Page:The Jew of Malta - Marlowe (1633).pdf/74

 Gov. Make fires, heat irons, let the racke be fetch'd.

Kni. Nay stay, my Lord, 'tmay be he will confesse.

Bar. Confesse; what meane you, Lords, who should confesse?

Gov. Thou and thy Turk; 'twas you that slew my son.

Ith. Gilty, my Lord, I confesse; your sonne and Mathias Were both contracted unto Abigall, Forg'd a counterfeit challenge.

Jew. Who carried that challenge?

Ith. I carried it, I confesse, but who writ it? Marry even he that strangled Bernardine, poyson'd the Nuns, and his owne daughter.

Gov. Away with him, his sight is death to me.

Bar. For what, you men of Malta, heare me speake; Shee is a Curtezane and he a theefe, And he my bondman, let me have law, For none of this can prejudice my life:

Gov. Once more away with him; you shall haue law.

Bar. Devils doe your worst, I live in spite of you. As these have spoke so be it to their soules: I hope the poyson'd flowers will worke anon.

Mater. Was my Mathias murder'd by the Jew? Ferneze, 'twas thy sonne that murder'd him.

Gov. Be patient, gentle Madam, it was he, He forged the daring challenge made them fight.

Mat. Where is the Jew, where is that murderer?

Gov. In prison till the Law has past on him.

Offi. My Lord, the Curtezane and her man are dead; So is the Turke, and Barabas the Jew.

Gov. Dead?

Offi. Dead, my Lord, and here they bring his body.

Bosco. This sudden death of his is very strange.

Gov. Wonder not at it, Sir, the heavens are just: Their deaths were like their lives, then think not of 'em Since they are dead, let them be buried.