ABIGAIL. I did offend high heaven so grievously As I am almost desperate for my sins; And one offense torments me more than all. You knew Mathias and Don Lodowick? FRIAR BARNARDINE. Yes; what of them? ABIGAIL. My father did contract me to 'em both; First to Don Lodowick: him I never lov'd; Mathias was the man that I held dear, And for his sake did I become a nun. FRIAR BARNARDINE. So: say how was their end? ABIGAIL. Both, jealous of my love, envied [122] each other; And by my father's practice, [123] which is there [Gives writing.] Set down at large, the gallants were both slain. FRIAR BARNARDINE. O, monstrous villany! ABIGAIL. To work my peace, this I confess to thee: Reveal it not; for then my father dies. FRIAR BARNARDINE. Know that confession must not be reveal'd; The canon-law forbids it, and the priest That makes it known, being degraded first, Shall be condemn'd, and then sent to the fire. ABIGAIL. So I have heard; pray, therefore, keep it close. Death seizeth on my heart: ah, gentle friar, Convert my father that he may be sav'd, And witness that I die a Christian! [Dies.] FRIAR BARNARDINE. Ay, and a virgin too; that grieves me most. But I must to the Jew, and exclaim on him, And make him stand in fear of me. Re-enter FRIAR JACOMO. FRIAR JACOMO. O brother, all the nuns are dead! let's bury them. FRIAR BARNARDINE. First help to bury this; then go with me, And help me to exclaim against the Jew. FRIAR JACOMO. Why, what has he done? FRIAR BARNARDINE. A thing that makes me tremble to unfold. FRIAR JACOMO. What, has he crucified a child? [124] FRIAR BARNARDINE. No, but a worse thing: 'twas told me in shrift; Thou know'st 'tis death, an if it be reveal'd. Come, let's away. [Exeunt.] ACT IV. Enter BARABAS [125] and ITHAMORE. Bells within. BARABAS. There is no music to [126] a Christian's knell: How sweet the bells ring, now the nuns are dead, That sound at other times like tinkers' pans! I was afraid the poison had not wrought, Or, though it wrought, it would have done no good, For every year they swell, and yet they live: Now all are dead, not one remains alive. ITHAMORE. That's brave, master: but think you it will not be known? BARABAS. How can it, if we two be secret? ITHAMORE. For my part, fear you not. BARABAS. I'd cut thy throat, if I did. ITHAMORE. And reason too. But here's a royal monastery hard by; Good master, let me poison all the monks. BARABAS. Thou shalt not need; for, now the nuns are dead, They'll die with grief. ITHAMORE. Do you not sorrow for your daughter's death?