Octavio. How was't with the Count?
Butler. Count? what?
Octavio. The title that you wished, I mean. [55]
Butler (starts in sudden passion). Hell and damnation!
Octavio. You petitioned for it—
And your petition was repelled—Was it so?
Butler. Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunished.
Draw!
Octavio. Nay! your sword to 'ts sheath![718:1] and tell me calmly,
How all that happened. I will not refuse you 60
Your satisfaction afterwards.—Calmly, Butler!
Butler. Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness
For which I never can forgive myself.
Lieutenant-General! Yes—I have ambition.
Ne'er was I able to endure contempt. 65
It stung me to the quick, that birth and title
Should have more weight than merit has in the army.
I would fain not be meaner than my equal,
So in an evil hour I let myself
Be tempted to that measure—It was folly! 70
But yet so hard a penance it deserved not.
It might have been refused; but wherefore barb
And venom the refusal with contempt?
Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn
The grey-haired man, the faithful veteran? 75
Why to the baseness of his parentage
Refer him with such cruel roughness, only
Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself?
But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm
Which wanton power treads on in sport and insult. 80
Octavio. You must have been calumniated. Guess you
The enemy, who did you this ill service?
Butler. Be't who it will—a most low-hearted scoundrel,
Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard,
Some young squire of some ancient family, 85
In whose light I may stand, some envious knave,
Stung to his soul by my fair self-earned honours!