_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.

_Mother._ Lend me that weapon that did kill my son, And it shall murder me.

_Gov._ Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's, And on that rather should Ferneze die.

_Mother._ Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths, That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads.

_Gov._ Then take them up, and let them be interred 30 Within one sacred monument of stone; Upon which altar[84] I will offer up My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears, And with my prayers pierce impartial[85] heavens,

Till they [reveal] the causers of our smarts, Which forced their hands divide united hearts: Come, Katherine, our losses equal are, Then of true grief let us take equal share.

[_Exeunt with the bodies_.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ ITHAMORE.[86]

_Itha._ Why, was there ever seen such villainy, So neatly plotted, and so well performed?

Both held in hand,[87] and flatly both beguiled?

_Enter_ ABIGAIL.

_Abig._ Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st thou so?

_Itha._ O mistress, ha! ha! ha!

_Abig._ Why, what ail'st thou?

_Itha._ O my master!

_Abig._ Ha!

_Itha._ O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had. 11

_Abig._ Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus?

_Itha._ O, my master has the bravest policy.

_Abig._ Wherein?

_Itha._ Why, know you not?

_Abig._ Why, no.

_Itha._ Know you not of Mathia[s'] and Don Lodowick['s] disaster?

_Abig._ No, what was it?

_Itha._ Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and _imprimis_ to Mathia[s]. 22 And then they met, [and,] as the story says, In doleful wise they ended both their days.

_Abig._ And was my father furtherer of their deaths?

_Itha._ Am I Ithamore?

_Abig._ Yes.

_Itha._ So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge.

_Abig._ Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this, 30 Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire For any of the Friars of St. Jaques,[88]

And say, I pray them come and speak with me.

_Itha._ I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question?

_Abig._ Well, sirrah, what is't?

_Itha._ A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?

_Abig._ Go to, sirrah sauce, is this your question? get ye gone. 40

_Itha._ I will, forsooth, mistress. [_Exit._

_Abig._ Hard-hearted father, unkind Barabas, Was this the pursuit of thy policy!