TRYGAEUS. 'Twould be very useful as a night-stool….
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Cease your insults, both to me and my wares.
TRYGAEUS. … if propped on three stones. Look, 'tis admirable.
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. But how can you wipe, idiot?
TRYGAEUS. I can pass one hand through here, and the other there, and so….
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. What! do you wipe with both hands?
TRYGAEUS. Aye, so that I may not be accused of robbing the State, by blocking up an oar-hole in the galley.[381]
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. So you would pay ten minae[382] for a night-stool?
TRYGAEUS. Undoubtedly, you rascal. Do you think I would sell my rump for a thousand drachmae?[383]
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Come, have the money paid over to me.