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[Poorly clad,trying in vain to slip through the crowd.] Make room, you fools! How the devil can any one chatter and play the fool on such a day of misfortune?

[At a small window.] Hist, hist, Eunapius! My comely master!

How dare you speak to me in the open street, you procuress?

Slip in by the back way, sweet friend!

Fie upon you! Am I in the humour for folly

You shall soon be in the humour. Come, fair Eunapius; I had a consignment of fresh doves the day before yesterday

Oh sinful world! [Tries to pass.] Make room, there, in Satan's name; let me pass!

Hekebolius.

[Clad for a journey, and followed by a couple of laden slaves, comes from a side-street.] Has the town turned into a madhouse? Everyone seeks to out-bellow his neighbour, and no one can tell me what is astir. Aha,—Eunapius, my pious brother!