Fern. Look, Katherine, look!—thy son gave mine these

wounds.

Kath. O leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough.

Fern. O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath ; And these my tears to blood, that he might live.

Kath. Who made them enemies?

Fern. I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
Kath. My son loved thine.

Fern. And so did Lodowick him.

Kath. Lend me that weapon that did kill my son, And it shall murder me.

Fern. Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's, And on that rather should Ferneze die.

Kath. Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths, That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads.

Fern. 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 impartial1 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.

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[Exeunt with the bodies.

SCENE III. A Room in BARABAS' House.

Enter ITHAMORE.

Itha. Why, was there ever seen such villainy,
So neatly plotted, and so well performed?
Both held in hand, and flatly both beguiled?
2 Kept in expectancy.

1 Unkind.

Enter ABIGAIL.

Abig. Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st thou so?

Itha. O mistress, ha ! ha ! ha !

Abig. Why, what ail'st thou?

Itha. O my master!

Abig. Ha!

Itha. O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had.

Abig. Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus?

Itha. O, my master has the bravest policy.

Abig. Wherein ?

Itha. Why, know you not?

Abig. Why, no.

II

Itha. Know you not of Matthias' and Don Lodowick's disaster?

Abig. No, what was it?

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Itha. Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and imprimis to Mathias.

And then they met, and, as the story says,

In doleful wise they ended both their days.

Abig. And was my father furtherer of their deaths?

Itha. Am I Ithamore?

Abig. Yes.

Itha. So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.

Abig. Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this,

Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire

For any of the friars of Saint Jacques,1

1 St. James.

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And say, I pray them come and speak with me.
Itha. I will, forsooth, mistress.

[Exit.

Abig. 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.

Enter ITHAMORE and Friar JACOMO.

F. Jac. Virgo, salve.

Itha. When !1 duck you !

Abig. Welcome, grave friar; Ithamore, begone!

Know, holy sir, I am bold to solicit thee.

F. Jac. Wherein?

Abig. To get me be admitted for a nun.

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[Exit ITHAMORE.

F. Jac. Why, Abigail, it is not yet long since

That I did labour thy admission,

And then thou didst not like that holy life.

Abig. Then were my thoughts so frail and unconfirmed, And I was chained to follies of the world: But now experience, purchasèd with grief,

1 Exclamation of impatience.

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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.
F. Jac. Who taught thee this?
Abig. The abbess of the house,
Whose zealous admonition I embrace:
O, therefore, Jacomo, let me be one,
Although unworthy, of that sisterhood.

F. Jac. Abigail, I will, but see thou change no more,
For that will be most heavy to thy soul.

Abig. That was my father's fault.

F. Jac. Thy father's! how?

Abig. Nay, you shall pardon me. (Aside) O Barabas,

Though thou deservest hardly at my hands,

Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life.

F. Jac. Come, shall we go?

Abig. My duty waits on you.

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[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in BARABAS' House.

Enter BARABAS, reading a letter.

Bar. 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 pretendeth1 this?
I fear she knows -'tis so-
of my device

In Don Mathias' and Lodovico's deaths:

1 Portendeth.

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?

Enter ITHAMORE.

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?

Itha. To-day.

Bar. With whom?

Itha. A friar.

Bar. A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.
Itha. How, sir?

Bar. Why, made mine Abigail a nun.

Itha. That's no lie, for she sent me for him.

Bar. O unhappy day!

False, credulous, inconstant Abigail !

But let 'me 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.
Itha. O master !

Bar. 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,

ΙΟ

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