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Ah! God grant we may see the blessed day. I have suffered so much; have so oft slept with Phormio on hard beds. You will no longer find me an acid, angry, hard judge as heretofore, but will find me turned indulgent and grown younger by twenty years through happiness. We have been killing ourselves long enough, tiring ourselves out with going to the Lyceum and returning laden with spear and buckler.—But what can we do to please you? Come, speak; for ’tis a good Fate, that has named you our leader.

How shall we set about removing these stones?

Rash reprobate, what do you propose doing?

Nothing bad, as Cillicon said.

You are undone, you wretch.

Yes, if the lot had to decide my life, for Hermes would know how to turn the chance.