MNESILOCHUS. Ah! you're not near the end of it yet.
SIXTH WOMAN. Little I care whence you come; you shall not return to boast of having acted so odiously with impunity, for you shall be punished.
MNESILOCHUS. You won't do it, by the gods!
CHORUS. And what immortal would protect you for your crime?
MNESILOCHUS. 'Tis in vain you talk! I shall not let go the child.
CHORUS. By the goddesses, you will not laugh presently over your crime and your impious speech. For with impiety, as 'tis meet, shall we reply to your impiety. Soon fortune will turn round and overwhelm you. Come! bring wood along. Let us burn the wretch, let us roast him as quickly as possible.
SIXTH WOMAN. Bring faggots, Mania! (To Mnesilochus.) You will be mere charcoal soon.
CHORUS. Grill away, roast me, but you, my child, take off this Cretan robe and blame no one but your mother for your death. But what does this mean? The little girl is nothing but a skin filled with wine and shod with Persian slippers.[605] Oh! you wanton, you tippling woman, who think of nothing but wine; you are a fortune to the drinking-shops and are our ruin; for the sake of drink, you neglect both your household and your shuttle!
SIXTH WOMAN. Faggots, Mania, plenty of them.
MNESILOCHUS. Bring as many as you like. But answer me; are you the mother of this brat?