CASHEL. There is a man, Hight Paradise, vaunted unconquerable, Hath dared to say he will be glad to hear from me. I have replied that none can hear from _me_ Until a thousand solid pounds be staked. His friends have confidently found the money. Ere fall of leaf that money shall be mine; And then I shall possess ten thousand pounds. I had hoped to tempt thee with that monstrous sum. LYDIA. Thou silly Cashel, 'tis but a week's income. I did propose to give thee three times that For pocket money when we two were wed. CASHEL. Give me my hat. I have been fooling here. Now, by the Hebrew lawgiver, I thought That only in America such revenues Were decent deemed. Enough. My dream is dreamed. Your gold weighs like a mountain on my chest. Farewell. LYDIA. The golden mountain shall be thine The day thou quit'st thy horrible profession. CASHEL. Tempt me not, woman. It is honor calls. Slave to the Ring I rest until the face Of Paradise be changed. _Enter_ BASHVILLE BASHVILLE. Madam, your carriage, Ordered by you at two. 'Tis now half-past. CASHEL. Sdeath! is it half-past two? The king! the king! LYDIA. The king! What mean you? CASHEL. I must meet a monarch This very afternoon at Islington. LYDIA. At Islington! You must be mad. CASHEL. A cab! Go call a cab; and let a cab be called; And let the man that calls it be thy footman. LYDIA. You are not well. You shall not go alone. My carriage waits. I must accompany you. I go to find my hat. [_Exit._ CASHEL. Like Paracelsus, Who went to find his soul. [_To_ BASHVILLE.] And now, young man, How comes it that a fellow of your inches, So deft a wrestler and so bold a spirit, Can stoop to be a flunkey? Call on me On your next evening out. I'll make a man of you. Surely you are ambitious and aspire---- BASHVILLE. To be a butler and draw corks; wherefore, By Heaven, I will draw yours. [_He hits_ CASHEL _on the nose, and runs out_. CASHEL [_thoughtfully putting the side of his forefinger to his nose_, _and studying the blood on it_]. Too quick for _me_! There's money in this youth. _Re-enter_ LYDIA, _hatted and gloved_. LYDIA. O Heaven! you bleed. CASHEL. Lend me a key or other frigid object, That I may put it down my back, and staunch The welling life stream. LYDIA. [_giving him her keys_]. Oh, what _have_ you done? CASHEL. Flush on the boko napped your footman's left. LYDIA. I do not understand. CASHEL. True. Pardon me. I have received a blow upon the nose In sport from Bashville. Next, ablution; else I shall be total gules. [_He hurries out._