go set it down; And come again so soon as thou hast done, For I have other business for thee. ITHAMORE. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders mares:  I'll carry't to the nuns with a powder. BARABAS. And the horse-pestilence to boot:  away! ITHAMORE. I am gone:      Pay me my wages, for my work is done.           [Exit with the pot.]       BARABAS. I'll pay thee with a vengeance, Ithamore!           [Exit.]            Enter FERNEZE, 116 MARTIN DEL BOSCO, KNIGHTS, and BASSO. FERNEZE. Welcome, great basso: 117 how fares Calymath? What wind drives you thus into Malta-road? BASSO. The wind that bloweth all the world besides,      Desire of gold. FERNEZE. Desire of gold, great sir! That's to be gotten in the Western Inde:      In Malta are no golden minerals. BASSO. To you of Malta thus saith Calymath:      The time you took for respite is at hand For the performance of your promise pass'd; And for the tribute-money I am sent. FERNEZE. Basso, in brief, shalt have no tribute here, Nor shall the heathens live upon our spoil:      First will we raze the city-walls ourselves, Lay waste the island, hew the temples down, And, shipping off our goods to Sicily, Open an entrance for the wasteful sea, Whose billows, beating the resistless banks, 118 Shall overflow it with their refluence. BASSO. Well, governor, since thou hast broke the league By flat denial of the promis'd tribute, Talk not of razing down your city-walls; You shall not need trouble yourselves so far, For Selim Calymath shall come himself, And with brass bullets batter down your towers, And turn proud Malta to a wilderness, For these intolerable wrongs of yours:      And so, farewell. FERNEZE. Farewell.           [Exit BASSO.]      And now, you men of Malta, look about, And let's provide to welcome Calymath:      Close your port-cullis, charge your basilisks, 119 And, as you profitably take up arms, So now courageously encounter them, For by this answer broken is the league, And naught is to be look'd for now but wars, And naught to us more welcome is than wars.           [Exeunt.]            Enter FRIAR JACOMO 120 and FRIAR BARNARDINE. FRIAR JACOMO. O brother, brother, all the nuns are sick, And physic will not help them! they must die. FRIAR BARNARDINE. The abbess sent for me to be confess'd:      O, what a sad confession will there be! FRIAR JACOMO. And so did fair Maria send for me:      I'll to her lodging; hereabouts she lies.           [Exit.]            Enter ABIGAIL. FRIAR BARNARDINE. What, all dead, save only Abigail! ABIGAIL. And I shall die too, 

 Prev. P 30/75 next