Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/23



—Release my arm, O insolent, and give me back that rose thou hast dared to steal!

—I love thee.

—Thou lovest?—beggar! Then look not at me whose love is worth a mina at the least. Away, tattered chlamys, seek thy kind!

—I love thee.

—Ho, friends! Who wants a beggar for a lover? Here is one ready—almost anxious. Look at his faded cloak! Behold this rent through which I thrust my hand! Ah! Ah! Off with thy rags, deceiver! How wicked of thee to cheat me so! What! What sayest thou?

—I scorn thee.