PILIA-BORZA. To conclude, he gave me ten crowns. [Delivers the money to ITHAMORE.] ITHAMORE. But ten? I'll not leave him worth a grey groat. Give me a ream of paper: we'll have a kingdom of gold for't. [157] PILIA-BORZA. Write for five hundred crowns. ITHAMORE. [writing] SIRRAH JEW, AS YOU LOVE YOUR LIFE, SEND ME FIVE HUNDRED CROWNS, AND GIVE THE BEARER A HUNDRED.--Tell him I must have't. PILIA-BORZA. I warrant, your worship shall have't. ITHAMORE. And, if he ask why I demand so much, tell him I scorn to write a line under a hundred crowns. PILIA-BORZA. You'd make a rich poet, sir. I am gone. [Exit with the letter.] ITHAMORE. Take thou the money; spend it for my sake. BELLAMIRA. 'Tis not thy money, but thyself I weigh: Thus Bellamira esteems of gold; [Throws it aside.] But thus of thee. [Kisses him.] ITHAMORE. That kiss again!--She runs division [158] of my lips. What an eye she casts on me! it twinkles like a star. [Aside.] BELLAMIRA. Come, my dear love, let's in and sleep together. ITHAMORE. O, that ten thousand nights were put in one, that we might sleep seven years together afore we wake! BELLAMIRA. Come, amorous wag, first banquet, and then sleep. [Exeunt.] Enter BARABAS, [159] reading a letter. BARABAS. BARABAS, SEND ME THREE HUNDRED CROWNS;-- Plain Barabas! O, that wicked courtezan! He was not wont to call me Barabas;-- OR ELSE I WILL CONFESS;--ay, there it goes: But, if I get him, coupe de gorge for that. He sent a shaggy, tatter'd, [160] staring slave, That, when he speaks, draws out his grisly beard, And winds it twice or thrice about his ear; Whose face has been a grind-stone for men's swords; His hands are hack'd, some fingers cut quite off; Who, when he speaks, grunts like a hog, and looks Like one that is employ'd in catzery [161] And cross-biting; [162] such a rogue As is the husband to a hundred whores; And I by him must send three hundred crowns. Well, my hope is, he will not stay there still; And, when he comes--O, that he were but here! Enter PILIA-BORZA. PILIA-BORZA. Jew, I must ha' more gold. BARABAS. Why, want'st thou any of thy tale? [163] PILIA-BORZA. No; but three hundred will not serve his turn. BARABAS. Not serve his turn, sir! PILIA-BORZA. No, sir; and therefore I must have five hundred more. BARABAS. I'll rather---- PILIA-BORZA. O, good words, sir, and send it you were best! see, there's his letter. [Gives letter.] BARABAS. Might he not as well come as send? pray, bid him come and fetch it: what he writes for you, [164] ye shall have straight. PILIA-BORZA. Ay, and the rest too, or else----