PISTHETAERUS. Not the very least.
METON. With the straight ruler I set to work to inscribe a square within this circle; in its centre will be the marketplace, into which all the straight streets will lead, converging to this centre like a star, which, although only orbicular, sends forth its rays in a straight line from all sides.
PISTHETAERUS. Meton, you new Thales….[295]
METON. What d'you want with me?
PISTHETAERUS. I want to give you a proof of my friendship. Use your legs.
METON. Why, what have I to fear?
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis the same here as in Sparta. Strangers are driven away, and blows rain down as thick as hail.
METON. Is there sedition in your city?
PISTHETAERUS. No, certainly not.
METON. What's wrong then?