No More Learning

Quick, quick, bring the dung-beetle his cake.

SECOND SERVANT. Coming, coming.

FIRST SERVANT. Give it to him, and may it kill him!

SECOND SERVANT. May he never eat a better.

FIRST SERVANT. Now give him this other one kneaded up with ass's dung.

SECOND SERVANT. There! I've done that too.

FIRST SERVANT. And where's what you gave him just now; surely he can't
have devoured it yet!

SECOND SERVANT.
Indeed he has; he snatched it, rolled it between his feet
and boiled it.

FIRST SERVANT. Come, hurry up, knead up a lot and knead them stiffly.

SECOND SERVANT. Oh, scavengers, help me in the name of the gods, if you
do not wish to see me fall down choked.

FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, another made of the stool of a young
scapegrace catamite. 'Twill be to the beetle's taste; he likes it well
ground. [262]

SECOND SERVANT. There! I am free at least from suspicion; none will
accuse me of tasting what I mix.

FIRST SERVANT. Faugh! come, now another! keep on mixing with all your
might.

SECOND SERVANT.