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.