Sickle-maker.
Trygæus, my best of friends, what a fine stroke of business you have done for me by bringing back Peace! Formerly my sickles would not have sold at an obolus apiece, to-day I am being paid fifty drachmæ for every one. And here is a neighbour who is selling his casks for the country at three drachmæ each. So come, Trygæus, take as many sickles and casks as you will for nothing. Accept them for nothing; ’tis because of our handsome profits on our sales that we offer you these wedding presents.
Trygæus.
Thanks. Put them all down inside there, and come along quick to the banquet. Ah! do you see that armourer yonder coming with a wry face?
Crest-maker.
Alas! alas! Trygæus, you have ruined me utterly.
Trygæus.
What! won’t the crests go any more, friend?
Crest-maker.
You have killed my business, my livelihood, and that of this poor lance-maker too.
Trygæus.
Come, come, what are you asking for these two crests?
Crest-maker.
What do you bid for them?
Trygæus.
What do I bid? Oh! I am ashamed to say. Still, as the clasp is of good workmanship, I would give two, even three measures of dried figs; I could use ’em for dusting the table.
