Itha. Faith, sir, my birth is but mean: my name's Ithamore, my profession what you please.
Bar. Hast thou no trade? then listen to my words,170 And I will teach [thee] that shall stick by thee: First be thou void of these affections, Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear, Be moved at nothing, see thou pity none, But to thyself smile when the Christians moan.
Itha. O brave! master, I worship your nose [67] for this.
Bar. As [68] for myself, I walk abroad o' nights And kill sick people groaning under walls: Sometimes I go about and poison wells; And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves,180 I am content to lose some of my crowns, That I may, walking in my gallery, See 'em go pinioned along by my door. Being young, I studied physic, and began To practise first upon the Italian; There I enriched the priests with burials, And always kept the sextons' arms in ure [69] With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells: And after that was I an engineer, And in the wars 'twixt France and Germany,190 Under pretence of helping Charles the Fifth, Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems. Then after that was I an usurer, And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting, And tricks belonging unto brokery, I filled the jails with bankrupts in a year, And with young orphans planted hospitals, And every moon made some or other mad, And now and then one hang himself for grief, Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll200 How I with interest tormented him. But mark how I am blest for plaguing them; I have as much coin as will buy the town. But tell me now, how hast thou spent thy time?
Itha. 'Faith, master, In setting Christian villages on fire, Chaining of eunuchs, binding galley-slaves. One time I was an hostler in an inn, And in the night time secretly would I steal To travellers' chambers, and there cut their throats:210 Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneeled, I strewed powder on the marble stones, And therewithal their knees would rankle so That I have laughed a-good [70] to see the cripples Go limping home to Christendom on stilts.
Bar. Why this is something: make account of me As of thy fellow; we are villains both: Both circumcisèd, we hate Christians both: Be true and secret, thou shalt want no gold. But stand aside, here comes Don Lodowick.220
Enter Lodowick.
Lod. O Barabas, well met; Where is the diamond you told me of?
Bar. I have it for you, sir; please you walk in with me: What ho, Abigail! [71] open the door, I say.
Enter Abigail.