TRYGAEUS. Don't I look like a diviner preparing his mystic fire?
CHORUS. Undoubtedly. Will anything that it behoves a wise man to know escape you? Don't you know all that a man should know, who is distinguished for his wisdom and inventive daring?
TRYGAEUS. There! the wood catches. Its smoke blinds poor Stilbides.[366]
I am now going to bring the table and thus be my own slave.
CHORUS. You have braved a thousand dangers to save your sacred town. All honour to you! your glory will be ever envied.
SERVANT. Hold! here are the legs, place them upon the altar. For myself,
I mean to go back to the entrails and the cakes.
TRYGAEUS. I'll see to those; I want you here.
SERVANT. Well then, here I am. Do you think I have been long?
TRYGAEUS. Just get this roasted. Ah! who is this man, crowned with laurel, who is coming to me?
SERVANT. He has a self-important look; is he some diviner?
TRYGAEUS. No, i' faith! 'tis Hierocles.