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 But, passing that, you ask perchance the price Of a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good. You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries, "Æginetan I meant." Still you comply. But if you trust him with a larger piece, And there be change to give; mark how the knave Now counts in Attic coin, and thus achieves A two-fold robbery in the same transaction!

(Book vi. § 6, p. 357.)

Poets indeed! I should be glad to know Of what they have to boast. Invention—no! They invent nothing, but they pilfer much, Change and invert the order, and pretend To pass it off for new. But fishmongers Are fertile in resources, they excel All our philosophers in ready wit And sterling impudence. The law forbids, And strictly too, to water their stale fish— How do they manage to evade the fine? Why thus—when one of them perceives the board Begins to be offensive, and the fish Look dry and change their colour, he begins A preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour. They come to blows;—he soon affects to be Most desperately beaten, and falls down, As if unable to support himself, Gasping for breath;—another, who the while (Knowing the secret) was prepared to act, Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed, And scatters a few drops upon his friend, Then empties the whole vessel on the fish, Which makes them look so fresh that you would swear They were just taken from the sea,—

The same.

Commend me for invention to the rogue Who sells fish in the agora. He knows,— In fact there's no mistaking,—that the law