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Leader of the Chorus
Oh! Circe with the potent philtres, [310] who besmear your companions so filthily, what pleasure I shall have in imitating the son of Laertes! I will hang you up by your balls, I will rub your nose with dung like a goat, and like Aristyllus you shall say through your half-opened lips, [315] “Follow your mother, my little pigs.”

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