But not the world of hobbling crawling man,
It stands him on his head. That old man there
Would never stick at mounting on a tiger
Or pranking his shrunk temples with a garland,
As Dionysos did when Ganges-bound.
But I’m at home with loosed wits—Was she fair?
Gyges.
I know not if what pleases me be fair.
Kan.
Say “yes”—no blushes! an eye like a coal,