You earn your coin by gambling, Your friends and wife by gambling, Your gifts and food by gambling; Your last cent goes by gambling. 8
My cash was taken by the trey; The deuce then took my health away; The ace then set me on the street; The four completed my defeat. 9
[_He looks before him._] Here comes Mathura, our sometime gambling-master. Well, as I can't escape, I think I'll put on my veil. [_He makes any number of gestures with his cloak, then examines it._]
This cloth is sadly indigent in thread; This lovely cloth lets in a lot of light; This cloth's protective power is nearly fled; This cloth is pretty when it's rolled up tight. 10
Yet after all, what more could a poor saint do? For you see,
One foot I've planted in the sky, The other on the ground must lie.[41] The elevation's rather high, But the sun stands it. Why can't I? 11
_Shampooer._ How can I pay? [_Mathura drags him about._]
_Darduraka._ Well, well, what is this I see? [_He addresses a bystander._] What did you say, sir? "This shampooer is being maltreated by the gambling-master, and no one will save him"? I'll save him myself. [_He presses forward._] Stand back, stand back!
[_He takes a look._] Well, if this isn't that swindler Mathura. And here is the poor saintly shampooer; a saint to be sure,
Who does not hang with bended head Rigid till set of sun, Who does not rub his back with sand Till boils begin to run, Whose shins dogs may not browse upon, As they pass him in their rambling.[42] Why should this tall and dainty man Be so in love with gambling? 12
Well, I must pacify Mathura. [_He approaches._] How do you do, Mathura? [_Mathura returns the greeting._]
_Mathura._ [_Pulling the rolled-up cloak from under Darduraka's arm._] Look, gentlemen, look! The man in the ragged cloak calls ten gold-pieces a mere bagatelle.
_Darduraka._ My good fool, don't I risk ten gold-pieces on a cast of the dice? Suppose a man has money--is that any reason why he should put it in his bosom and show it? But you,
You'll lose your caste, you'll lose your soul, For ten gold-pieces that he stole, To kill a man that's sound and whole, With five good senses in him. 13
_Mathura._ Ten gold-pieces may be a mere bagatelle to you, sir. To me they are a fortune.