No More Learning

Do you think I would sell my rump for
a thousand drachmae? [383]

BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Come, have the money paid over to me.

TRYGAEUS. No, friend; I find it hurts me to sit on. Take it away, I won't
buy.

A TRUMPET-MAKER. What is to be done with this trumpet, for which I gave
sixty drachmae the other day?

TRYGAEUS. Pour lead into the hollow and fit a good, long stick to the
top; and you will have a balanced cottabos. [384]

TRUMPET-MAKER. Ha! would you mock me?

TRYGAEUS. Well, here's another notion.
Pour in lead as I said, add here a
dish hung on strings, and you will have a balance for weighing the figs
which you give your slaves in the fields.

A HELMET-MAKER. Cursed fate! I am ruined. Here are helmets, for which I
gave a mina each. What am I to do with them? who will buy them?

TRYGAEUS. Go and sell them to the Egyptians; they will do for measuring
loosening medicines. [385]

A SPEAR-MAKER. Ah! poor helmet-maker, things are indeed in a bad way.

TRYGAEUS. That man has no cause for complaint.

SPEAR-MAKER. But helmets will be no more used.