ny! (Servants enter.) Stay, and answer--thou hast
performed thy task like a bungler. Who pays thy wages?

MOOR (after several fruitless attempts to escape). You cannot hang me
higher than the gallows are----

FIESCO. No--be comforted--not on the horns of the moon, but higher than
ever yet were gallows--yet hold! Thy scheme was too politic to be of thy
own contrivance speak, fellow! who hired thee?

MOOR. Think me a rascal, sir, but not a fool.

FIESCO. What, is the scoundrel proud? Speak, sirrah! Who hired thee?

MOOR (aside). Shall I alone be called a fool? Who hired me? 'Twas but
a hundred miserable sequins. Who hired me, did you ask? Prince
Gianettino.

FIESCO (walking about in a passion). A hundred sequins? And is that all
the value set upon Fiesco's head? Shame on thee, Prince of Genoa! Here,
fellow (taking money from an escritoire), are a thousand for thee. Tell
thy master he is a niggardly assassin. (MOOR looks at him with
astonishment.) What dost thou gaze at? (MOOR takes up the money--lays
it down--takes it up again, and looks at FIESCO with increased
astonishment). What dost thou mean?

MOOR (throwing the money resolutely upon the table). Sir, that money I
have not earned--I deserve it not.

FIESCO. Blockhead, thou hast deserved the gallows; but the offended
elephant tramples on men not on worms. Were thy life worth but two words
I would have thee hanged.

MOOR (bowing with an air of pleasure at his escape). Sir, you are too
good----

FIESCO. Not towards thee! God forbid! No. I am amused to think my
humor can make or unmake such a villain as thou, therefore dost thou go
scot-free--understand me aright--I take thy failure as an omen of my
future greatness--'tis this thought that renders me indulgent, and
preserves thy life.

MOOR (in a tone of confidence). Count, your hand! honor for honor. If
any man in this country has a throat too much--command me, and I'll cut
it--gratis.

FIESCO. Obliging scoundrel! He would show his gratitude by cutting
throats wholesale!

MOOR. Men like me, sir, receive no favor without acknowledgment. We
know what honor is.

FIESCO. The honor of cut-throats?

MOOR. Which is, perhaps, more to be relied on than that of your men of
character. They break their oaths made in the name of God. We keep ours
pledged to the devil.

FIESCO. Thou art an amusing villain.

MOOR. I rejoice to meet your approbation. Try me; you will find in me a
man who is a thorough master of h