"Patience," pats Paolo the recalcitrant—
"Yon have not had, so far, the proper luck,
Nor do my gains suffice to keep us both:
A modest competency is mine, not more.
You are the Count however, yours the style,
Heirdom and state,—you can't expect all good.
Had I, now, held your hand of cards ... well, well—
What 's yet unplayed, I 'll look at, by your leave,
Over your shoulder,—I who made my game,
Let 's see, if I can't help to handle yours.