PEACE
169
Hermes.
Your country?
Trygæus.
Triple scoundrel.
Hermes.
Your father?
Trygæus.
My father? Triple scoundrel.
Hermes.
By the Earth, you shall die, unless you tell me your name.
Trygæus.
I am Trygæus of the Athmonian deme, a good vine-dresser, little addicted to quibbling and not at all an informer.
Hermes.
Why do you come?
Trygæus.
I come to bring you this meat.
Hermes.
Ah! my good friend, did you have a good journey?
Trygæus.
Glutton, be off! I no longer seem a triple scoundrel to you. Come, call Zeus.
Hermes.
Ah! ah! you are a long way yet from reaching the gods, for they moved yesterday.
Trygæus.
To what part of the earth?
Hermes.
Eh! of the earth, did you say?
Trygæus.
In short, where are they then?
