fault. FRIAR JACOMO. Thy father's! how? ABIGAIL. Nay, you shall pardon me.—O Barabas, Though thou deservest hardly at my hands, Yet never shall these lips bewray thy life!           [Aside.]       FRIAR JACOMO. Come, shall we go? ABIGAIL. My duty waits on you.           [Exeunt.]            Enter BARABAS, 105 reading a letter. BARABAS. What, Abigail become a nun again! False and unkind! what, hast thou lost thy father? And, all unknown and unconstrain'd of me, Art thou again got to the nunnery? Now here she writes, and wills me to repent:      Repentance! Spurca! what pretendeth 106 this? I fear she knows—'tis so—of my device In Don Mathias' and Lodovico's deaths:      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; 107 For I have now no hope but even in thee, And on that hope my happiness is built. When saw'st thou Abigail? ITHAMORE. 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.           

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