With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells: And in the wars 'twixt France and Germany, And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting, I fill'd the gaols with bankrupts in a year, But mark how I am blest for plaguing them-- In setting Christian villages on fire, And in the night-time secretly would I steal To travellers' chambers, and there cut their throats: Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel'd, I strewed powder on the marble stones, And therewithal their knees would rankle so, Bara. Why, this is something: make account of me As of thy fellow; we are villains both; Be true and secret; thou shall want no gold. THE MURDER OF THE FRIAR. ACT IV., SCENE 2. Enter BARABAS and ITHAMORE. Bara. Ithamore, tell me, is the friar asleep? Bara. No; 'tis an order which the friars use : Itha. You loiter, master; wherefore stay we thus ? O, how I long to see him shake his heels! Bara. 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. Friar Barn. What, do you mean to strangle me? Itha. Yes, 'cause you use to confess. Bara. Blame not us, but the proverb-Confess and be hanged.-Pull hard. Friar Barn. What, will you have my life? Bara. Pull hard, I say.-You would have had my goods. Itha. Ay, and our lives too-therefore pull amain. [They strangle the Friar. 'Tis neatly done, sir; here's no print at all. Bara. Then is it as it should be. Take him up. Itha. Nay, master, be ruled by me a little. [Takes the body, sets it 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. Bara. Who would not think but that this friar liv'd? What time o' night is't now, sweet Ithamore? Itha: Towards one. Bara. Then will not Jacomo be long from hence. Enter FRIAR JACOMO. [Exeunt. Friar Jac. This is the hour wherein I shall proceed; 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 o' purpose, meaning me some wrong, Barnardine! - Wilt thou not speak? thou think'st I see thee not; No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I'll force my way; [Takes the staff, and strikes down the body. Enter BARABAS and ITHAMORE. Bara, Why, how now Jacomo! what hast thou done? Friar Jac. Why, stricken him that would have struck at me. Bara. Who is it! Barnardine! now, out, alas, he is slain ! Itha. Ay, master, he's slain; look how his brains drop out on's nose. Friar Jac. Good sirs, I have done't: but nobody knows it but you two; I may escape. Bara. So might my man and I hang with you for company. Itha. No; let us bear him to the magistrates. Bara. No, pardon me; the law must have his course: I must be forc'd to give in evidence, That, being importun'd by this Barnardine To be a Christian, I shut him out, And there he sate: now I, to keep my word, And give my goods and substance to your house, Unto your friary, because you stay'd. Itha. Fie upon 'em! master, will you turn Christian, when holy friars turn devils and murder one another? Bara. No; for this example I'll remain a Jew: Heaven bless me! what, a friar a murderer! When shall you see a Jew cominit the like? Itha. Why, a Turk could ha' done no more. Bara. To-morrow is the sessions; you shall to it. Come, Ithamore, let's help to take him hence. Friar Jac. Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not. Bara. 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: [Exeunt. THE JEW, IN DISGUISE, POISONS HIS TRUANT SLAVE. ACT IV., SCENE 5. Bell. A French musician !-Come, let's hear your skill. Bara. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first. Itha. Wilt drink, Frenchman? here's to thee with a -Pox on this drunken hiccup ! Bara. Gramercy, monsieur. Bell. Prithee, Pilia-Borza, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his hat there. Pilia. Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy. Bara. A votre commandement, madame. [Giving nosegay. Bell. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell! Itha. Like thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like 'em. Pilia. Foh! methinks they stink like a hollyhock. Bara. So, now I am reveng'd upon 'em all : The scent thereof was death; I poison'd it. [Aside. Itha. Play, fiddler, or I'll cut your cat's guts into chitterlings. Bara. Pardonnez moi, be no in tune yet: so, now, now all be in. Itha. Give him a crown, and fill me out more wine. Pilia. There's two crowns for thee: play. [Giving money. Bara. How liberally the villain gives me mine own gold! [Aside, and then plays. Pilia. Methinks he fingers very well. [Aside |