Xanthias.
Like him, again.
Plathanê.
But something must be done!
Landlady (to Plathanê).
Run, you, and fetch me my protector, Cleon.
Plathanê
(to the Landlady, as they run excitedly to go off in different directions).
And you fetch me Hyperbolus, if you meet him. . . .
Then we shall crush him!
Landlady (returning).
Oh, that ugly jaw!
If I could throw a stone, I'ld like to break
Those wicked teeth that ground my larder dry!
Plathanê (returning on the other side).
And I should like to fling you in the pit!
Landlady (turning again as she goes off).
And I should like to get a scythe, and cut
That throat that swallowed all my sausages.
Plathanê (the same).
Well, I'll go straight to Cleon, and this same day
We'll worm them out in a law-court, come what may!
[The Landlady and Plathanê go off in different directions. A painful silence ensues. At length:
Dionysus.
Plague take me! No friend left me in the world. . . .
Except old Xanthias!
