How was't with the Count? BUTLER. Count? what? OCTAVIO (_coldly_). The title that you wish'd, I mean. BUTLER (_starts in sudden passion_). Hell and damnation! OCTAVIO (_coldly_). You petition'd for it-- And your petition was repelled--Was it so? BUTLER. Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunish'd. Draw! OCTAVIO. Nay! your sword to 'ts sheath! and tell me calmly, How all that happen'd. I will not refuse you Your satisfaction afterward. 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. 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! 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 gray-hair'd man, the faithful veteran? 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. 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, In whose light I may stand; some envious knave, Stung to his soul by my fair self-earn'd honors! OCTAVIO. But tell me, did the Duke approve that measure? BUTLER. Himself impell'd me to it, used his interest In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. OCTAVIO. Ay? are you sure of that? BUTLER. I read the letter. OCTAVIO. And so did I--but the contents were different. [BUTLER _is suddenly struck_.] By chance I'm in possession of that letter-- Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. [_He gives him the letter_.] BUTLER. Ha! what is this? OCTAVIO. I fear me, Colonel Butler, An infamous game have they been playing with you. The Duke, you say, impell'd you to this measure? Now, in this letter, talks he in contempt Concerning you; counsels the minister To give sound chastisement to your conceit, For so he calls it. [BUTLER _reads through the letter; his knees tremble, he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it_.]