Mother. What is that lying on the ground? You are spoiling all your clothes and boots on the dirtiest of the ground. Why don’t you first sweep the floor and then sit down? Bring the broom here!
Tull. What have we decided on?
Sci. One needle for each point in the game.
Tull. Certainly it should be two.
Lent. I have no needles. If you like I will deposit cherry-stones instead of needles.
Tull. Get away. Let me and you play, Scipio.
Sci. I will risk it—to cast my needle on luck.
Tull. Give me the dice in my hand, so that I may cast first. Look, I have won the stake.
Sci. You haven’t. For you were not playing then in serious.
Tull. Whoever plays seriously? It is as if you spoke of a white Moor.