I beg you to grant me a respite. I shall be glad to let you kill me, yet only after your portrait is finished.
The Marshal.
And by your creation, you hope to obtain all manner of favour, and quietly to escape. You are cunning indeed.
The Painter.
It is the peculiar pleasure of magnanimity to suspect the magnanimity of others.
The Marshal.
Are you reading me a lecture?
The Painter.
It seems that I must. I must make an effort to win your heart's esteem, which is worth more to me than any amount of foolish play with briskly wielded swords.
The Marshal.