Dispute

p. 160

DISPUTE

Ah! by Aphrodite, there you are! offal! filth! stink! trash! slut! clumsy! good-for-nothing! dirty sow! Don't try to flee me, but come here; come closer!

Let me see this sailor's wench who does not even know how to fold her robe over her shoulder, and who paints so badly that her eyebrow's black runs down her cheeks in streams of ink!

You are Phoenician; go lie with your own race. While as for me, my father was Hellenic; I've rights o'er all who wear the petasos. 160 And all the others, if it pleases me.

Don't stop again in my street, or I'll send you to Hades to make love to Charon, and I'll say, quite justly, too: "May the earth rest lightly on you!", so that the dogs can dig you up again.