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A good day to master Thyonichus.

To Aeschinas the same.

Well met!

Well met it is ; but what ails ye?

Luck’s way's not my way, Thyonichus.

Ah! that’s for why thou’rt so lean and the hair o’ thy lip so lank, and thy love-locks all-to-bemoiled. Thou’rt like one of your Pythagoreaners that came t’other day, pale-faced and never a shoe to’s foot; hailed from Athens, he said.

And was he, too, in love?

Aye, marry, was he—with a dish o’ porridge.

Thou’lt be ever at thy quips, good lad. With me ’tis the pretty Cynisca, and she’s playing the jade. And I doubt ’tis but a hair’s-breadth betwixt me and a madman. Rh