r so loud.

BARABAS. Why, true; therefore did I place him there:
The other chambers open towards the street.

ITHAMORE. You loiter, master; wherefore stay we thus?
O, how I long to see him shake his heels!

BARABAS. Come on, sirrah:
Off with your girdle; make a handsome noose.--
[ITHAMORE takes off his girdle, and ties a noose on it.]
Friar, awake! [139]
[They put the noose round the FRIAR'S neck.]

FRIAR BARNARDINE. What, do you mean to strangle me?

ITHAMORE. Yes, 'cause you use to confess.

BARABAS. Blame not us, but the proverb,--Confess and be
hanged.--Pull hard.

FRIAR BARNARDINE. What, will you have [140] my life?

BARABAS. Pull hard, I say.--You would have had my goods.

ITHAMORE. Ay, and our lives too:--therefore pull amain.
[They strangle the FRIAR.]
'Tis neatly done, sir; here's no print at all.

BARABAS. Then is it as it should be. Take him up.

ITHAMORE. Nay, master, be ruled by me a little. [Takes the body,
sets it upright against the wall, and puts a staff in its hand.]
So, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he
were begging of bacon.

BARABAS. Who would not think but that this friar liv'd?
What time o' night is't now, sweet Ithamore?

ITHAMORE. Towards one. [141]

BARABAS. Then will not Jacomo be long from hence.
[Exeunt.]

Enter FRIAR JACOMO. [142]

FRIAR JACOMO. This is the hour wherein I shall proceed; [143]
O happy hour, wherein I shall convert
An infidel, and bring his gold into our treasury!
But soft! is not this Barnardine? it is;
And, understanding I should come this way,
Stands here o' purpose, meaning me some wrong,
And intercept my going to the Jew.--
Barnardine!
Wilt thou not speak? thou think'st I see thee not;
Away, I'd wish thee, and let me go by:
No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I'll force my way;
And, see, a staff stands ready for the purpose.
As thou lik'st that, stop me another time!
[Takes the staff, and strikes down the body.]

Enter BARABAS and ITHAMORE.

BARABAS. Why, how now, Jacomo! what hast thou done?

FRIAR JACOMO. Why, stricken him that would have struck at me.

BARABAS. Who is it? Barnardine! now, out, alas, he is slain!

ITHAMORE. Ay, master, he's slain;