No More Learning

You have killed my business, my livelihood, and that of this
poor lance-maker too.

TRYGAEUS. Come, come, what are you asking for these two crests?

CREST-MAKER. What do you bid for them?

TRYGAEUS. What do I bid? Oh! I am ashamed to say. Still, as the clasp is
of good workmanship, I would give two, even three measures of dried figs;
I could use 'em for dusting the table.

CREST-MAKER. All right, tell them to bring me the dried figs; 'tis always
better than nothing.

TRYGAEUS. Take them away, be off with your crests and get you gone; they
are moulting, they are losing all their hair; I would not give a single
fig for them.

A BREASTPLATE-MAKER.
Good gods, what am I going to do with this fine
ten-minae breast-plate, which is so splendidly made?

TRYGAEUS. Oh, you will lose nothing over it.

BREASTPLATE-MAKER. I will sell it you at cost price.

TRYGAEUS. 'Twould be very useful as a night-stool. . . .

BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Cease your insults, both to me and my wares.

TRYGAEUS. . . .