scholar, or in the court a courtier, or in the field a soldier, than
to live a foot-boy to my own brother? Nature hath lent me wit to
conceive, but my brother denied me art to contemplate: I have strength
to perform any honorable exploit, but no liberty to accomplish my
virtuous endeavors: those good parts that God hath bestowed upon me,
the envy of my brother doth smother in obscurity; the harder is my
fortune, and the more his frowardness."

With that casting up his hand he felt hair on his face, and perceiving
his beard to bud, for choler he began to blush, and swore to himself
he would be no more subject to such slavery. As thus he was ruminating
of his melancholy passions, in came Saladyne with his men, and seeing
his brother in a brown study, and to forget his wonted reverence,
thought to shake him out of his dumps[1] thus:

[Footnote 1: revery.]

"Sirrah," quoth he, "what is your heart on your halfpenny,[1] or are
you saying a dirge for your father's soul? What, is my dinner ready?"

[Footnote 1: "You have a particular object in view."--_Greg._]

At this question Rosader, turning his head askance, and bending his
brows as if anger there had ploughed the furrows of her wrath, with
his eyes full of fire, he made this reply:

"Dost thou ask me, Saladyne, for thy cates?[1] ask some of thy churls
who are fit for such an office: I am thine equal by nature, though not
by birth, and though thou hast more cards in the bunch,[2] I have as
many trumps in my hands as thyself. Let me question with thee, why