_Pilia._ Hold thee, wench, there's something for thee to spend. _Bell._ 'Tis silver. I disdain it. _Pilia._ I, but the Jew has gold, And I will have it, or it shall go hard. _Court._ Tell me, how cam'st thou by this? _Pilia._ 'Faith, walking the back lanes, through the gardens, I chanced to cast mine eye up to the Jew's counting-house, where I saw some bags of money, and in the night I clambered up with my hooks, and, as I was taking my choice, I heard a rumbling in the house; so I took only this, and run my way: but here's the Jew's man. 24 _Bell._ Hide the bag. _Enter_ ITHAMORE. _Pilia._ Look not towards him, let's away: zoon's, what a looking thou keep'st; thou'lt betray 's anon. [_Exeunt_ Courtesan _and_ PILIA-BORZA. _Itha_. O the sweetest face that ever I beheld! I know she is a courtesan by her attire: now would I give a hundred of the Jew's crowns that I had such a concubine. Well, 31 I have delivered the challenge in such sort, As meet they will, and fighting die; brave sport. [_Exit._ SCENE II. _Enter_ MATHIAS.[78] _Math._ This is the place, now Abigail shall see Whether Mathias holds her dear or no. _Enter_ LODOWICK.[79] What, dares the villain write in such base terms? [_Reading a letter._ _Lod._ I did it; and revenge it if thou dar'st. [_They fight._ _Enter_ BARABAS, _above._[80] _Bar._ O! bravely fought; and yet they thrust not home. Now, Lodowick! now, Mathias! So---- [_Both fall._ So now they have showed themselves to be tall[81] fellows. [_Cries within._] Part 'em, part 'em. _Bar._ I, part 'em now they are dead. Farewell, farewell. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Governor _and_ MATHIAS'S Mother. _Gov._ What sight is this?--my Lodowick[82] slain! 10 These arms of mine shall be thy sepulchre.[83] _Mother._ Who is this? my son Mathias slain! _Gov._ O Lodowick! had'st thou perished by the Turk, Wretched Ferneze might have 'venged thy death. _Mother._ Thy son slew mine, and I'll revenge his death. _Gov._ Look, Katherine, look!--thy son gave mine these wounds. _Mother._ O leave to grieve me, I am grieved enough. _Gov._ O! that my sighs could turn to lively breath; And these my tears to blood, that he might live. _Mother._ Who made them enemies? 20 _Gov._ I know not, and that grieves me most of all. _Mother._ My son loved thine. _Gov._ And so did Lodowick him.