Math. I, Barabas, or else thou wrong'st me much.
Bar. O, Heaven forbid I should have such a thought. Pardon me though I weep: the Governor's son260 Will, whether I will or no, have Abigail: He sends her letters, bracelets, jewels, rings.
Math. Does she receive them?
Bar. She? No, Mathias, no, but sends them back, And when he comes, she locks herself up fast; Yet through the keyhole will he talk to her, While she runs to the window looking out, When you should come and hale him from the door.
Math. O treacherous Lodowick!
Bar. Even now as I came home, he slipt me in,270 And I am sure he is with Abigail.
Math. I'll rouse him thence.
Bar. Not for all Malta, therefore sheathe your sword; If you love me, no quarrels in my house; But steal you in, and seem to see him not; I'll give him such a warning ere he goes As he shall have small hopes of Abigail. Away, for here they come.
Enter Lodowick and Abigail.
Math. What, hand in hand! I cannot suffer this.