Master: Well, the stables will be burned too. They’re so near the house. (Smiles. To Fool.) True, fool?
Fool: A true fool!
Master: Yes, I really am. To be the owner of estates with such a fine chase, and instead of shooting and enjoying myself in the open air
Servant: How often didn’t I say to you in the town: the woodcock are dull without you, the wolves run about in the garden in the daytime, everyone says, “Where’s master?”
Master: Don’t tell me; I’m laughing at myself.
Servant: And you didn’t want to know; you used to sit with those long-haired people, you used to write books for them, you were getting pale and thin
Companion: Next time I’ll go hunting too! My costume’s been repaired.
Servant: I can understand those long-haired vagabonds writing books; they haven’t got estates or health, and the colour of their faces isn’t worth spoiling. But you’re a rich gentleman, such a gentleman, that your little toe would show you were a gentleman, and then all of a sudden
