You say, my admirable friend, that
you are a seer, and you ask a good price for your
services, and once even received bricks of gold.
Why did you not give us an exhibition of your
skill in the nick of time by telling us which of
the Sophists is going to prevail in argument? For,
of course, you know what the issue will be, since
you are a seer.
How can I, Momos, when I have no tripod with me, and no incense and no prophetic fountain like Kastalia?
Look, now, when you have got into a tight place you run away from conviction.
Never mind, my child. Speak out, and do not give this backbiter pretexts for slander, and for saying, in his sneering way, that your skill is dependent on your tripod and your water and your incense, and that unless you have these your art will be lost.
These things, father, are better done in Delphi or in Kolophon, where I have all the accessories to which I am accustomed. Still, bare as I am of these and unequipped, I will try to prophesy which of them will have the mastery. But you will bear with me if my verses should nor be very correct.
Speak, but only make your remarks clear, Apollo, so that they will not need an advocate themselves or interpretation. This is not a case of sheep's flesh and tortoise being boiled together in Lydia. You know what our inquiry is about.
What in the world are you going to tell
us, my child? The symptoms that precede the
utterance are already alarming. His color is
fading, his eyes are rolling, his hair is standing
on end, and his gestures are those of a Korybant.