To tell me that; I tell you what he can.
Jac. Friend, you mistake my station: I observe
The game, watch how my betters play, no more.
Puc. But mankind are not pieces—there's your fault!
You cannot push them, and, the first move made,
Lean back and study what the next shall be,
In confidence that, when 'tis fixed upon,
You find just where you left them, blacks and whites:
Men go on moving when your hand's away.
You build, I notice, firm on Luria's faith