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Now come, my Pegasus, get a-going with up-pricked ears  and make your golden bridle resound gaily. Eh! what are you doing? What are you up to? Do you turn your nose towards the cesspools? Come, pluck up a spirit; rush upwards from the earth,  stretch out your speedy wings and make straight for the palace of Zeus; for once give up foraging in your daily food. —Hi! you down there, what are you after now? Oh! my god! it's a man taking a crap  in the Piraeus, close to the whorehouses. But is it my death you seek then, my death? Will you not bury that right away and pile a great heap of earth upon it and plant wild thyme therein and pour perfumes on it? If I were to fall  from up here and misfortune happened to me, the town of Chios would owe a fine of five talents for my death, all because of your damned arse.