CARIO. Have a care for your tongue, you bearer of ill tidings! But why does he want to treat us in that scurvy fashion?
HERMES. Because you have committed the most dreadful crime. Since Plutus has recovered his sight, there is nothing for us other gods, neither incense, nor laurels, nor cakes, nor victims, nor anything in the world.
CARIO. And you will never be offered anything more; you governed us too ill.
HERMES. I care nothing at all about the other gods, but 'tis myself. I tell you I am dying of hunger.
CARIO. That's reasoning like a wise fellow.
HERMES. Formerly, from earliest dawn, I was offered all sorts of good things in the wine-shops,—wine-cakes, honey, dried figs, in short, dishes worthy of Hermes. Now, I lie the livelong day on my back, with my legs in the air, famishing.
CARIO. And quite right too, for you often had them punished who treated you so well.[801]
HERMES. Ah! the lovely cake they used to knead for me on the fourth of the month![802]
CARIO. You recall it vainly; your regrets are useless! there'll be no more cake.
HERMES. Ah! the ham I was wont to devour!