an invisible double of yourself, and another self besides myself—in fact, I see everything double.
Cust. Bless me! I must buy you, you are so very clever and sharp-sighted. Come (turning to Mercury), what do you ask for him?
Merc. Give us two talents for him.
Cust. I'll take him at your price. I'll pay you another time.
Merc. What's your name?
Cust. Dion, of Syracuse.
Merc. (makes a note). Take him, and good luck to you. Now, Epicurus, we want you. Who'll buy this lot? He's a disciple of that laughing fellow, and also of the other drunken party, whom we put up just now. He knows more than either of them, however, on one point—he's more of an infidel. Otherwise, he's a pleasant fellow, and fond of good eating.
Cust. What's his price?
Merc. Two minæ.
Cust. Here's the money. But just tell us what he likes best.
Merc. Oh, anything sweet—honey-cakes, and figs especially.
Cust. They're easily got; Carian figs are cheap enough.
Jup. Now then, call another—him with the shaven crown there, and gloomy looks—the one we got from the Porch yonder.
Merc. You're right. I fancy a good many of our customers who have come to the sale are waiting to bid for him.—Now I'm going to offer you the most
