No More Learning

Bucklers! Leave me in peace with your bucklers.

SON OF LAMACHUS. "And then there came groanings and shouts of victory. "

TRYGAEUS. Groanings! ah! by Bacchus! look out for yourself, you cursed
squaller, if you start wearying us again with your groanings and hollow
bucklers.

SON OF LAMACHUS. Then what should I sing? Tell me what pleases you.

TRYGAEUS. "'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen," or something
similar, as, for instance, "Everything that could tickle the palate was
placed on the table. "

SON OF LAMACHUS.
"'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen and, tired
of warfare, unharnessed their foaming steeds. "

TRYGAEUS. That's splendid; tired of warfare, they seat themselves at
table; sing, sing to us how they still go on eating after they are
satiated.

SON OF LAMACHUS. "The meal over, they girded themselves . . . "

TRYGAEUS. With good wine, no doubt?

SON OF LAMACHUS. ". . . with armour and rushed forth from the towers, and a
terrible shout arose. "

TRYGAEUS. Get you gone, you little scapegrace, you and your battles!