Math. What, is he gone unto my mother?
Bar. Nay, if you will, stay till she comes herself.
Math. I cannot stay; for if my mother come, She'll die with grief. [Exit.
Abig. I cannot take my leave of him for tears: Father, why have you thus incensed them both?
Bar. What's that to thee?360
Abig. I'll make 'em friends again.
Bar. You'll make 'em friends! Are there not Jews enough in Malta, But thou must doat upon a Christian?
Abig. I will have Don Mathias, he is my love.
Bar. Yes, you shall have him: go put her in.
Itha. I, I'll put her in. [Puts her in.