Fiesco; or, the Genoese Conspiracy: A Tragedy

GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR, enter in conversation.

Gianettino. Thou hast understood me!

Moor. Well----

Gianettino. The white mask----

Moor. Well----

Gianettino. I say, the white mask----

Moor. Well--well--well----

Gianettino. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to his heart).

Moor. Give yourself no concern.

Gianettino. And be sure to strike home----

Moor. He shall have enough.

Gianettino. (maliciously) That the poor count may not have long to suffer.

Moor. With your leave, sir, a word--at what weight do you estimate his head?

Gianettino. What weight? A hundred sequins----

Moor. (blowing through his fingers) Poh! Light as a feather!

Gianettino. What art thou muttering?

Moor. I was saying--it is light work.

Gianettino. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition. Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure.

Moor. But, sir,--I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.

Gianettino. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a bank-note.) In three days at farthest he must be cold.

[Exit.

Moor. (picking up the note) Well, this really is what I call credit to trust--the simple word of such a rogue as I am!

[Exit.