DRO. Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it, And if you pummel me, I won't complain.

But if I strip you of these togs again, Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children, And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus.

XAN. That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.

CHOR. Now that at last you appear once more, Wearing the garb that at first you wore, Wielding the club and the tawny skin, Now it is yours to be up and doing, Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing, Mindful of him whose guise you are in.

If, when caught in a bit of a sc.r.a.pe, you Suffer a word of alarm to escape you, Showing yourself but a f.e.c.kless knave, Then will your master at once undrape you, Then you'll again be the toiling slave.

XAN. There, I admit, you have given to me a Capital hint, and the like idea, Friends, had occurred to myself before.

Truly if anything good befell He would be wanting, I know full well, Wanting to take to the togs once more.

Nevertheless, while in these I'm vested, Ne'er shall you find me craven-crested, No, for a dittany look I'll wear, Aye and methinks it will soon be tested, Hark! how the portals are rustling there.

AEAC. Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him, Drag him to justice!

DIO. Somebody's going to catch it.

XAN. (Striking out.) Hands off! get away! stand back!

ABAC. Eh? You're for fighting. Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas, Come hither, quick; fight me this st.u.r.dy knave.

DIO. Now isn't it a shame the man should strike And he a thief besides?

AEAC. A monstrous shame!

DIO. A regular burning shame!

XAN. By the Lord Zeus, If ever I was here before, if ever I stole one hair's-worth from you, let me die!

And now I'll make you a right n.o.ble offer, Arrest my lad: torture him as you will, And if you find I'm guilty, take and kill me.

AEAC. Torture him, how?

XAN. In any mode you please.

Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid: Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge Of p.r.i.c.kly bristles: only not with this, A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek.

AEAC. A fair proposal. If I strike too hard And maim the boy, I'll make you compensation.

XAN. I shan't require it. Take him out and flog him.

ABAC. Nay, but I'll do it here before your eyes.

Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak The truth, young fellow.

DIO. (In agony.) Man! don't torture ME!

I am a G.o.d. You'll blame yourself hereafter If you touch ME.

AEAC. Hillo! What's that you are saying?

DIO. I say I'm Bacchus, son of Zeus, a G.o.d, Anid he's the slave.

AEAC. You hear him?

XAN. Hear him? Yes. All the more reason you should flog him well.

For if he is a G.o.d, he won't perceive it.

DIO. Well, but you say that you're a G.o.d yourself.

So why not you be flogged as well as I?

XAN. A fair proposal. And be this the test, Whichever of us two you first behold Flinching or crying out-he's not the G.o.d.

AEAC. Upon my word you're quite the gentleman, You're all for right and justice. Strip then, both.

XAN. How can you test us fairly?

AEAC. Easily, I'll give you blow for blow.

XAN. A good idea. We're ready! Now! (Aeacus strikes him), see if you catch me flinching.

AEAC. I struck you.

XAN. (Incredulously.) No!

ABAC Well, it seems "no," indeed.

Now then I'll strike the other (Strikes DIO.).

DIO. Tell me when?

AEAC. I struck you.

DIO. Struck me? Then why didn't I sneeze?

AEAC. Don't know, I'm sure. I'll try the other again.

XAN. And quickly too. Good gracious!

AEAC. Why "good gracious"? Not hurt you, did I?

XAN. No, I merely thought of The Diomeian feast of Heracles.

AEAC. A holy man! 'Tis now the other's turn.

DIO. Hi! Hi!

AEAC. Hallo!

DIO. Look at those hors.e.m.e.n, look!

AEAC. But why these tears?

DIO. There's such a smell of onions.

AEAC. Then you don't mind it?

DIO. (Cheerfully.) Mind it? Not a bit.

AEAC. Well, I must go to the other one again.

XAN. O! O!

AEAC. Hallo!

XAN. Do pray pull out this thorn.

AEAC. What does it mean? 'Tis this one's turn again.

DIO. (Shrieking.) Apollo! Lord! (Calmly) of Delos and of Pytho.