y live to be my heir.

ITHAMORE. Why, master, will you poison her with a mess of rice-
porridge? that will preserve life, make her round and plump, and
batten [111] more than you are aware.

BARABAS. Ay, but, Ithamore, seest thou this?
It is a precious powder that I bought
Of an Italian, in Ancona, once,
Whose operation is to bind, infect,
And poison deeply, yet not appear
In forty hours after it is ta'en.

ITHAMORE. How, master?

BARABAS. Thus, Ithamore:
This even they use in Malta here,--'tis call'd
Saint Jaques' Even,--and then, I say, they use
To send their alms unto the nunneries:
Among the rest, bear this, and set it there:
There's a dark entry where they take it in,
Where they must neither see the messenger,
Nor make inquiry who hath sent it them.

ITHAMORE. How so?

BARABAS. Belike there is some ceremony in't.
There, Ithamore, must thou go place this pot: [112]
Stay; let me spice it first.

ITHAMORE. Pray, do, and let me help you, master.
Pray, let me taste first.

BARABAS. Prithee, do.[ITHAMORE tastes.] What say'st thou now?

ITHAMORE. Troth, master, I'm loath such a pot of pottage should
be spoiled.

BARABAS. Peace, Ithamore! 'tis better so than spar'd.
[Puts the powder into the pot.]
Assure thyself thou shalt have broth by the eye: [113]
My purse, my coffer, and myself is thine.

ITHAMORE. Well, master, I go.

BARABAS. Stay; first let me stir it, Ithamore.
As fatal be it to her as the draught
Of which great Alexander drunk, and died;
And with her let it work like Borgia's wine,
Whereof his sire the Pope was poisoned!
In few, [114] the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane,
The juice of hebon, [115] and Cocytus' breath,
And all the poisons of the Stygian pool,
Break from the fiery kingdom, and in this
Vomit your venom, and envenom her
That, like a fiend, hath left her father thus!

ITHAMORE. What a blessing has he given't! was ever pot of
rice-porridge so sauced? [Aside].--What shall I do with it?

BARABAS. O my sweet Ithamore, go set it down;
And come again so soon as thou hast done,
For I have other business for thee.

ITHAMORE. Here's a drench to poison a whole stable of Flanders
mares: I'll carry't to the nuns with a powder.

BA