To-day.
BARABAS. With whom?
ITHAMORE. A friar.
BARABAS. A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.
ITHAMORE. How, sir!
BARABAS. Why, made mine Abigail a nun.
ITHAMORE. That's no lie; for she sent me for him.
BARABAS. O unhappy day! False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! But let 'em 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 bless'd of me, nor come within my gates, But perish underneath my bitter curse, Like Cain by Adam for his brother's death.
ITHAMORE. O master--
BARABAS. Ithamore, entreat not for her; I am mov'd, And she is hateful to my soul and me: And, 'less(108) thou yield to this that I entreat, I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life.
ITHAMORE. 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.
BARABAS. O 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; Here, take my keys,--I'll give 'em thee anon; Go buy thee garments; but thou shalt not want: Only know this, that thus thou art to do-- But first go fetch me in the pot of rice That for our supper stands upon the fire.
ITHAMORE. I hold my head, my master's hungry [Aside].--I go, sir. [Exit.]
BARABAS. Thus every villain ambles after wealth, Although he ne'er be richer than in hope:-- But, husht!
Re-enter ITHAMORE with the pot.
ITHAMORE. Here 'tis, master.
BARABAS. Well said,(109) Ithamore! What, hast thou brought The ladle with thee too?
ITHAMORE. Yes, sir; the proverb says,(110) he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon; I have brought you a ladle.
BARABAS. Very well, Ithamore; then now be secret; And, for thy sake, whom I so dearly love, Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail, That thou mayst freely live to be my heir.
ITHAMORE. Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice- porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten(111) more than you are aware.
BARABAS. Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this? It is a precious powder that I bought Of an Italian, in Ancona, once, Whose operation is to bind, infect, And poison deeply, yet not appear In forty hours after it is ta'en.
ITHAMORE. How, master?
BARABAS. Thus, Ithamore: This even they use in Malta here,--'tis call'd Saint Jaques' Even,--and then, I say, they use To send their alms unto the nunneries: Among the rest, bear this, and set it there: There's a dark entry where they take it in, Where they must neither see the messenger, Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.
ITHAMORE. How so?
BARABAS. Belike there is some ceremony in't. There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot:(112) Stay; let me spice it first.
ITHAMORE. Pray, do, and let me help you, master. Pray, let me taste first.
BARABAS. Prithee, do.[ITHAMORE tastes.] What say'st thou now?
ITHAMORE. Troth, master, I'm loath such a pot of pottage should be spoiled.
BARABAS. Peace, Ithamore! 'tis better so than spar'd. [Puts the powder into the pot.] Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye:(113) My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.
ITHAMORE. Well, master, I go.
BARABAS. Stay; first let me stir it, Ithamore. As fatal be it to her as the draught Of which great Alexander drunk, and died; And with her let it work like Borgia's wine, Whereof his sire the Pope was poisoned! In few,(114) the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane, The juice of hebon,(115) and Cocytus' breath, And all the poisons of the Stygian pool, Break from the fiery kingdom, and in this Vomit your venom, and envenom her That, like a fiend, hath left her father thus!
ITHAMORE. What a blessing has he given't! was ever pot of rice-porridge so sauced? [Aside].--What shall I do with it?
BARABAS. O my sweet Ithamore, go set it down; And come again so soon as thou hast done, For I have other business for thee.