Count and to intrigue. ... Oh, my heart! ... You're an intriguer!

CHUBUKOV. What? I an intriguer? [Shouts] Shut up!

LOMOV. Intriguer!

CHUBUKOV. Boy! Pup!

LOMOV. Old rat! Jesuit!

CHUBUKOV. Shut up or I'll shoot you like a partridge! You fool!

LOMOV. Everybody knows that--oh my heart!--your late wife used to
beat you. ... My feet ... temples ... sparks. ... I fall, I fall!

CHUBUKOV. And you're under the slipper of your housekeeper!

LOMOV. There, there, there ... my heart's burst! My shoulder's come
off. ... Where is my shoulder? I die. [Falls into an armchair] A
doctor! [Faints.]

CHUBUKOV. Boy! Milksop! Fool! I'm sick! [Drinks water] Sick!

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What sort of a hunter are you? You can't even sit
on a horse! [To her father] Papa, what's the matter with him? Papa!
Look, papa! [Screams] Ivan Vassilevitch! He's dead!

CHUBUKOV. I'm sick! ... I can't breathe! ... Air!

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. He's dead. [Pulls LOMOV'S sleeve] Ivan Vassilevitch!