Moro. But all too great.
And think; Yolanda is to him as heaven:
He will not yield her.
Renier. Then he must. And she,
The Venetian, has ways to it—a secret
To wrench her from his arms.
Moro. Sir, sir?—of what?
Renier. I know not, of some shame.
Moro. Shame!
Renier. Why do you clutch me?
Moro. I—am a priest—and shame——
Renier. You show suspicions.
[Vittia enters unnoted.
Of whom?—Of whom, and what?