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.