Savage. Eating, as you see.
Prom. What savoury food have you got?
Savage. Only a little bit of meat.
Prom. Of a domestic, or wild animal?
Savage. Domestic, in truth, since it is my own son.
Prom. What! Had you then, like Pasiphaë, a calf for your son?
Savage. Not a calf, but a child like every one else.
Prom. Do you mean what you say? Is it your own flesh and blood that you are eating?
Savage. My own? No. But certainly that of my son. Why else did I bring him into the world, and nourish him?
Prom. What! To eat him?