FIESCO (retreating). That I perceive.
MOOR. Beware of Doria!
FIESCO (approaching him with an air of confidence). Perhaps my suspicions have wronged thee, my friend—Doria is indeed the name I dread.
MOOR. Avoid the man, then. Can you read?
FIESCO. A curious question! Thou hast known, it seems, many of our cavaliers. What writing hast thou?
MOOR. Your name is amongst other condemned sinners. (Presents a paper, and draws close to FIESCO, who is standing before a looking-glass and glancing over the paper—the MOOR steals round him, draws a dagger, and is going to stab.)
FIESCO (turning round dexterously, and seizing the MOOR'S arm.) Stop, scoundrel! (Wrests the dagger from him.)
MOOR (stamps in a frantic manner). Damnation! Your pardon—sire!
FIESCO (seizing him, calls with a loud voice). Stephano! Drullo! Antonio! (holding the MOOR by the throat.) Stay, my friend!—what hellish villany! (Servants enter.) Stay, and answer—thou hast performed thy task like a bungler. Who pays thy wages?
MOOR (after several fruitless attempts to escape). You cannot hang me higher than the gallows are——