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Have this fried and let it be nicely browned.

Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis!

Who are you?

A young bridegroom sends you these viands from the marriage feast.

Whoever he be, I thank him.

And in return, he prays you to pour a glass of peace into this vase, that he may not have to go to the front and may stay at home to do his duty to his young wife.

Take back, take back your viands; for a thousand drachmae I would not give a drop of peace; but who are you, pray?

I am the bridesmaid; she wants to say something to you from the bride privately.

Come, what do you wish to say? (THE BRIDESMAID WHISPERS IN HIS EAR.) Ah! what a ridiculous demand! The bride burns with longing to keep by her her husband's weapon. Come! \bring hither my truce; to her alone will I give some of it, for she is a woman, and, as such, should not suffer under the war. Here, friend, reach hither your vial. And as to the manner of applying this balm, tell the bride, when a levy of soldiers is made to rub some in bed on her husband, where most needed. There, slave, take away my truce! Now, quick, bring me the wine-flagon, that I may fill up the drinking bowls!

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