But, my poor fellow, I do not
practise
medicine.
Aristophanes
HUSBANDMAN. The Boeotians seized them at Phyle. [257]
DICAEOPOLIS. Ah! poor wretch! and yet you have not left off white?
HUSBANDMAN. Their dung made my wealth.
DICAEOPOLIS. What can I do in the matter?
HUSBANDMAN. Crying for my beasts has lost me my eyesight. Ah! if you care
for poor Dercetes of Phyle, anoint mine eyes quickly with your balm of
peace.
DICAEOPOLIS.
But, my poor fellow, I do not practise medicine.
HUSBANDMAN. Come, I adjure you; perchance I shall recover my steers.
DICAEOPOLIS. 'Tis impossible; away, go and whine to the disciples of
Pittalus. [258]
HUSBANDMAN. Grant me but one drop of peace; pour it into this reedlet.
DICAEOPOLIS. No, not a particle; go a-weeping elsewhere.
HUSBANDMAN. Oh! oh! oh! my poor beasts!
CHORUS. This man has discovered the sweetest enjoyment in peace; he will
share it with none.
