Maffio
See, is she not
Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice,
Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge?
Jeppo
Hush! she may hear thy chatter.
Headsman
My young fellow,
I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak,
Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck,
And words of thine will never blunt its edge.
But if thou art so bent upon it, why
Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder:
The common people call him kindly here,
Indeed I know he has a kindly soul.
Guido
This man, whose trade is death, hath courtesies
More than the others.
Headsman
Why, God love you, sir,
I’ll do you your last service on this earth.