While  Barabas  is  skulking  below  his  daughter's
window  in  uncertainty  and  darkness,  awaiting  the
moment  when  Abigail  shall  disinter  his  money-bags,
Marlowe  seizes  the  occasion  for  heightening  his  avarice
to  passion :

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.
barabas  and  Abigail.  621

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.
Abigail  now  appears  upon  the  upper  platform  of  the
theatre.  The  spectators  see  her  at  work,  searching
for  the  hidden  store.  Her  father  is  still  unaware  of
her  presence.  Hovering  disquieted  and  sick  with
fear,  he  seems  to  his  own  fancy  like  the  ghosts  which
haunt  old  treasuries  and  guard  the  hoards  of  buried

men  :

Now  I  remember  those  old  women's  words.
Who  in  my  wealth  would  tell  me  winter's  tales.
