Page:The Jew of Malta - Marlowe (1633).pdf/46

 Bar. Not for all Malta, therefore sheath your sword; If you love me, no quarrels in my house; But steale you in, and seeme to see him not; I'le give him such a warning e're he goes As he shall have small hopes of Abigall. Away, for here they come,

Math. What hand in hand, I cannot suffer this.

Bar. Mathias, as thou lov'st me, not a word.

Math. Well, let it passe, another time shall serve.

Lod. Barabas, is not that the widowes sonne?

Bar. I, and take heed, for he hath sworne your death.

Lod. My death? what is the base borne peasant mad?

Bar. No, no, but happily he stands in feare Of that which you, I thinke, ne're dreame upon, My daughter here, a paltry silly girle.

Lod. Why loves she Don Mathias?

Bar. Doth she not with her smiling answer you?

Abig. He has my heart, I smile against my will.

Lod. Barabas, thou know'st I have lov'd thy daughter long.

Bar. And so has she done you, even from a child.

Lod. And now I can no longer hold my minde.

Bar. Nor I the affection that I beare to you.

Lod. This is thy Diamond, tell me, shall I have it?

Bar. Win it, and weare it, it is yet unsoyl'd, Oh but I know your Lordship wud disdaine To marry with the daughter of a Jew: And yet I'le give her many a golden crosse With Christian posies round about the ring.

Lod. 'Tis not thy wealth, but her that I esteeme, Yet crave I thy consent.

Bar. And mine you have, yet let me talke to her; This off-spring of Cain, this Jebusite That never tasted of the Passeover, Nor e're shall see the land of Canaan,