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I know the Emperor's barber, and he reports it so. Let us trust these shameful disturbances may not incense him too much.

Alas, alas, that were a pity indeed!

If the Emperor lived here, 'twould bring something in to all of us.

'Twas on that reckoning that I returned here. So now we must do our best, friends; when the Emperor comes past, we must shout lustily both for him and for Apollo.

[To another.] Who is this Apollo, that people begin to talk so much about?

Why, 'tis the priest of Corinth,—he who watered what the holy Paul had planted.

Ay, ay; to be sure; I think I remember now.

No, no, no, 'tis not that Apollo; 'tis another one entirely;—this is the Sun-King—the great lyre-playing Apollo.