ITHAMORE. He never put on clean shirt since he was circumcised. BARABAS. O rascal! I change myself twice a-day. [Aside.] ITHAMORE. The hat he wears, Judas left under the elder when he hanged himself. [176] BARABAS. 'Twas sent me for a present from the Great Cham. [Aside.] PILIA-BORZA. A nasty [177] slave he is.--Whither now, fiddler? BARABAS. Pardonnez moi, monsieur; me [178] be no well. PILIA-BORZA. Farewell, fiddler [Exit BARABAS.] One letter more to the Jew. BELLAMIRA. Prithee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. ITHAMORE. No, I'll send by word of mouth now. --Bid him deliver thee a thousand crowns, by the same token that the nuns loved rice, that Friar Barnardine slept in his own clothes; any of 'em will do it. PILIA-BORZA. Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning. ITHAMORE. The meaning has a meaning. Come, let's in: To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin. [Exeunt.] ACT V. Enter FERNEZE, [179] KNIGHTS, MARTIN DEL BOSCO, and OFFICERS. FERNEZE. Now, gentlemen, betake you to your arms, And see that Malta be well fortified; And it behoves you to be resolute; For Calymath, having hover'd here so long, Will win the town, or die before the walls. FIRST KNIGHT. And die he shall; for we will never yield. Enter BELLAMIRA and PILIA-BORZA. BELLAMIRA. O, bring us to the governor! FERNEZE. Away with her! she is a courtezan. BELLAMIRA. Whate'er I am, yet, governor, hear me speak: I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain: Mathias did it not; it was the Jew. PILIA-BORZA. Who, besides the slaughter of these gentlemen, Poison'd his own daughter and the nuns, Strangled a friar, and I know not what Mischief beside. FERNEZE. Had we but proof of this---- BELLAMIRA. Strong proof, my lord: his man's now at my lodging, That was his agent; he'll confess it all. FERNEZE. Go fetch him [180] straight [Exeunt OFFICERS]. I always fear'd that Jew. Re-enter OFFICERS with BARABAS and ITHAMORE. BARABAS. I'll go alone; dogs, do not hale me thus. ITHAMORE. Nor me neither; I cannot out-run you, constable.--O, my belly! BARABAS. One dram of powder more had made all sure: What a damn'd slave was I! [Aside.] FERNEZE. Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetch'd. FIRST KNIGHT. Nay, stay, my lord; 't may be he will confess. BARABAS. Confess! what mean you, lords? who should confess? FERNEZE. Thou and thy Turk; 'twas that slew my son. ITHAMORE. Guilty, my lord, I confess. Your son and Mathias were both contracted unto Abigail: [he] forged a counterfeit challenge. BARABAS. Who carried that challenge?