Page:The Eleven Comedies (1912) Vol 1.djvu/176

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Oh! divine Apollo! what a prodigious big mortar! Oh, what misery the very sight of War causes me! This then is the foe from whom I fly, who is so cruel, so formidable, so stalwart, so solid on his legs!

Oh! Prasiæ! thrice wretched, five times, aye, a thousand times wretched! for thou shalt be destroyed this day.

This does not yet concern us over much; ’tis only so much the worse for the Laconians.

Oh! Megara! Megara! how utterly are you going to be ground up! what fine mincemeat are you to be made into!

Alas! alas! what bitter tears there will be among the Megarians!

Oh, Sicily! you too must perish! Your wretched towns shall be grated like this cheese. Now let us pour some Attic honey into the mortar.