_Pilia._ A musty[138] slave he is; whither now, fiddler? _Bar._ _Pardonnez moi, monsieur_, me[139] be no well. [_Exit._ _Pilia._ Farewell, fiddler: one letter more to the Jew. _Bell._ Prythee, sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. _Itha._ 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. 81 _Pilia._ Let me alone to urge it, now I know the meaning. _Itha._ The meaning has a meaning; come let's in: To undo a Jew is charity, and not sin. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. _Enter_[140] Governor, Knights, _and_ MARTIN DEL BOSCO. _Gov._ Now, gentlemen, betake you to your arms, And see that Malta be well fortified; And it behoves you to be resolute; For Calymath, having hovered here so long, Will win the town or die before the walls. _Knights._ And die he shall, for we will never yield. _Enter_ BELLAMIRA _and_ PILIA-BORSA. _Bell._ O, bring us to the Governor. _Gov._ Away with her; she is a courtesan. _Bell._ Whate'er I am, yet, Governor, hear me speak; I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain: 10 Mathias did it not; it was the Jew. _Pilia._ Who, besides the slaughter of these gentlemen, Poisoned his own daughter and the nuns, Strangled a friar, and I know not what Mischief besides. _Gov._ Had we but proof of this---- _Bell._ Strong proof, my lord; his man's now at my lodging, That was his agent; he'll confess it all. _Gov._ Go fetch him straight [_Exeunt_ Officers]; I always feared that Jew. 20 _Enter_ Officers _with_ BARABAS _and_ ITHAMORE. _Bar._ I'll go alone; dogs, do not hale me thus. _Itha._ Nor me neither, I cannot outrun you, constable: O my belly! _Bar._ One dram of powder more had made all sure; What a damned slave was I! [_Aside._ _Gov._ Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetched. _Knights._ Nay, stay, my lord, 't may be he will confess? _Bar._ Confess! what mean you, lords, who should confess? _Gov._ Thou and thy Turk; 'twas you that slew my son. _Itha._ Guilty, my lord, I confess: your son and Mathias were both contracted unto Abigail; [he] forged a counterfeit challenge. 31 _Bar._ Who carried that challenge? _Itha._ I carried it, I confess; but who writ it? Marry, even he that strangled Barnardine, poisoned the nuns, and his own daughter. _Gov._ Away with him, his sight is death to me.