As sure as heaven rained manna for the Jews,
So sure shall he and Don Mathias die:
His father was my chiefest enemy.
Whither goes Don Mathias? stay awhile.
Whither, but to my fair love Abigail?
Thou know’st, and heaven can witness this is true,
That I intend my daughter shall be thine.
Ay, Barabas, or else thou wrong’st me much.
O, Heaven forbid I should have such a thought.
Pardon me though I weep: the governor’s son
Will, whether I will or no, have Abigail:
He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings.
Does she receive them?
She! No, Mathias, no, but sends them back,
And, when he comes, she locks herself up fast;
Yet through the keyhole will he talk to her,
While she runs to the window looking out
When you should come and hale him from the door
O treacherous Lodowick!
Even now as I came home, he slipt me in,
And I am sure he is with Abigail.
I’ll rouse him thence.
Not for all Malta, therefore sheathe your sword;
If you love me, no quarrels in my house;
But steal you in, and seem to see him not;
I’ll give him such a warning ere he goes
As he shall have small hopes of Abigail.
Away, for here they come.
What, hand in hand! I cannot suffer this.
Mathias, as thou lov’st me, not a word.
Well, let it pass; another time shall serve.
Barabas, is not that the widow’s son?
Ay, and take heed, for he hath sworn your death.
My death! what, is the base-born peasant mad?
No, no, but happily he stands in fear
Of that which you, I think, ne’er dream upon,
My daughter here, a paltry silly girl.
Why, loves she Don Mathias?
Doth she not with her smiling answer you?
He has my heart; I smile against my will. Aside.
Barabas, thou know’st I have loved thy daughter long.
And so has she done you, even from a child.
And now I can no longer hold my mind.
Nor I the affection that I bear to you.
This is thy diamond, tell me, shall I have it?
Win it, and wear it, it is yet unsoiled.
O! but I know your lordship would disdain
To marry with the daughter of a Jew;
And yet I’ll give her many a golden cross44
With Christian posies round about the ring.
’Tis not thy wealth, but her that I esteem.
Yet crave I thy consent.
And mine you have, yet let me talk to her.—
This offspring of Cain, this Jebusite,
That never tasted of the Passover,
Nor e’er shall see the land of Canaan,
Nor our Messias that is yet to come;
This gentle maggot, Lodowick, I mean,
Must be deluded: let him have thy hand,
But keep thy heart till Don Mathias comes. Aside.
What, shall I be betrothed to Lodowick?
It’s no sin to deceive a Christian;
For they themselves hold it a principle,
Faith is not to be held with heretics;
But all are heretics that are not Jews;
This follows well, and therefore, daughter, fear not. Aside.
I have entreated her, and she will grant.
Then, gentle Abigail, plight thy faith to me.
I cannot choose, seeing my father bids.—
Nothing but death shall part my love and me. Aside.
Now have I that for which my soul hath longed.
So have not I, but yet I hope I shall. Aside.
O wretched Abigail, what hast thou done? Aside.
Why on the sudden is your colour changed?
I know not, but farewell, I must be gone.
Stay her, but let her not speak one word more.
Mute o’ the sudden! here’s a sudden change.
O, muse not at it, ’tis the Hebrews’ guise,
That maidens new betrothed should weep a while:
Trouble her not; sweet Lodowick, depart:
She is thy wife, and thou shalt be mine heir.
O, is’t the custom? then I am resolved:45
But rather let the brightsome heavens be dim,
And nature’s beauty choke with stifling clouds,
Than my fair Abigail should frown on me.—
There comes the villain; now I’ll be revenged.
Be quiet, Lodowick; it is enough
That I have made thee sure to Abigail.
Well, let him go.
Well, but for me, as you went in at doors
You had been stabbed, but not a word on’t now;
Here must no speeches pass, nor swords be drawn.
Suffer me, Barabas, but to follow him.
No; so shall I, if any hurt be done,
Be made an accessary of your deeds;
Revenge it on him when you meet him next.
For this I’ll have his heart.
Do so; lo, here I give thee Abigail.
What greater gift can poor Mathias have?
Shall Lodowick rob me of so fair a love?
My life is not so dear as Abigail.
My heart misgives me, that, to cross your love,
He’s with your mother; therefore after him.
What, is he gone unto my mother?
Nay, if you will, stay till she comes herself.
I cannot stay; for, if my mother come,
She’ll die with grief.
I cannot take my leave of him for tears:
Father, why have you thus incensed them both?
What’s that to thee?
I’ll make ’em friends again.
You’ll make ’em friends!
Are there not Jews enow in Malta,
But thou must dote upon a Christian?
I will have Don Mathias; he is my love.
Yes, you shall have him: go put her in.
Ay, I’ll put her in. Puts in Abigail.
Now tell me, Ithamore, how lik’st thou this?
Faith, master, I think by this
You purchase both their lives: is it not so?
True; and it shall be cunningly performed.
O master, that I might
