Page:The Eleven Comedies (1912) Vol 1.djvu/165



Quick, quick, bring the dung-beetle his cake.

Coming, coming.

Give it to him, and may it kill him!

May he never eat a better.

Now give him this other one kneaded up with ass’s dung.

There! I’ve done that too.

And where’s what you gave him just now; surely he can’t have devoured it yet!

Indeed he has; he snatched it, rolled it between his feet and boiled it.

Come, hurry up, knead up a lot and knead them stiffly.

Oh, scavengers, help me in the name of the gods, if you do not wish to see me fall down choked.