Æsch.: Just one little flask. You write so that anything will fit into your iambics—a little fleece, a little flask, a little bag. I’ll show you on the spot.
Eur.: Oh! you will?
Æsch.: Yes.
Dion.: Now you must recite something.
Eur.:
“Ægyptus, as the far-spread story tells,
With fifty sons in voyage o’er the deep
Landing at Argos....”
Æsch.: (interrupting) ... “lost his flask of oil”.