Māthura. Of course not. It's stone. [He shakes it with all his might, then makes signs.] What do we care? Come, let's have a game. [He starts to gamble as hard as he can.]
Shampooer. [Trying with all his might to repress the gambling fever. Aside.] Oh, oh!
Oh, the rattle of dice is a charming thing,
When you haven't a copper left;
It works like a drum on the heart of a king,
Of all his realm bereft.5
For gamblers leap down a mountain steep—
I know I shall not play.
Yet the rattle of dice is as sweet as the peep
Of nightingales in May.6
Gambler. My turn, my turn!
P. 56.10]
Māthura. Not much! it's my turn.
Shampooer. [Coming up quickly from behind.] Isn't it my turn?
Gambler. We've got our man.
Māthura. [Seizing him.] You jail-bird, you're caught. Pay me my ten gold-pieces.
Shampooer. I'll pay you this very day.
Māthura. Pay me this very minute!