‘Let us drink, then, said Megalonymus; ‘here have I brought you a flagon of antiquated wine, with cream cheese and windfall olives—I keep them under seal, and the seals are worm-eaten— and others brine-steeped, and these fictile cups, thin-edged, firmbased, that we might drink therefrom, and a pasty of tripe rolled like a top-knot.—Now, you sir, pour me in some more water; if my head begins to ache, I shall be sending for your master to talk to you.—You know, gentlemen, what megrims I get, and what a numskull mine is. After drinking, we will chirp a little as is our wont; 'tis not amiss to prate in one’s cups.’

'So be it, quoth I;

‘we are the very pink and perfection of the true Attic” ‘Done with you!’ says Callicles, ‘frequent quizzings are a whetstone of conversation” ‘For my part, cries Eudemus, ‘—it grows chill—I like my liquor stronger, and more of 1t; I am deathly cold; sf I could get some warmth into me, I had rather listen to these light-fingered gentry of flute and lyre?

‘What is this you say, Eudemus? says I; 'You would exact mutation from us? are we so hard-mouthed, so untongued'? For my tongue, tis garriturient. I was just getting under way, and making ready to hail you with a fine old Attic shower. 'Tis as if a three-master were satling before the breeze, with stay-sails wind-bellied, scudding along wave-skimming, and you should throw out two-tongued anchorage and iron stoppers and ship-fetters, and block her foaming course, in envy of her fair-windedness.’ ‘Why then, if you will, splash and dash and crash through the waves; and I upsoaring, and drinking the while, will watch like Homer's Zeus from some bald-crowned bill or from Heaven-top, while you and your ship are swept along with the wind behind you.’

Lycinus Thanks, Lexiphanes; enough of drink and reading. I assure you I am full beyond my capacity as it is; if I do not succeed in quickly unloading my stomach of what you have put into it, there is not a doubt I shall go raving mad under the intoxication of your exuberant verbosity. At first I was inclined to be amused; but there is such a lot of it, and all just alike; I pity you now, poor misguided one, trapped in your endless maze, sick unto death, a prey to melancholia.