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act i.]
caesar's apostasy.
7
Potamon.
Right! Give it him; give it him, dear brother
Phocion.
[Pushing the Goldsmith away.] Hold your tongue get you behind me. I know you now;—you are Potamon the Manichæan!
Eunapius.
A Manichæan? A stinking heretic! Faugh, faugh!
Potamon.
[Holding up his paper lantern.] Heyday! Why, you are Phocion the Dyer, of Antioch! The Cainite!
Eunapius.
Woe is me, I have held communion with falsehood!
Phocion.
Woe is me, I have helped a son of Satan!
Eunapius.
[Boxing his ear.] Take that for your help!
Phocion.
[Returning the blow.] Oh, you abandoned hound
Potamon.
Accursed, accursed be ye both!
[A general fight; laughter and derision among the onlookers.
