Ithamore Quotes in The Jew of Malta
Yonder comes Don Mathias, let us stay;
He loves my daughter, and she holds him dear:
But I have sworn to frustrate both their hopes,
And be revenged upon the—(Governor).
Barabas: Hast thou no trade? Then listen to my words,
And I will teach that shall stick by thee:
First be thou void of these affections,
Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear,
Be moved at nothing, see thou pity none,
But to thyself smile when the Christians moan.
Ithamore: Oh brave, master, I worship your nose for this.
Ithamore: Oh mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had.
Abigail: Say, knave, why rail’st upon my father thus?
Ithamore: Oh, my master has the bravest policy.
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 poisonèd.
In a few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna’s bane:
The juice of hebon, 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 hat left her father thus.
Ithamore Quotes in The Jew of Malta
Yonder comes Don Mathias, let us stay;
He loves my daughter, and she holds him dear:
But I have sworn to frustrate both their hopes,
And be revenged upon the—(Governor).
Barabas: Hast thou no trade? Then listen to my words,
And I will teach that shall stick by thee:
First be thou void of these affections,
Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear,
Be moved at nothing, see thou pity none,
But to thyself smile when the Christians moan.
Ithamore: Oh brave, master, I worship your nose for this.
Ithamore: Oh mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had.
Abigail: Say, knave, why rail’st upon my father thus?
Ithamore: Oh, my master has the bravest policy.
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 poisonèd.
In a few, the blood of Hydra, Lerna’s bane:
The juice of hebon, 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 hat left her father thus.
