FIESCO (turns away contemptuously). To hear such things from such a scoundrel!
MOOR. Many lamented that the chief of Genoa should slumber over the ruin of his country. And many sneered. Most men condemned you. All bewailed the state which thus had lost you. A Jesuit pretended to have smelt out the fox that lay disguised in sheep's clothing.
FIESCO. One fox smells out another. What say they to my passion for the
Countess Imperiali?
MOOR. What I would rather be excused from repeating.
FIESCO. Out with it—the bolder the more welcome. What are their murmurings?
MOOR. 'Tis not a murmur. At all the coffee-houses, billiard-tables, hotels, and public walks—in the market-place, at the Exchange, they proclaim aloud——
FIESCO. What? I command thee!
MOOR (retreating). That you are a fool!
FIESCO. Well, take this sequin for these tidings. Now have I put on a
fool's cap that these Genoese may have wherewith to rack their wits.
Next I will shave my head, that they may play Merry Andrew to my Clown.
How did the manufacturers receive my presents?
MOOR (humorously). Why, Mr. Fool, they looked like poor knaves——