The Works of Christopher Marlowe - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Bar._ O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home.
Now, Lodowick! now, Mathias! So---- [_Both fall._ So now they have showed themselves to be tall[81] fellows.
[_Cries within._] Part 'em, part 'em.
_Bar._ I, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell.
[_Exit._ _Enter_ Governor _and_ MATHIAS'S Mother.
_Gov._ What sight is this?--my Lodowick[82] slain! 10 These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.[83]
_Mother._ Who is this? my son Mathias slain!
_Gov._ O Lodowick! had'st thou perished by the Turk, Wretched Ferneze might have 'venged thy death.
_Mother._ Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death.
_Gov._ Look, Katherine, look!--thy son gave mine these wounds.
_Mother._ O leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough.
_Gov._ O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath; And these my tears to blood, that he might live.
_Mother._ Who made them enemies? 20
_Gov._ I know not, and that grieves me most of all.
_Mother._ My son loved thine.
_Gov._ And so did Lodowick him.
_Mother._ Lend me that weapon that did kill my son, And it shall murder me.
_Gov._ Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's, And on that rather should Ferneze die.
_Mother._ Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths, That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads.
_Gov._ Then take them up, and let them be interred 30 Within one sacred monument of stone; Upon which altar[84] I will offer up My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears, And with my prayers pierce impartial[85] 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.
[_Exeunt with the bodies_.
SCENE III.
_Enter_ ITHAMORE.[86]
_Itha._ Why, was there ever seen such villainy, So neatly plotted, and so well performed?
Both held in hand,[87] and flatly both beguiled?
_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. 11
_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.
_Itha._ Know you not of Mathia[s'] and Don Lodowick['s] disaster?
_Abig._ No, what was it?
_Itha._ Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and _imprimis_ to Mathia[s]. 22 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, 30 Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire For any of the Friars of St. Jaques,[88]
And say, I pray them come and speak with me.
_Itha._ I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question?
_Abig._ Well, sirrah, what is't?
_Itha._ A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?
_Abig._ Go to, sirrah sauce, is this your question? get ye gone. 40
_Itha._ I will, forsooth, mistress. [_Exit._
_Abig._ Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas, Was this the pursuit of thy policy!
