PHILOCLEON. What! are there woollen ox-guts[133] then at Ecbatana?
BDELYCLEON. Whatever are you talking about? These are woven by the Barbarians at great cost. I am certain this pelisse has consumed more than a talent of wool.[134]
PHILOCLEON. It should be called wool-waster then instead of pelisse.
BDELYCLEON. Come, father, just hold still for a moment and put it on.
PHILOCLEON. Oh! horrors! what a waft of heat the hussy wafts up my nose!
BDELYCLEON. Will you have done with this fooling?
PHILOCLEON. No, by Zeus! if need be, I prefer you should put me in the oven.
BDELYCLEON. Come! I will put it round you. There!
PHILOCLEON. At all events, bring out a crook.
BDELYCLEON. Why, whatever for?