Lacon. And I hate the lady-birds that devour the figs of Philondas,
and flit down the wind.

Comatas. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled thee, and thou didst
grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of yonder oak?

Lacon. That I have no memory of, but how Eumarides bound thee there,
upon a time, and flogged thee through and through, that I do very
well remember.

Comatas. Already, Morson, some one is waxing bitter, dust thou see
no sign of it? Go, go, and pluck, forthwith, the squills from some
old wife's grave.

Lacon. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, and thou dost
perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, and dig cyclamen.

Comatas. Let Himera flow with milk instead of water, and thou,
Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds bear apples.

Lacon. Would that the fount of Sybaris may flow with honey, and may
the maiden's pail, at dawning, be dipped, not in water, but in the
honeycomb.

Comatas. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread the lentisk
shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus.

Lacon. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant
creepers flower around, as fair as roses.