Metriche. Threissa, there is a knock at the door; go and see if it is a visitor from the country.
Threissa. Please push the door. Who are you that are afraid to come in?
Gyllis. All right, you see, I am coming in.
Threissa. What name shall I say?
Gyllis. Gyllis, the mother of Philainis. Go indoors, and announce me to Metriche.
Threissa. A caller, ma'am.
Metriche. What, Gyllis, dear old Gyllis! Turn the chair round a little, girl. What fate induced you to come and see me, Gyllis? An angel's visit, indeed! Why, I believe it's five months since any one dreamt of your knocking at my door.
Gyllis. I live such a long way off, and the mud in the lane is up to your knees. I am ever anxious to come, for old age is heavy upon me, and the shadow of death is at my side.
Metriche. Cheer up! don't malign Father Time; old age is wont to lay his hand on others too.
Gyllis. Joke away; though young women can find something better to do than that. But, my dear girl, what a long time you've been a widow. It's ten months since Mandris was despatched to Egypt, and he hasn't sent you a single line; doubtless he has forgotten you, and is drinking at a new spring; for in Egypt you may find all things that are or ever were—wealth, athletics, power, fine weather, glory, goddesses, philosophers, gold, handsome youths, the shrine of the god and goddess, the most excellent king, the finest museum in the world, wine, all the good things you can desire, and women, by Persephone, countless as the stones and beautiful as the goddesses that appealed to Paris.