Barabas Monologue from The Jew of Malta

From The Jew of Malta by Christopher Marlowe

male · anguished · 1:09 min

Thus, like the sad-presaging raven, that tolls The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, And in the shadow of the silent night Doth shake contagion from her sable wings, Vex'd and tormented runs poor Barabas With fatal curses towards these Christians. The incertain pleasures of swift-footed time Have ta'en their flight, and left me in despair; And of my former riches rests no more But bare remembrance; like a soldier's scar, That has no further comfort for his maim.-- O Thou, that with a fiery pillar ledd'st The sons of Israel through the dismal shades, Light Abraham's offspring; and direct the hand Of Abigail this night! or let the day Turn to eternal darkness after this!-- No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes, Nor quiet enter my distemper'd thoughts, Till I have answer of my Abigail.

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