an, if you want
to know the truth, that dog has two defects: he's old and he's short in
the muzzle.

LOMOV. Excuse me, my heart.... Let's take the facts.... You will
remember that on the Marusinsky hunt my Guess ran neck-and-neck with the
Count's dog, while your Squeezer was left a whole verst behind.

CHUBUKOV. He got left behind because the Count's whipper-in hit him with
his whip.

LOMOV. And with good reason. The dogs are running after a fox, when
Squeezer goes and starts worrying a sheep!

CHUBUKOV. It's not true!... My dear fellow, I'm very liable to lose my
temper, and so, just because of that, let's stop arguing. You started
because everybody is always jealous of everybody else's dogs. Yes, we're
all like that! You too, sir, aren't blameless! You no sooner notice that
some dog is better than your Guess than you begin with this, that... and
the other... and all that.... I remember everything!

LOMOV. I remember too!

CHUBUKOV. [Teasing him] I remember, too.... What do you remember?

LOMOV. My heart... my foot's gone to sleep.... I can't...

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. [Teasing] My heart.... What sort of a hunter are
you? You ought to go and lie on the kitchen oven and catch blackbeetles,
not go after foxes! My heart!

CHUBUKOV. Yes really, what sort of a hunter are you, anyway? You ought
to sit at home with your palpitations, and not go tracking animals. You
could go hunting, but you only go to argue with people and interfere
with their dogs and so on. Let's change the subject in case I lose my
temper. You're not a hunter at all, anyway!

LOMOV. And are you a hunter? You only go hunting to get in with the
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! [Scream