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since
- That I did labour thy admission,
- And then thou did'st not like that holy life.
- Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirmed,
- And I was chained to follies of the world:
- But now experience, purchasèd with grief,
- Has made me see the difference of things.
- My sinful soul, alas, hath paced too long
- The fatal labyrinth of misbelief,
- Far from the sun that gives eternal life.
- The abbess of the house,
- Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
- O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
- Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more,
- For that will be most heavy to thy soul.
- That was my father's fault.
- Nay, you shall pardon me.—O Barabas,
- Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,
- Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life.
- My duty waits on you.
EnterBarabas, reading a letter.
- What, Abigail become a nun again!
- False and unkind; what, hast thou lost thy father?
- And all unknown, and unconstrained 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?
- O Ithamore, come near;
- Come near, my love; come near, thy master's life,
- My trusty servant, nay, my second self:
- For I have now no hope but even in thee,
- And on that hope my happiness is built.
- When saw'st thou Abigail?
- A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.
- Why, made mine Abigail a nun.
- That's no lie, for she sent me for him.
- O unhappy day!
- False, credulous, inconstant Abigail!
- But let 'em go: and, Ithamore, from hence
- Ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace;
- Ne'er shall she live to inherit aught of mine,
- Be blest of me, nor come within my gates,
- But perish underneath my bitter curse,
- Like Cain by Adam for his brother's death.
- Ithamore, entreat not for her, I am moved,
- And she is hateful to my soul and me:
- And 'less thou yield to this that I entreat,
- I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life.
- Who, I, master? Why, I'll run to some rock,
- And throw myself headlong into the sea;
- O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend:
- I here adopt thee for mine only heir,
- All that I have is thine when I am dead,
- And whilst I live use half; spend as myself;
- Here take my keys, I'll give 'em thee anon:
- Go buy thee garments: but thou shall not want:
- Only know this, that thus thou art to do:
- But first go fetch me in the pot of rice
- I hold my head my master's hungry. I go, sir.
- Thus every villain ambles after wealth,
- Although he ne'er be richer than in hope:
- But, husht!
- EnterIthamorewith the pot.
- Well said, Ithamore; what, hast thou brought
- The ladle with thee too?
- Yes, sir, the proverb says he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon. I have brought you a ladle.
- Very well, Ithamore, then now be secret;
- And for thy sake, whom I so dearly love,
- Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail,
- That thou may'st freely live to be my heir.
- Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more than you are aware.
- Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this?
- It is a precious powder that I bought
- Of an Italian, in Ancona, once,
- Whose operation is to bind, infect,
- And poison deeply, yet not appear
- In forty hours after it is ta'en.
- Thus, Ithamore.
- This even they use in Malta here,—'tis called
- Saint Jacques' Even,—and then I say they use
- To send their alms unto the nunneries:
- Among the rest bear this, and set it there;
- There's a dark entry where they take it in,
- Where they must neither see the messenger,
- Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.
- Belike there is some ceremony in't.
- There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot!
- Stay, let me spice it first.
- Pray do, and let me help you, master. Pray let me taste first.
- Prythee do: what say'st thou now?
- Troth, master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoiled.
- Peace, Ithamore, 'tis better so than spared.
- Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye,
- My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.
- Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore.
- As fatal be it to her as the draught
- Of which great Alexander drunk and died:
- And with her let it work like Borgia's wine,
- Whereof his sire, the Pope, was poisonèd.
- In few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane:
- The juice of hebon, and Cocytus' breath,
- And all the poisons of the Stygian pool
- Break from the fiery kingdom; and in this
- Vomit your venom and invenom her
- That like a fiend hath left her father thus.
- “Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
- With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial.”
- What a blessing has he given't! was ever pot of rice porridge so sauced! What shall I do with it?
- O, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down,
- And come again so soon as thou hast done,
- For I have other business for thee.
- Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'll carry 't to the nuns with a powder.
- And the horse pestilence to boot; away!
- I am gone.
- Pay me my wages, for my work is done.
- I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore.
Enter Governor, Del Bosco, Knights, Basso.
- Welcome, great Basso; how fares Calymath,
- What wind thus drives you into Malta Road?
- The wind that bloweth all the world besides,
- Desire of gold.
- Desire of gold, great sir?
- That's to be gotten in the Western Ind:
- In Malta are no golden minerals.
- To you of Malta thus saith Calymath:
- The time you took for respite is at hand,
- For the performance of your promise passed,
- And for the tribute-money I am sent.
- Basso, in brief, 'shalt have no tribute here,
- Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil:
- First will we raze the city walls ourselves,
- Lay waste the island, hew the temples down,
- And, shipping off our goods to Sicily,
- Open an entrance for the wasteful sea,
- Whose billows beating the resistless banks,
- Shall overflow it with their refluence.
- Well, Governor, since thou hast broke the league
- By flat denial of the promised tribute,
- Talk not of razing down your city walls,
- You shall not need trouble yourselves so far,
- For Selim Calymath shall come himself,
- And with brass bullets batter down your towers,
- And turn proud Malta to a wilderness
- For these intolerable wrongs of yours;
- And so farewell.
- And now, ye men of Malta, look about,
- And let's provide to welcome Calymath:
- Close your portcullis, charge your basilisks,
- And as you profitably take up arms,
- So now courageously encounter them;
- For by this answer, broken is the league,
- And naught is to be looked for now but wars,
- And naught to us more welcome is than wars.
Enter Friar Jacomoand Friar Barnardine.
- O brother, brother, all the nuns are sick,
- And physic will not help them: they must die.
- The abbess sent for me to be confessed:
- O, what a sad confession will there be!
- And so did fair Maria send for me:
- I'll to her lodging: hereabouts she lies.
- What, all dead, save only Abigail?
- And I shall die too, for I feel death coming.
- Where is the friar that conversed with me?
- O, he is gone to see the other nuns.
- I sent for him, but seeing you are come,
- Be you my ghostly father: and first know,
- That in this house I lived religiously,
- Chaste, and devout, much sorrowing for my sins;
- But ere I came—
- I did offend high Heaven so grievously,
- As I am almost desperate for my sins:
- And one offence torments me more than all.
- You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick?
- My father did contract me to 'em both:
- First to Don Lodowick; him I never loved;
- Mathias was the man that I held dear,
- And for his sake did I become a nun.
- So, say how was their end?
- Both jealous of my love, envied each other,
- And by my father's practice, which is there
- [Gives a paper.
- Set down at large, the gallants were both slain.
- To work my peace, this I confess to thee;
- Reveal it not, for then my father dies.
- Know that confession must not be revealed,
- The canon law forbids it, and the priest
- That makes it known, being degraded first,
- So I have heard; pray, therefore keep it close.
- Death seizeth on my heart: ah gentle friar,
- Convert my father that he may be saved,
- And witness that I die a Christian.
- Ay, and a virgin too; that grieves me most:
- But I must to the Jew and exclaim on him,
- And make him stand in fear of me.
- Enter Friar Jacomo.
- O brother, all the nuns are dead, let's bury them.
- First help to bury this, then go with me And help me to exclaim against the Jew.
- A thing that makes me tremble to unfold.
- What, has he crucified a child?
- No, but a worse thing: 'twas told me in shrift,
- Thou know'st 'tis death an if it be revealed.
- Come, let's away.
- “These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
- My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre”—
- lines not found in the True Tragedie.
- “Say that upon the altar of her beauty
- You sacrifice your tears.”
- “Th' unpartial daughters of Necessity
- Bin aiders in her suit.”
- So in William Smith's Chlorts (Sonnet 11):
- “No, it was not Nature's ornament
- But wingèd love's unpartial cruel wound.”