Servant.
Then who is that star I see over yonder?
Trygæus.
That is Ion of Chios,[1] the author of an ode beginning “Morning”; as soon as ever he got to heaven, they called him “the Morning Star.”
Servant.
And those stars like sparks, that plough up the air as they dart across the sky?[2]
Trygæus.
They are the rich leaving the feast with a lantern and a light inside it.—But hurry up, show this young girl into my house, clean out the bath, heat some water and prepare the nuptial couch for herself and me. When ’tis done, come back here; meanwhile I am off to present this one to the Senate.
Servant.
But where then did you get these pretty chattels?
Trygæus.
Where? why in heaven.
Servant.
I would not give more than an obolus for gods who have got to keeping brothels like us mere mortals.
Trygæus.
They are not all so, but there are some up there too who live by this trade.
Servant.
Come, that’s rich! But I bethink me, shall I give her something to eat?
