O Ithamore, come near; Come near, my love; come near, thy master's life, My trusty servant, nay, my second self:[94] For I have now no hope but even in thee: And on that hope my happiness is built; When saw'st thou Abigail? _Itha._ To-day. _Bar._ With whom? 20 _Itha._ A friar. _Bar._ A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed. _Itha._ How, sir? _Bar._ Why, made mine Abigail a nun. _Itha._ That's no lie, for she sent me for him. _Bar._ O unhappy day! False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! But let 'em go: and, Ithamore, from hence Ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace; Ne'er shall she live to inherit aught of mine, 30 Be blest of me, nor come within my gates, But perish underneath my bitter curse, Like Cain by Adam, for his brother's death. _Itha._ O master! _Bar._ Ithamore, entreat not for her, I am moved, And she is hateful to my soul and me: And 'less[95] thou yield to this that I entreat, I cannot think but that thou hat'st my life. _Itha._ Who, I, master? Why, I'll run to some rock, And throw myself headlong into the sea; 40 Why, I'll do anything for your sweet sake. _Bar._ O trusty Ithamore, no servant, but my friend: I here adopt thee for mine only heir, All that I have is thine when I am dead, And whilst I live use half; spend as myself; Here take my keys, I'll give 'em thee anon: Go buy thee garments: but thou shall not want: Only know this, that thus thou art to do: But first go fetch me in the pot of rice That for our supper stands upon the fire. 50 _Itha._ I hold my head my master's hungry. I go, sir. [_Exit._ _Bar._ Thus every villain ambles after wealth, Although he ne'er be richer than in hope: But, husht! _Enter_ ITHAMORE _with the pot._ _Itha._ Here 'tis, master. _Bar._ Well said, Ithamore; what, hast thou brought The ladle with thee too? _Itha._ Yes, sir, the proverb says he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoon.[96] I have brought you a ladle. 60 _Bar._ Very well, Ithamore, then now be secret; And for thy sake, whom I so dearly love, Now shalt thou see the death of Abigail, That thou may'st freely live to be my heir. _Itha._ Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more than you are aware. _Bar._ I, but, Ithamore, seest thou this? It is a precious powder that I bought Of an Italian, in Ancona, once, 70 Whose operation is to bind, infect, And poison deeply, yet not appear In forty hours after it is ta'en.