Chapter III: Epilogue

In graving, with Pygmalion to contend;
Or painting, with Apelles; doubtless the end
Must be disgrace: our actor did not so,
He only aimed to go, but not out-go.
Nor think that this day any prize[5] was played;
Here were no bets at all, no wagers laid;[6]
All the ambition that his mind doth swell,
Is but to hear from you (by me), 'twas well.

_PERSONS REPRESENTED._

FERNEZE, _Governor of Malta_.
SELIM CALYMATH, _Son of the Grand Seignior_.
DON LODOWICK, _the Governor's Son, in love with_
ABIGAIL.
DON MATHIAS, _also in love with her_.
MARTIN DEL BOSCO, _Vice-Admiral of Spain_.
BARABAS, _the Jew of Malta_.
ITHAMORE, _Barabas' slave_.

BARNARDINE,}
} _Friars_.
JACOMO, }

PILIA-BORSA, _a Bully._
Two Merchants.
Three Jews.
Bassoes, Knights, Officers, Reader, Messengers, Slaves,
_and_ Carpenters.
KATHARINE, _mother of_ DON MATTHIAS.
ABIGAIL, _the Jew's Daughter_.
Abbess.
Two Nuns.
BELLAMIRA, _a Courtesan_.

MACHIAVEL, _the Prologue_.

_Scene--Malta._

THE JEW OF MALTA.

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL.

_Machiavel._ Albeit the world thinks Machiavel is dead,
Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps;
And now the Guise[7] is dead, is come from France,
To view this land, and frolic with his friends.
To some perhaps my name is odious,
But such as love me guard me from their tongues;
And let them know that I am Machiavel,
And weigh not men, and therefore not men's words.
Admired I am of those that hate me most.
Though some speak openly against my books, 10
Yet they will read me, and thereby attain
To Peter's chair: and when they cast me off,
Are poisoned by my climbing followers.
I count religion but a childish toy,
And hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Birds of the air will tell of murders past!
I am ashamed to hear such fooleries.
Many will talk of title to a crown:

What right had Cæsar to the empery?[8]
Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure 20
When like the Draco's[9] they were writ in blood.
Hence comes it that a strong-built citadel
Commands much more than letters can import;
Which maxim had [but[10]] Phalaris observed,
He had never bellowed, in a brazen bull,
Of great one's envy. Of the poor petty wights
Let me be envied and not pitièd!
But whither am I bound? I come not, I,
To read a lecture hear in Britainy,[11]
But to present the tragedy of a Jew, 30
Who smiles to see how full his bags are crammed,
Which money was not got without my means.
I crave but this--grace him as he deserves,
And let him not be entertained the worse
Because he favours me.
[_Exit._