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DICAEOPOLIS
This is not astounding; you have chosen this huge, great ugly Gorgon's head for your patron. You, shut the door, and let someone get ready the meal.

LAMACHUS
Slave! slave! my knapsack!

DICAEOPOLIS
Slave! slave! a basket!

LAMACHUS
Take salt and thyme, slave, and don't forget the onions.

DICAEOPOLIS
Get some fish for me; I cannot bear onions.

LAMACHUS
Slave, wrap me up a little stale salt meat in a fig-leaf.

DICAEOPOLIS
And for me some good greasy tripe in a fig-leaf; I will have it cooked here.

LAMACHUS
Bring me the plumes for my helmet.

DICAEOPOLIS
Bring me wild pigeons and thrushes.

LAMACHUS
How white and beautiful are these ostrich feathers!

DICAEOPOLIS
How fat and well browned is the flesh of this wood-pigeon!

LAMACHUS
Bring me the case for my triple plume.

DICAEOPOLIS
Pass me over that dish of hare.

LAMACHUS
OH! the moths have eaten the hair of my crest.

DICAEOPOLIS
I shall always eat hare before dinner.

LAMACHUS
Hi! friend! try not to scoff at my armor?

DICAEOPOLIS
Hi! friend! will you kindly not stare at my thrushes.

LAMACHUS
Hi! friend! will you kindly not address me.

DICAEOPOLIS
I do not address you; I am scolding my slave. Shall we wager and submit the matter to Lamachus, which of the two is the best to eat, a locust or a thrush?

LAMACHUS
Insolent hound!

DICAEOPOLIS
He much prefers the locusts.

LAMACHUS
Slave, unhook my spear and bring it to me.

DICAEOPOLIS
Slave, slave, take the sausage from the fire and bring it to me.

LAMACHUS
Come, let me draw my spear from its sheath. Hold it, slave, hold it tight.

DICAEOPOLIS
And you, slave, grip, grip well hold of the skewer.

LAMACHUS
Slave, the bracings for my shield.

DICAEOPOLIS
Pull the loaves out of the oven and bring me these bracings of my stomach.

LAMACHUS
My round buckler with the Gorgon's head.

DICAEOPOLIS
My round cheese-cake.

LAMACHUS
What clumsy wit!

DICAEOPOLIS
What delicious cheese-cake!

LAMACHUS
Pour oil on the buckler. Hah! hah! I can see reflected there an old man who will be accused of cowardice.

DICAEOPOLIS
Pour honey on the cake. Hah! hah! I can see an old man who makes Lamachus of the Gorgon's head weep with rage.

LAMACHUS
Slave, full war armour.

DICAEOPOLIS
Slave, my beaker; that is MY armour.

LAMACHUS
With this I hold my ground with any foe.

DICAEOPOLIS
And I with this with any tosspot.

LAMACHUS
Fasten the strappings to the buckler; personally I shall carry the knapsack

DICAEOPOLIS
Pack the dinner well into the basket; personally I shall carry the cloak.

LAMACHUS
Slave, take up the buckler and let's be off. It is snowing! Ah! 'tis a question of facing the winter.

DICAEOPOLIS
Take up the basket, 'tis a question of getting to the feast.

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