Pietro. At supper—
Mal. In the citadel—
Pietro. In the citadel. 10
Mal. Cross capers! tricks! truth o’ heaven! he[509] would discharge us as boys do eldern guns, one pellet to strike out another. Of what faith art now?
Pietro. All is damnation; wickedness extreme:
There is no faith in man.
Mal. In none but usurers and brokers; they deceive no man: men take ’em for blood-suckers, and so they are. Now, God deliver me from my friends!
Pietro. Thy friends! 19
Mal. Yes, from my friends; for from mine enemies I’ll deliver myself. O, cut-throat friendship is the rankest villainy! Mark this Mendoza; mark him for a villain: but heaven will send a plague upon him for a rogue.
Pietro. O world!
Mal. World! ’tis the only region of death, the greatest shop of the devil; the crudest prison of men, out of the which none pass without paying their dearest breath for a fee; there’s nothing perfect in it but extreme, extreme calamity, such as comes yonder.