Omar. You talk, brother, almost as if you wished to insult me.
Mah. Insult you?
Omar. When one does all one can,—when one is in distress oneself, and in hourly fear of losing more,—can a man in such a case help being vexed when he receives nothing but bitter mockery and abject contempt for all his good-will?
Mah. Shew me your good-will, and you shall receive my warmest thanks.
Omar. Doubt of it no longer, or you will enrage me; I can keep cool a long time, and bear a good deal, but when I am irritated in such a deliberate way——
Mah. I see how it is, Omar; you play the insulted man, only to have a better excuse for breaking friends with me entirely.
Omar. You would never have thought of such a thing, if you were not caught in such paltry tricks yourself. We are most prone to suspect others of those vices with which we are most familiar ourselves.
Mah. No, Omar;—but since such language as yours encourages me to boast,—I must say, I didn't act so towards you, when you came, a poor stranger, to Bagdad.
Omar. And so for the five hundred sequins which you then gave me, you want ten thousand from me now.
Mah. Had I been able, I would gladly have given you more.