You have only your position,--an island, and ships, and some favour.

You are no match in pluck.

We beat you.

And we live for pleasure, while you groan and sweat--mon Dieu! it is slavery." Mr.Pericles twinkled his white eyes over the blinking merchant, and rose from his chair, humming a bit of opera, and announcing, casually, that a certain prima-donna had obtained a divorce from her husband.
"But," he added suddenly, "I say to you, if you cannot afford to speculate, run away from it as ze fire.

Run away from it, and hold up your coat-tail.