What, woman! moan not for a little loss;
Thy father has enough in store for thee.

ABIGAIL. Nor for myself, but aged Barabas,
Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail:
But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears;
And, urg'd thereto with my afflictions,
With fierce exclaims run to the senate-house,
And in the senate reprehend them all,
And rent their hearts with tearing of my hair,
Till they reduce<43> the wrongs done to my father.

BARABAS. No, Abigail; things past recovery
Are hardly cur'd with exclamations:
Be silent, daughter; sufferance breeds ease,
And time may yield us an occasion,
Which on the sudden cannot serve the turn.
Besides, my girl, think me not all so fond<44>
As negligently to forgo so much
Without provision for thyself and me:
Ten thousand portagues,<45> besides great pearls,
Rich costly jewels, and stones infinite,
Fearing the worst of this before it fell,
I closely hid.

ABIGAIL. Where, father?

BARABAS. In my house, my girl.

ABIGAIL. Then shall they ne'er be seen of Barabas;