Enter BELLAMIRA, [167] ITHAMORE, and PILIA-BORZA.
BELLAMIRA. I'll pledge thee, love, and therefore drink it off.
ITHAMORE. Say'st thou me so? have at it! and do you hear? [Whispers to her.]
ITHAMORE. Of [168] that condition I will drink it up: Here's to thee.
BELLAMIRA. [169] Nay, I'll have all or none.
ITHAMORE. There, if thou lov'st me, do not leave a drop.
BELLAMIRA. Love thee! fill me three glasses.
ITHAMORE. Three and fifty dozen: I'll pledge thee.
PILIA-BORZA. Knavely spoke, and like a knight-at-arms.
ITHAMORE. Hey, Rivo Castiliano! [170] a man's a man.
ITHAMORE. Ha! to the Jew; and send me money he [171] were best.
PILIA-BORZA. What wouldst thou do, if he should send thee none?
ITHAMORE. Do nothing: but I know what I know; he's a murderer.
BELLAMIRA. I had not thought he had been so brave a man.
ITHAMORE. You knew Mathias and the governor's son; he and I killed 'em both, and yet never touched 'em.
ITHAMORE. I carried the broth that poisoned the nuns; and he and I, snicle hand too fast, strangled a friar. [172]
ITHAMORE. We two; and 'twas never known, nor never shall be for me.
PILIA-BORZA. This shall with me unto the governor. [Aside to BELLAMIRA.]
BELLAMIRA. And fit it should: but first let's ha' more gold.-- [Aside to PILIA-BORZA.] Come, gentle Ithamore, lie in my lap.
ITHAMORE. Love me little, love me long: let music rumble, Whilst I in thy incony [173] lap do tumble.
Enter BARABAS, disguised as a French musician, with a lute, and a nosegay in his hat.
BELLAMIRA. A French musician!--Come, let's hear your skill.
BARABAS. Must tuna my lute for sound, twang, twang, first.
ITHAMORE. Wilt drink, Frenchman? here's to thee with a--Pox on this drunken hiccup!
BELLAMIRA. Prithee, Pilia-Borza, bid the fiddler give me the posy in his hat there.
PILIA-BORZA. Sirrah, you must give my mistress your posy.
BARABAS. A votre commandement, madame. [Giving nosegay.]
BELLAMIRA. How sweet, my Ithamore, the flowers smell!
ITHAMORE. Like thy breath, sweetheart; no violet like 'em.
PILIA-BORZA. Foh! methinks they stink like a hollyhock. [174]
BARABAS. So, now I am reveng'd upon 'em all: The scent thereof was death; I poison'd it. [Aside.]
ITHAMORE. Play, fiddler, or I'll cut your cat's guts into chitterlings.