The First Ruffian.--Was not your whistling addressed to us?
Abellino.--It was.
A Ruffian.--And what would you with us?
Abellino.--Hear me! I am a miserable wretch, and starving; give me
an alms out of your booty!
A Ruffian.--An alms? Ha! ha! ha! By my soul that is whimsical!--
Alms from us, indeed!--Oh, by all means! No doubt, you shall have
alms in plenty.
Abellino.--Or else give me fifty sequins, and I'll bind myself to
your service till I shall have worked out my debt.
A Ruffian.--Aye? and pray, then, who may you be?
Abellino.--A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more
miserable. Such am I at present; but hereafter--I have powers,
knaves. This arm could pierce a heart, though guarded by three
breastplates; this eye, though surrounded by Egyptian darkness,
could still see to stab sure.
A Ruffian.--Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?
Abellino.--In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his
life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.
A Ruffian.--No? So much the better. But hark ye, comrade, are you
sincere?
Abellino.--Despair never lies.
A Ruffian.--Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor -
Abellino.--My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your
daggers would be as sharp as now.
The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for
a few moments, after which they returned their daggers into the
sheath.
"Come on, then," said one of them, "follow us to our home.
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