There is no music to62 a Christian’s knell:
How sweet the bells ring now the nuns are dead,
That sound at other times like tinkers’ pans!
I was afraid the poison had not wrought:
Or, though it wrought, it would have done no good,
For every year they swell, and yet they live;
Now all are dead, not one remains alive.

That’s brave, master, but think you it will not be known?

How can it, if we two be secret?

For my part fear you not.

I’d cut thy throat if I did.

And reason too.
But here’s a royal monastery hard by;
Good master, let me poison all the monks.

Thou shalt not need, for, now the nuns are dead
They’ll die with grief.

Do you not sorrow for your daughter’s death?

No, but I grieve because she lived so long,
An Hebrew born, and would become a Christian!
Cazzo, diabolo.

Look, look, master; here come two religious caterpillars.

I smelt ’em ere they came.

God-a-mercy, nose! come, let’s begone.

Stay, wicked Jew, repent, I say, and stay.

Thou hast offended, therefore must be damned.

I fear they know we sent the poisoned broth.

And so do I, master; therefore speak ’em fair.

Barabas, thou hast⁠—

Ay, that thou hast⁠—

True, I have money, what though I have?

Thou art a⁠—

Ay, that thou art, a⁠—

What needs all this? I know I am a Jew.

Thy daughter⁠—

Ay, thy daughter⁠—

O speak not of her! then I die with grief.

Remember that⁠—

Ay, remember that⁠—

I must needs say that I have been a great usurer.

Thou hast committed⁠—

Fornication⁠—but that was in another country;
And besides, the wench is dead.

Ay, but, Barabas,
Remember Mathias and Don Lodowick.

Why, what of them?

I will not say that by a forged challenge they met.

She has confessed, and we are both undone,
My bosom inmate! but I must dissemble.⁠—Aside.
O holy friars, the burden of my sins
Lie heavy on my soul; then pray you tell me,
Is’t not too late now to turn Christian?
I have been zealous in the Jewish faith,
Hard-hearted to the poor, a covetous wretch,
That would for lucre’s sake have sold my soul;
A hundred for a hundred I have ta’en;
And now for store of wealth may I compare
With all the Jews in Malta; but what is wealth?
I am a Jew, and therefore am I lost.
Would penance serve to atone for this my sin,
I could afford to whip myself to death⁠—

And so could I; but penance will not serve.

To fast, to pray, and wear a shirt of hair,
And on my knees creep to Jerusalem.
Cellars of wine, and sollars63 full of wheat,
Warehouses stuffed with spices and with drugs,
Whole chests of gold in bullion, and in coin,
Besides I know not how much weight in pearl,
Orient and round, have I within my house;
At Alexandria merchandise unsold:
But yesterday two ships went from this town,
Their voyage will be worth ten thousand crowns.
In Florence, Venice, Antwerp, London, Seville,
Frankfort, Lubeck, Moscow, and where not,
Have I debts owing; and, in most of these,
Great sums of money lying in the banco;
All this I’ll give to some religious house.
So I may be baptized, and live therein.

O good Barabas, come to our house.

O no, good Barabas, come to our house;
And, Barabas, you know⁠—

I know that I have highly sinned:
You shall convert me, you shall have all my wealth.

O Barabas, their laws are strict.

I know they are, and I will be with you.

They wear no shirts, and they go barefoot too.

Then ’tis not for me; and I am resolved
You shall confess me, and have all my goods. To Friar Barnadine.

Good Barabas, come to me.

You see I answer him, and yet he stays;
Rid him away, and go you home with me.

I’ll be with you to-night.

Come to my house at one o’clock this night.

You hear your answer, and you may be gone.

Why, go, get you away.

I will not go for thee.

Not! then I’ll make thee go.

How! dost call me rogue?

Part ’em, master, part ’em.

This is mere frailty: brethren, be content.
Friar Barnardine, go you with Ithamore:
You know my mind, let me alone with him. Aside to Friar Barnadine.

Why does he go to thy house? let him be gone.

I’ll give him something, and so stop his mouth.

I never heard of any man but he
Maligned the order of the Jacobins:
But do you think that I believe his words?
Why, brother, you converted Abigail;
And I am bound in charity to requite it,
And so I will. O Jacomo, fail not, but come.

But, Barabas, who shall be your godfathers?
For presently you shall be shrived.

Marry, the Turk64 shall be one of my godfathers,
But not a word to any of your covent.65

I warrant thee, Barabas.

So, now the fear is past, and I am safe,
For he that shrived her is within my house;
What if I murdered him ere Jacomo comes?
Now I have such a plot for both their lives
As never Jew nor Christian knew the like:
One turned my daughter, therefore he shall die;
The other knows enough to have my life,
Therefore ’tis not requisite he should live.
But are not both these wise men to suppose
That I will leave my house, my goods, and all,
To fast and be well whipt? I’ll none of that.
Now, Friar Barnardine, I come to you,
I’ll feast you, lodge you, give you fair words,
And, after that, I and my trusty Turk⁠—
No more, but so: it must and shall be done.

Ithamore, tell me, is the friar asleep?

Yes; and I know not what the reason is
Do what I can he will not strip himself,
Nor go to bed, but sleeps in his own clothes;
I fear me he mistrusts what we intend.

No; ’tis an order which the friars use:
Yet, if he knew our meanings, could he ’scape?

No, none can hear him, cry he ne’er so loud.

Why, true, therefore did I place him there:
The other chambers open towards the street.

You loiter, master; wherefore stay we thus?
O, how I long to see him shake his heels!

Come on, sirrah.
Off with your girdle, make a handsome noose.
Ithamore takes off his girdle, and ties a noose on it.
Friar, awake! They put the noose round the Friar’s neck.

What, do you mean to strangle me?

Yes, ’cause you use to confess.

Blame not us, but the proverb, Confess and be hanged; pull hard.

What, will you have67 my life?

Pull hard, I say; you would have had my goods.

Ay, and our lives too, therefore pull amain. They strangle him.
’Tis neatly done, sir, here’s no print at all.

Then is it as it should be; take him up.

Nay, master, be ruled by me a little. Stands the body upright against the wall, and puts a staff in its hand.

So, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were begging of bacon.68

Who would not think but that this friar lived?
What time o’ night is’t now, sweet Ithamore?

Towards one.

Then will not Jacomo be long from hence.

This is the hour wherein I shall proceed;70
O happy hour wherein I shall convert
An infidel, and bring his gold into our treasury!
But soft, is not this Barnardine? it is;
And, understanding I should come this way,
Stands here a purpose, meaning me some wrong,
And intercept my going to the Jew.⁠—
Barnardine!
Wilt thou not speak? thou think’st I see thee not;
Away, I’d wish thee, and let me go by:
No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I’ll force my way;
And see, a staff stands ready for the purpose:
As thou lik’st that, stop me another time.
Takes the staff, and strikes down the body, which falls down.

Why, how now, Jacomo, what hast thou done?

Why, stricken him that would have struck at me.

Who is it? Barnardine! now out, alas, he’s slain!

Ay, master, he’s slain; look how his brains drop out on’s nose.

Good sirs, I have done’t, but nobody knows it but you two⁠—I may escape.

So might my man and I hang with you for company.

No, let us bear him to the magistrates.

Good Barabas, let me go.

No, pardon me; the law must have his course
I must be forced to give in evidence,
That being importuned by this Barnardine
To be a Christian, I shut him out,
And there he sat: now I, to keep my word,
And give my goods and substance to your house,
Was up thus early, with intent to go
Unto your friary, because you stayed.

Fie upon ’em! master; will you turn Christian, when holy friars turn devils and murder one another?

No, for this example I’ll remain a Jew:
Heaven bless me! what, a friar a murderer?
When shall you see a Jew commit the like?

Why, a Turk could ha’ done no more.

To-morrow is the sessions; you shall to it.
Come, Ithamore, let’s help to take him hence.

Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not.

The law shall touch you, we’ll but lead you, we:
’Las, I could weep at your calamity!
Take in the staff too, for that must be shown:
Law wills that each particular be known.

Pilia-Borza, did’st thou meet with Ithamore?

I did.

And didst thou deliver my letter?

I did.

And what think’st thou? will he come?

I think so, but yet I cannot tell; for, at the reading of the letter he looked like a man of another world.

Why so?

That such a base slave as he should be saluted by such a tall72 man as I am, from such a beautiful dame as you.

And what said he?

Not a wise word, only gave me a nod, as who should say, “Is it even so?” and so I left him, being driven to a non-plus at the critical aspect of my terrible countenance.

And where didst meet him?

Upon mine own freehold, within forty feet of the gallows, conning his neck-verse,73 I take it, looking of74 a friar’s execution; whom I saluted with an old hempen proverb, Hodie tibi, cras mihi, and so I left him to the mercy of the hangman: but, the exercise75 being done, see where he comes.

I never knew a man take his death so patiently as this friar; he was ready to leap off ere the halter was about his neck; and when the hangman had put on his hempen tippet, he made such haste to his prayers, as if he had had another cure to serve. Well, go whither he will, I’ll be none of his followers in haste: and, now I think on’t, going to the execution, a fellow met me with a muschatoes76 like a raven’s wing, and a dagger with a hilt like a warming-pan, and he gave me a letter from one Madam Bellamira, saluting me in such sort as if he had meant to make clean my boots with his lips; the effect was, that I should come to her house. I wonder what the reason is; it may be she sees more in me than I can find in myself: for she writes further, that she loves me ever since she saw me, and who would not requite such love? Here’s her house, and here she comes, and now would I were gone; I am not worthy to look upon her.

This is the gentleman you writ to.

Gentleman! he flouts me: what gentry can be in a poor Turk of tenpence?77 I’ll be gone. Aside.

Is’t not a sweet-faced youth, Pilia?

Again, “sweet youth!” Aside.⁠—Did not you, sir, bring the sweet youth a letter?

I did, sir, and from this gentlewoman, who, as myself, and the rest of the family, stand or fall at your service.

Though woman’s modesty should hale me back, I can withhold no longer: welcome, sweet love.

Now am I clean, or rather foully out of the way. Aside.

Whither so soon?

I’ll go steal some money from my master to make me handsome Aside.⁠—Pray, pardon me; I must go see a ship discharged.

Canst thou be so unkind to leave me thus?

An ye did but know how she loves you, sir!

Nay, I care not how much she loves me⁠—Sweet Bellamira, would I had my master’s wealth for thy sake!

And you can have it, sir, an if you please.

If ’twere above ground, I could and would have it; but he hides and buries it up, as partridges do their eggs, under the earth.

And is’t not possible to find it out?

By no means possible.

What shall we do with this base villain then? Aside to Pilia-Borza.

Let me alone; do but you speak him fair.⁠—Aside to her.
But sir know some secrets of the Jew,
Which, if they were revealed, would do him harm.

Ay, and such as⁠—Go to, no more! I’ll make him send me half he has, and glad he ’scapes so too: I’ll write unto him; we’ll have money straight.

Send for a hundred crowns at least.

Ten hundred thousand crowns.⁠—Writing. “Master Barabas.”

Write not so submissively, but threatening him.

Writing. “Sirrah Barabas, send me a hundred crowns.”

Put in two hundred at least.

Writing. “I charge thee send me three hundred by this bearer, and this shall be your warrant: if you do not⁠—no more, but so.”

Tell him you will confess.

Writing. “Otherwise I’ll confess all.”⁠—Vanish, and return in a twinkle.

Let me alone; I’ll use him in his kind.

Hang him, Jew!

Now, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.⁠—
Where are my maids? provide a running78 banquet;
Send to the merchant, bid him bring me silks;
Shall Ithamore, my love, go in such rags?

And bid the jeweller come hither too.

I have no husband, sweet; I’ll marry thee.

Content: but we will leave this paltry land,
And sail from hence to Greece, to lovely Greece.
I’ll be thy Jason, thou my golden fleece;
Where painted carpets o’er the meads are hurled,
And Bacchus’ vineyards overspread the world;
Where woods and forests go in goodly green,
I’ll be Adonis, thou shalt be Love’s Queen.
The meads, the orchards, and the primrose-lanes,
Instead of sedge and reed, bear sugar-canes:
Thou in those groves, by Dis above,
Shalt live with me, and be my love.

Whither will I not go with gentle Ithamore?

How now! hast thou the gold?

Yes.

But came it freely? did the cow give down her milk freely?

At reading of the letter, he stared and stamped and turned aside. I took him by the beard, and looked upon him thus; told him he were best to send it; then he hugged and embraced me.

Rather for fear than love.

Then, like a Jew, he laughed and jeered, and told me he loved me for your sake, and said what a faithful servant you had been.

The more villain he to keep me thus; here’s goodly ’parel, is there not?

To conclude, he gave me ten crowns. Gives the money to Ithamore.

But ten? I’ll not leave him worth a grey groat. Give me a ream79 of paper: we’ll have a kingdom of gold for’t.

Write for five hundred crowns.

Writing. “Sirrah Jew, as you love your life, send me five hundred crowns, and give the bearer a hundred.⁠—” Tell him I must have’t.

I warrant, your worship shall have’t.

And, if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I scorn to write a line under a hundred crowns.

You’d make a rich poet, sir. I am gone.

Take thou the money; spend it for my sake.

’Tis not thy money, but thyself I weigh;
Thus Bellamira esteems of gold. Throws it aside.
But thus of thee. Kisses him.

That kiss again! she runs division80 of my lips.
What an eye she casts on me! it twinkles like a star.

Come, my dear love, let’s in and sleep together.

O, that ten thousand nights were put in one, that we might sleep seven years together afore we wake!

Come, amorous wag, first banquet, and then sleep.

“Barabas, send me three hundred crowns.⁠—”
Plain Barabas! O, that wicked courtesan!
He was not wont to call me Barabas.
“Or else I will confess:” ay, there it goes:
But, if I get him, coupe de gorge for that.
He sent a shaggy tottered,82 staring slave,
That when he speaks draws out his grisly beard,
And winds it twice or thrice about his ear;
Whose face has been a grindstone for men’s swords;
His hands are hacked, some fingers cut quite off;
Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog, and looks
Like one that is employed in catzerie83
And cross-biting,84⁠—such a rogue
As is the husband to a hundred whores:
And I by him must send three hundred crowns!
Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still;
And, when he comes: O, that he were but here!

Jew, I must have more gold.

Why, want’st thou any of thy tale?85

No; but three hundred will not serve his turn.

Not serve his turn, sir!

No, sir; and therefore, I must have five hundred more.

I’ll rather⁠—

O good words, sir, and send it you were best! see, there’s his letter. Gives letter.

Might he not as well come as send? pray bid him come and fetch it; what he writes for you, ye shall have straight.

Ay, and the rest too, or else⁠—

I must make this villain away. Aside.

Please you dine with me, sir;⁠—and you shall be most heartily poisoned. Aside.

No, God-a-mercy. Shall I have these crowns?

I cannot do it; I have lost my keys.

O, if that be all, I can pick ope your locks.

Or climb up to my counting-house window: you know my meaning.

I know enough, and therefore talk not to me of your counting-house. The gold! or know, Jew, it is in my power to hang thee.

I am betrayed.⁠—Aside.
’Tis not five hundred crowns that I esteem,
I am not moved at that: this angers me,
That he, who knows I love him as myself,
Should write in this imperious vein. Why, sir,
You know I have no child, and unto whom
Should I leave all but unto Ithamore?

Here’s many words, but no crowns: the crowns!

Commend me to him, sir, most humbly,
And unto your good mistress, as unknown.

Speak, shall I have ’em, sir?

Sir, here they are. Gives money.
O, that I should part with so much gold! Aside.
Here, take ’em, fellow, with as good a will⁠—
As I would see thee hanged; Aside. O, love stops my breath:
Never loved man servant as I do Ithamore!

I know it, sir.

Pray, when, sir, shall I see you at my house?

Soon enough to your cost, sir. Fare you well.

Nay, to thine own cost, villain, if thou com’st!
Was ever Jew tormented as I am?
To have a shag-rag knave to come, force from me
Three hundred crowns, and then five hundred crowns!
Well, I must seek a means to rid ’em all,
And presently; for in his villany
He will tell all he knows, and I shall die for’t.
I have it:
I will in some disguise go see the slave,
And how the villain revels with my gold.

I’ll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off.

Say’st thou me so? have at it; and do you hear? Whispers.

Go to, it shall be so.

Of87 that condition I will drink it up.
Here’s to thee.

Nay, I’ll have all or none.

There, if thou lov’st me, do not leave a drop.

Love thee! fill me three glasses.

Three and fifty dozen, I’ll pledge thee.

Knavely spoke, and like a knight-at-arms.

Hey, Rivo Castiliano!88 a man’s a man.

Now to the Jew.

Ha! to the Jew; and send me money he were best.

What would’st thou do, if he should send thee none?

Do nothing; but I know what I know; he’s a murderer.

I had not thought he had been so brave a man.

You knew Mathias and the governor’s son; he and I killed ’em both, and yet never touched ’em.

O, bravely done.

I carried the broth that poisoned the nuns; and he and I, snickle hand too fast,89 strangled a friar.

You two alone?

We two; and ’twas never known, nor never shall be for me.

This shall with me unto the governor. Aside to Bellamira.

And fit it should: but first let’s ha’ more gold. Aside to Pilia-Borza.
Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.

Love me little, love me long: let music rumble,
Whilst I in thy incony90 lap do tumble.

A French musician! come, let’s hear your skill.

Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first.

Wilt drink, Frenchman? here’s to thee with a⁠—Pox on this drunken hiccup!

Gramercy, monsieur.

Prithee, Pilia-Borza, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his hat there.

Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy.

A votre commandement, madame. Giving nosegay.

How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell!

Like thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like ’em.

Foh! methinks they stink like a hollyhock.

So, now I am revenged upon ’em all:
The scent thereof was death; I poisoned it. Aside.

Play, fiddler, or I’ll cut your cat’s guts into chitterlings.

Pardonnez moi, be no in tune yet: so, now, now all be in.

Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine.

There’s two crowns for thee; play. Giving money.

How liberally the villain gives me mine own gold! Aside, Barabas then plays.

Methinks he fingers very well.

So did you when you stole my gold. Aside.

How swift he runs!

You run swifter when you threw my gold out of my window. Aside.

Musician, hast been in Malta long?

Two, three, four month, madam.

Dost not know a Jew, one Barabas?

Very mush: monsieur, you no be his man?

His man?

I scorn the peasant; tell him so.

He knows it already. Aside.

’Tis a strange thing of that Jew, he lives upon pickled grasshoppers and sauced mushrooms.

What a slave’s this? the governor feeds not as I do. Aside.

He never put on clean shirt since he was circumcised.

O rascal! I change myself twice a day. Aside.

The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder91 when he hanged himself.

’Twas sent me for a present from the Great Cham. Aside.

A musty slave he is.⁠—Whither now, fiddler?

Pardonnez moi, monsieur, me be no well.

Farewell, fiddler!

One letter more to the Jew.

Prithee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp.

No, I’ll send by word of mouth now⁠—Bid him deliver thee a thousand crowns, by the same token, that the nuns loved rice, that Friar Barnardine slept in his own clothes; any of ’em will do it.

Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning.

The meaning has a meaning. Come let’s in
To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin.