ITHA. That's no lie, for she sent me for him. False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! But let 'em go: And, Ithamore, from hence BAR. Ithamore, intreat not for her, I am mov'd, I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life. ITHA. Who, I, master? Why, I'll run to some rock and throw myself headlong into the sea; why, I'll do any thing for your sweet sake. BAR. Oh 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; ITHA. I hold my head my master's hungry: I go, sir. BAR. Thus every villain ambles after wealth [Exit. VOL. I. 16 Although he ne'er be richer than in hope: But hush 't. Enter ITHAMORE, with the pot. ITHA. Here 'tis, master. BAR. Well said, Ithamore; what, hast thou brought The ladle with thee too? ITHA. Yes, sir, the proverb says, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon; I have brought you a ladle. BAR. Very well, Ithamore, then now be secret; That thou may'st freely live to be my heir. ITHA. 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. BAR. Aye, but Ithamore seest thou this? It is a precious powder that I bought Whose operation is to bind, infect, And poison deeply: yet not appear ITHA. How, master? BAR. Thus, Ithamore: This even they use in Malta here, 'tis call'd There's a dark entry where they take it in, BAR. Belike there is some ceremony in't. ITHA. Pray do, and let me help you master. Pray let me taste first. BAR. Pry'thee do: what say'st thou now? ITHA. Troth, master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoil'd. BAR. Peace, Ithamore, 'tis better so than spar'd. Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye. My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine. ITHA. Well, master, I go. BAR. Stay, first let me stir it, Ithamore, That like a fiend hath left her father thus. ITHA. What a blessing has he giv'n't! was ever pot of rice porridge so sauc'd! What shall I do with it? BAR. Oh, my sweet Ithamore, go set it down, ITHA. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'll carry't to the nuns with a powder. BAR. And the horse pestilence to boot; away. ITHA. I am gone. Pay me my wages for my work is done. BAR. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore. [Exit. [Exit. Enter GOVERNOR, DEL BOSCO, KNIGHTS, BASHAW, Gov. Welcome, great Bashaw; how fares Calymath, What wind drives you thus into Malta Road? Gov. Desire of gold, great sir? That's to be gotten in the Western Ind: In Malta are no golden minerals. BASH. To you of Malta thus saith Calymath: Gov. Bashaw, in brief, shalt have no tribute here, Whose billows beating the resistless banks, league Gov.Farewell : [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter two FRIARS. 1 Fri. Oh, brother, brother, all the nuns are sick, And physick will not help them; they must die. 2 Fri. The abbess sent for me to be confess'd : Oh, what a sad confession will there be ! 1 FRI. And so did fair Maria send for me : |